mortemscintilla | IC Contact

[She's never done this before her entire time here, or before, unless it was an update Hei requested, or information obviously vital to him. Because of this, she doesn't even know what to say, but she wants to talk to him. For that, Hei gets a very small, soft voice left in his message box, saying only one word:]

Hei.

[ The message leaves him feeling like he's been ambushed. (How fitting, in its own way.) How and why, after all, would a Doll contact anyone -- particularly their killer -- of their own initiative? ]

[ Then again, Yin's never been an ordinary Doll. ]

[ Hei's spent the day since the curse recuperating from various injuries -- ranging from high-pitched pain to dull aches. The rest of the time is spent Underground, exercising on the mat in his safehouse, running for hours in the cold morning air until he can't anymore, looking over current events and keeping an eye on the City -- it's not his job, sure, but he's restless. (He drafts more than one message to Yin, to Korra, to Chekov, none of which he sends. He thinks about them intermittently until he convinces himself that he doesn't need to.) At nights, barely able to distinguish sleep from waking, he isn't sure which is worse. The passage of time seems meaningless in the pitch darkness of his mind. ]

[ But self-preservation and pragmatism are two habits Hei doesn't know how to kick. It's not in his nature to brood indefinitely. Better to focus on the Now; to keep moving. ]

[ There ia a long moment -- considering, calculating, agonizing -- before he switches the device on. ]

... Yin. [ It's quiet and steady. But there's no businesslike sharpness at the edges. Instead the word is spoken gently, part greeting, part gratitude. It's selfish, he knows. He should stay away from her, having already butchered her twice. But he can't stop that matchstick glow of delight that comes from hearing her voice. ]

Status update? [ A byword, in their homeworld, for Are you okay? ]

[She experiences her own flare of warmth when Hei responds to her. Yin is sure it wasn't there before, but it is now, and she won't turn it aside for anything. Besides, she isn't aware the monster from last night was Hei. She's still not sure if he was aware or not of her passing. She does know he sometimes spies on her, as she does him, but she's completely aware of how often and when and where.]

[His request is formal, though his tone isn't, and Yin follows suit in her response.]

Fully functional. [The only way she truly knows how to assess her level of okay, whether she is able to perform her duties or not. But after being dead for another twenty-four hours, she has to know the same.]

Yours?

[ He assumes she hasn't made the connection. The monster that fed off her ... the person who's supposed to protect her ... they're one and the same. He tries not to consider what that says about him. That he was cursed to gravitate to almost everyone he ascribes any value to. Maybe it's a reminder, that he's never felt alive, all those years as BK201, because what he lived ... it wasn't a life. It wasn't a life, and he wasn't alive, because he added nothing. Gave nothing. Just subtracted. Every day as the Black Reaper was a day with a minus sign, minus a child, minus a family, marriage, birthday, good-night kiss. Take away, consume, empty, until there's nothing left. All those subtractions were -- and are -- a black hole seated on his heart, sucking at him, showing him that he's worse than nothing. ]

[ Maybe that's why, when he speaks, his voice is so uncannily calm. ]

Cursed last night. I'll be operational in two weeks. [ Another pause, longer this time, like the silence he so easily uses to retreat in is something he doesn't quite know how to navigate now. ] Do you know who attacked you yesterday, Yin?

[ It's not a cruel guessing game he's playing with her. He needs confirmation. ]

[Cursed last night. She's not programmed to think, to make connections, to make recognitions. But she wasn't programmed to ask in the first place. Still, she doesn't place it. Her own life is almost just as empty. Her thoughts empty now. She's only focusing on Hei's words.]

No. [There weren't any similarities for her to work off of. No words, no voice, eyes so dissimilar. Maybe if she noticed the void, the monster, in Hei to begin with, she could have noticed.]

[ He's always been a pragmatist at heart. A cool-headed part of him says, There's no need to tell her. Why jeopardize a perfectly successful partnership? Dolls aren't programmed to feel guilt or revulsion, true. But that's the same rationalization humans use for Contractors. It's distancing, objectifying. The kind of thing necessary to treat them as tools instead of living-breathing-independent entities. He's never fallen for that particular cognitive trap. Pounds of lies are heavy on his tongue, but he turns them inside, swallows the words. ]

[ Yin has never lied to him. Has always, in her small way, safeguarded his interests. He's determined to return at least a fraction of that goodwill. Closing his eyes, he exhales briefly. Then -- ]

I was the one who attacked you. [ Again, a flat delivery, like he's trying to be as plain as possible, despite the fact that he's discussing maiming and slaughter. But when is that any different from usual, given their background? ] I was cursed. It's a sorry excuse. But it's all I have.

[She won't waste her time telling him it's not his fault. As a Doll, she wouldn't anyway. As Yin she already knows he's logically aware of how the curses work, even if she was able to sense a guilt from his actions last time, and how he pulled away. Would this time be the same? Worse? And here she had only been worried he would know she had been killed.]

It was a curse. [It's a matter of fact to her, and nothing more. It changed nothing, just like last time. In fact, this time it changes and matters even less. She was already City!dead.]

[ It changes nothing for her. But then, Yin's worldview is like a child's tumble of blocks, labeled in clear, brightly-colored divides of A, B, C. Not for the first time, Hei thinks how constricting that is. No one at home seemed to think anything terrible had occurred when Dolls were made, despite the fact that alive people with bright wits had been brutalized into shuffling automatons. But it is terrible. If you had nothing else, you were at least entitled to your feelings. Your ideas. Yin can't even enjoy those fundamental choices. ]

[ Yet she tries, in her secret, silent way. To overcome the barbed cage of her programming. To assert herself, in quiet, unobtrusive ways. She's less a girl than she is a Doll. But she is, in her own way, so fitfully, imperfectly human. It's sort of wacky, to describe her as such. But it's true. His team in Tokyo were always this way: they shared a unique kind of fragility that was also resilience Whatever unspeakable thing toppled them down, they absorbed the damage, licked their wounds, and kept going. ]

[ A beat, then two, before he says calmly, ]

It was. But -- [ His exhale is audible on the device, more tired than contemplative. ] Would it be uncomfortable, if I came to see you?

