hadriel_logs | you're part of a machine [OPEN/CLOSED]

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you're part of a machine [OPEN/CLOSED]

Who: Rey/Safronov and Nick Valentine (feat Alphys) + a couple open prompts.
What: Finding out that she has limited time left before her brain melts due to the infection that led to her death, ~~Rey~~ Safronov suffers a few blackout episodes before she is able to bring her successor back.
Where: Abandoned shop, Science lab, Robot House (1401).
When: March catch-all (feel free to specify dates in the subject line when tagging an open prompt if it's important).
Warnings: Suicidal ideations and other heavy subjects.

7th-19th; Abandoned Shop [OPEN]
(are you insane like me, been in pain like me?)

The headaches only got worse as the days went by. Sometimes, she would hear the most unbearable ringing in her ears, like a grenade had just gone off right next to her head. More frequent came the nosebleeds, and within a week it became blatantly obvious that Safronov was working on borrowed time. She knew this, and there was no pride in being right.

Her memories at the Russian command center were vague at first, but over time she began to recollect her life more. Perhaps it was due to the infection constantly reminding her in the forms of distractions that were getting increasingly more difficult to ignore, but she remembers it all now: She had failed in her objective to destroy the synthetic's hub at the Grigoryevich Underground Center. As a result, its systems had trapped her. Hooked her up to a seat and sent a needle through the port to her brain.

It's not much unlike the needle that her successor had evidently worked from scratch, which had been used to unintentionally bring Safronov back to the forefront. Such a crude design, but one that did the job it was supposed to. All Safronov needed to do was make sure it did its job even better. Her DYI handiwork was all over the shop she had set up base in, so that she could labor on in peace. Peace that was becoming more frequently disrupted through headaches and, now, blackouts.

Sometimes, she would lose track of what she was doing, only to wake up on the floor after trashing the extra tables, chairs, and shelves around her. Quite a racket, for those passing by on the outside and happen to notice a light beaming in the mostly empty establishment.

At some point, it gets even worse. Blackout. Then, another bloody headache. Literal this time. Blood is coming out of her nose as she grips her head, screaming and rolling on the floor. The agony is searing through her skull, electrifying her body and she feels it under her skin.

One bullet should do the trick. In her blinding pain, she crawls across the floor, to the table where she had been working at to find her gun there. Or, Rey's gun. Her successor's gun. It isn't like she hasn't done this before. This is her body, after all. A different owner has taken it now, but she recognizes the subtle flaws and blemishes that were special to her.

Regardless of whose gun this belongs to, it's Safronov's pill now. Just what the doctor ordered.

20th; Science Lab [CLOSED to Alphys sciencelizard + Nick Valentine synthedick]
(do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?)

Of course, her only 'remedy' had been less than ideal, though unsuccessful. In the end, she can't.

This isn't Safronov's life to take away anymore. Despite the pain that Rey had so badly wanted to erase, it was clear that she didn't want to be removed from the world entirely. Not when there were people who cared for her.

More than anyone ever cared about Safronov. There would never be anyone to mourn over her death, and she was better off that way for it. It gives her less reason to cling to this life, or lament the inevitable.

Still wracked with the hot pulsing pain tearing through her skull, Safronov somehow manages to make it across this strange and hot city, back to the place where she had began. While most seem to arrive here through that Door, she came through different means. Unlike the people here, however, she has an exit strategy.

Her nose is bleeding once again as Safronov opens the door to the science lab, the bag holding her supplies that she will need for this slung over her shoulder.

"Doctor?" Safronov calls into the lab before entering. She can't recall if the reptilian scientist had ever designated herself with such a title, but that is what she is called now. Whether the fact that such a creature could even be called a scientist has never struck her as strange, however. Perhaps a little bit of her successor remains, grounding them both, or it's just that Safronov has bigger concerns. "Are you here--?"

Oh. Oh no. Not again--

Safronov grunts, staggering forward while the door slams behind her. Eyes squeezed shut, she finds a wall to rest on, fighting to remain conscious this time.

30th; House 1401 [OPEN to close CR]
(you can't wake up, this is not a dream.)

Nearly a week and a half passes and Rey's body barely stirs in her bed, though it's hard to say if she still even is Rey. If not for the steady breathing, one could easily mistake the prone woman for a corpse.

Though she doesn't show it, every so often she is cognizant of her surroundings. Voices of those standing over her, their presence nearby. She hears, she listens, but she could never reply.

Until the ninth day since Safronov had gone rifling through their head once again. Only her eyes open, and for the first several hours all she can do is stare at the ceiling over her bed. Process her surroundings, feelings... who she is, why she's here, what happened. She remembers her name -- or a name, more like it. And a few other things. The mysteries keep her thoughts more than occupied for the long hours she can't move.

And then she blinks.

Isn't it about time you wake up, sleepyhead? says a quiet whisper in the back of her mind. Where has she heard that before? In a dream?

The questions flutter away as she closes her eyes again, until she hears the sounds of footsteps approaching the opened door to her room.

To what should come as no one's surprise, curled up at the end of the bed is a three-legged cat, whose head lifts at the prospect of company. They will find themselves being stared at by the one, single eye belonging to the creature, before yawning as he stretches his front leg over the covers.

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"You and me both," Nick murmurs, combing some of the hair from Rey's face with his fingers, his golden eyes locked on hers. He has a brief flicker of memory of his own, something painfully saccharine from a time conjured by the gods, one where the world was a better place than either of them may ever live to truly see. For a moment, there is nothing else around them: no dilapidated store, no cave, no Null -- even Safronov's presence is so far out of mind that he doesn't consider what she'll think about all this, or how she'll use it to patch Rey's memories. Even if he did, he wouldn't care. He does what is necessary.

And right now, Rey needs comfort. She needs him. Safronov can figure out the rest.

"Let me do the fighting for both of us right now," Nick orders gently, the memory around them becoming clear once more as the flashes of his own abate. "Just stay with me. I can't do this alone."

He doesn't clarify what it is, exactly, that he can't do alone, but he doesn't need to -- the only person who matters to Nick in that moment knows, and that's what counts.

There is something comforting about that, which Rey never thought she would ever find. The prospect of putting her life into the hands of someone who didn't value her as an asset but, rather, as something to be loved never should have been possible before...

Not after Undine, that is. And even now her life had meaning to someone other than Rey. That she didn't have to die being the only one who could mourn her. Nick might not have met the real Undine Stransky, but he had met and loved the same one Rey did. To her, that has made a world of difference. She still imagines it sometime, what it would have been like. If she didn't have to fight, if she could have just run. What sort of person would she have been then? Would she have been anything like the woman in that mostly happy life they all shared together?

"T͡ha..͝.̵ Th͏a̕t ̢s̀-şo̴uņds n̨ic̨e.̡.͘. Even i̕f͡ ̵ìt͝ dóes.̡.. make ̧me ̛a ̷b͝i̕t̵ s̴e̶lf̀is͏h.̀" Her cracked lips turn into a crooked, bloody smile. "I̸t͟'s al̸l ͜r͞igh͢t, t͠o͠ be ̶sel͏fish s͟-s̨ómeti͡mes.͞.͘. ̴įsn̡'̨t i̕t̡?̴"

That's why she's here. That is why they're both here.

"You're talking to a guy who kicked down your door because he wanted to help you and didn't know how to take no for an answer," Nick says quietly. "After what you've put up with from me, I think you can be a little selfish."

Just this once, so long as she doesn't put his worn, mechanical heart through this again. She'd better not put herself through this again, either. Hell, no one had better make Rey feel as though she needs to put herself through this again unless they want to face one really ticked-off synth who might as well be her father. Maybe if things were different...

They aren't, though. As much as Nick likes to reminisce about that dreamed-up, idyllic world the gods made for them, it wasn't real... and yet, he did like the emotions he felt there, the relationships he had, though he never wants to admit it. The world wasn't real, but the shame he feels for enjoying it -- for being used, in a way, and not minding it despite everything -- absolutely is. However, Nick realizes the gods had easy pickings with them. They were just intensifying the feelings he and Rey already had, ones that had been fostered over the months they'd been in Hadriel, been together as a family. They weren't just two strangers with some similarities brought through the Door; they had become far more.

That isn't something Nick is willing to lose, and he knows that Rey, despite her moment of selfish desperation, isn't either. Her smile might be tainted with blood, but he can't help but return it as he takes her hand again, his metal fingers wrapping around her own.

Now that gets something of a real laugh from her. It's funny to think sometimes about how things have changed from the day Rey had dug that old, worn out synthetic from a grave to the present. If someone had told her that she would come to care for him the way she has over the last two years, hold him so close to her heart, she would have laughed a much different laugh.

Guilt in what she had done, what she must have put Nick through in all those days where she had to have been one of the most frustrating people in his life, closes in around her... She has to wonder sometimes if he's ever questioned whether it was all worth it.

Until he takes her hand back into his after reassuring her that it's okay to be a little selfish. She's earned it, hasn't she? A respite from all the fighting she's done? It won't hurt anyone if she were to rest for a while...

"That's̢ ̛w͠ḩàt ̸I̸..̵.͝ ̶l͢-l҉ove ͜a̶bo͡út̵ ҉you,̶ ̷N̶i͡c͟k̛,҉" Rey says in a shaky breath, terrified at the very mention of the word that has brutalized her numerously throughout her many lifetimes. "You don̴'̡t̨ ͘kn̵o̧w͏..̶. wh͞e̸n̨ ́to҉ ͞g̀i͢ve ̕the͞ f̕u̧ck͏ ͟úp͏.́"

Another laugh, though she trembles at the dread of rejection again. Having those vulnerable feelings thrown back at her...

When did that happen?

It doesn't matter. She's exhausted. Her eyes slide shut with a quiet exhale through her lips. It's okay, he'll fight for her. She can rest for a little while. No harm from that, right?

There's that one particular word, bringing a smile to Nick's face: love. For as terrifying as it can be to love, and to risk losing it, Nick will argue it's worth reveling in while possible every time. For all the resentment and anger buried within him regarding Jenny's murder -- regarding the friends he's made, Undine, Rey, and what the gods have put them all through -- he knows the pros will always outweigh the cons when it comes to being able to truly feel. Love, empathy, concern for one another and the bonds formed between people -- they're what separate folks like them from the Null. They're what made Rey and Nick who they are, more than just the tools they were created to be. They're what living is all about.

And he might not be much more than a machine, but there are times Nick feels truly alive, like he's more than just some escaped construct of the Institute with a head full of memories that aren't his and a lot of problems with his own identity. He feels it when ire rises in his gut at the thought of injustice; he sees it in the way people come together for a common cause in a place like Hadriel, making the town a better place bit by bit, making it home. Most of all, Nick hears it when Rey says his name, when someone who has been through Hell and back is still willing to admit what they share, despite everything.

That feeling of life, of being alive, is worth it every time. She's worth it. What they have together -- the home they've made -- is worth it. Nick's grasp on Rey's hand is gentle, but encouragingly firm. He won't let her go through this alone. Not now, not ever, and he has no doubt in his mind that she'd do the same for him. It's what family does.

"Someone has to watch your back," he returns, that somber grin still worn into him in spite of the grim scene. "You're always keeping me in one piece, so let me do the same for you this time around."

He keeps his hand around hers as she closes her eyes, letting her rest fully against him, reminding himself that no matter how real this feels, help is on the way, and this is just a memory -- she'll pull through. She's always been stronger than she'll give herself credit for.

Such a word isn't one that Rey takes lightly, least of all not in a place where emotions can be turned against them, twisted and perversed in ways that can do harm to others. Love is a dangerous thing, and it has caused more than enough pain. That's why Rey is here, in a variety of ways.

Her one good eye tries to adjust, but the light of the area starts to become blinding. Voices turn to static. She's lighthearted, faint, insides churning. She doesn't want to go, but there is comfort in Nick's words that dulls the fear and anguish.

It's okay. It's fine. She can rest a while. He said so. She's done enough.

Where has she heard that said before...?

She opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes is a gasp for breath. Her arm goes limp, fingers uncurling in Nick's metal hand. The white fades to black. Static to silence.

And then, just like that, everything is black, leaving Nick kneeling in a void.

"This should be enough," comes Safronov's voice once more.

Even with his lap vacated and the memory ending, the world around him having disappeared, Nick remains on the ground for a moment more. It's been weeks since this all started, weeks since he saw Rey, heard her voice. He's been living with her as family for over a year now, and in that span has really come to appreciate those times where they could spend the evenings in the den, just enjoying each other's company. Sometimes, he'd talk while working on reports, tell her tales of cases long-solved and a wasteland he may never see again. Other nights, she'd nap on the couch with Tripod, as if, for a little while, there wasn't a care in the world.

He wonders now, as he looks to his empty hands, if he took those times for granted. He can try all he likes, but if she doesn't come back, he'll eventually forget, won't he? He'll forget those good times, struggle to recall how the tone of Rey's voice, fail to remember her face and the impact she's had on him. All those memories of the Commonwealth, of Hadriel, and of Rey -- gone, erased by outdated hardware.

Just like his brother.

Nick gets to his feet, his eyes still fixed on where Rey was lying, as though it all might fade the moment he pulls them away. That's not how it works, but... it's a heavy weigh in his gut all the same.

"Is she gonna be okay?"

One thing at a time, and for now, her safe return is all he wants.

One thing at a time, Nick.

He is met with a long and uncertain silence at first. Safronov doesn't answer, and for a moment it's a wonder if she will...

"That will depend on you," she soon says, a reminder that her presence still lingers in the darkness of this abstract place, despite remaining unseen. "I can rearrange memories. Rewrite them. But I cannot erase what has already been done."

In that regard, her is much different from Nick's. A fact that Safronov does not attempt to deny.

"There may need to be time to heal. Can almost guarantee that. It is your task to cause little strain on what I code. You do well to remember."

So long as that doesn't apply to her successor, Rey.

Nick nods; though Safronov isn't within his view, he assumes she can see just the same.

"I'll do what I can."

He says that, but what he means is that he'll do whatever it takes to keep Rey safe. At least that's one good thing about Maketh being gone: she won't be able to refute any of these rearranged memories. He'll need to contact Henry, make sure he knows. Try to figure out if anyone else knew Rey and Maketh weren't just close. The only other person who would know what happened in the last moments they were together would be whomever Maketh called to help. Nick wants to say it was someone from the Clinic, maybe one of the healers. He can't really be certain.

With a sigh, he makes a mental note to see if they kept records of that day; however, he's betting since it was during the invasion, any records they'd have had would have been lost, if there were ever any at all. Maybe they'll never have to cross that bridge. Things don't work out often like that in Hadriel, but here's hoping.

"Hey."

One more thing he should say before they disconnect.

"Thanks for this. For everything you're doing for her."

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you're part of a machine [OPEN/CLOSED]

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