[ Dolls don't get traumatized. Dolls don't say No. But she's his partner, first and foremost. He has no business hovering around her, if all he does is cause her harm. ]

[Before coming to the City and dealing with people that weren't aware of her status as a Doll, Hei was the only person who ever asked her what she wanted. She showed her appreciation but always giving the questions answers, as she did now. She didn't even take a moment to think it over. No awkward pause.]

No. It would not be uncomfortable.

[Her ideas, her feelings, everything walled off and muted, Yin slowly, every day, brick by brick, or grain by grain, she takes that wall down and reaches her hands towards what was once hers. Every day she's that much closer. Close enough she adds:]

Please come.

[ He's not hoping for such a clear invitation. (It's not Hei's way to hinge his hopes on anything, since that elicits its own set of expectations and disappointments. It snatches all control away from him.) Even so, the Please Come makes his eyes widen a fraction. As if her words weren't plain English. As if the Please was something too far beyond his capacity to bother making inferences about. Trades and favors and equivalent exchanges are the way Hei operates in his life. But for some reason -- now, more than ever -- he feels like he owes Yin something. (And a certain emotion tugs at his chest like maybe that's not so bad.) ]

[ There are things he could say; there are things he wants to say.I'm sorry would be one, but it's not for the likes of Hei. Not when the damage is already done. Empty words fix nothing; they simply exacerbate their own uselessness, the moment they leave your lips to hang limp and heavy in the air. Instead, there's a sense of cool relief, a shift of weight in his sternum, not gone but considerably lightened. ]

[ His reply is terse. ] Give me fifteen minutes.

[And she feels like Hei owes her nothing, and she owes him everything. She doesn't need an apology. All she wants is exactly what he's offering.]

[Her own reply is short, but she gives one before ending the conversation. And she does end it this time.] I will.

[ Hei has punctuality carved into his bones; the meticulous type that makes grandfather clocks seem sloppy. The sky is darkening to evening when he arrives at Yin's place. Something flutters in his gut that's shaky and self-conscious. Hei is so unused to the sensation that it takes him a moment to pin it down. Anxiety. Not now, he thinks irritably, and is somewhat reassured to find a familiar core of calm in him. A resignation which overrides everything. Yin said it was fine if he came over, and that drowns out how something in his chest clamors with ugly reminders of the curse -- of cornering her like a rabbit, of sinking his teeth into her neck, of the convoluted dreams where he repeats that action, with cruel accuracy, over and over. ]

[ Shaking it off, he stops at Yin's door. He can easily let himself in with the extra key in his coat pocket. Instead he knocks, not timid but precise -- a series of sharp raps. ]

[She's so accustomed to his timing, Yin was already by the door, even without spying on him. She says nothing, just opens the door. But rather than offer him the chance to enter, she hugs him. For a Doll, it's downright impulsive behavior.]

[ He's expecting her to open the door. What he isn't expecting, is the hug. ]

[ A jolt of deja vu rattles Hei's mind. He remembers the last time this had happened -- the day after he'd slit Yin's throat, she'd flung herself at him in that same surreally tight embrace. That time, he'd been unable to stop himself from hugging her back. But now, he catches her carefully by the shoulders, edging her away. But it's only until he's past the threshold and the door is shut. Only until he's assessed her, top to toe, one-hundred-percent focus, cataloging any changes in her, any new additions to her City Dead status -- grayed fingertips, pruned whitish lips, dead blue veins streaking her skin. ]

[ But there's no change, just as Yin said. She's the same as ever -- cool, wispy, clear-eyed. The fluttering thing that had started on the street, at the prospect of seeing her, is now in a whole other league. Snatching her close, he can barely breathe. It takes a few moments to recognize that this is due to the giddy relief building up in him, a physical force that makes his breath hitch. ]

[ Passing his arms around her, he squeezes her so tight she'll probably loose her balance if he lets go. Not that he's planning to let go anytime soon. ]

[She doesn't understand why she's halted, but like always allows it while Hei inspects her. Once he's completed looking her over, though, Yin finds herself enveloped by his scent, the feel of his jacket against her skin, his arms tight around her. She settles against his chest, held so tightly there's little else she can do anyway. She feels for a heartbeat, her hands against Hei's chest. Signs and reminders he's still alive, that whatever else happened that night, he walked away unscathed in the end.]

[She won't be ending this any time soon either.]

[ He keeps her tucked against him, eyes shut. No one is as pliant with him as Yin. Pai, kittenish, curls around him in frequent bouts of tactile affection -- then wanders off again. Korra, he's seldom tolerated closeness with -- except in small doses. Physicality in general leaves Hei claustrophobic. It's so double-edged, so easy to fake and use against you. But with Yin, he doesn't feel trapped, losing himself in a would-be stranglehold. The opposite. His eyes are very dry, nose and mouth, sere, thirsty. Feeling that absence in himself, feeling the dull flickers of guilt. Guilt for harming the few people in the City he can trust with such entirety. The rampage of violence and cruelty he can never take back again. ]

[ Carefully, he sets Yin to her feet. Detaches, but keeps a hand settled on her shoulder. ]

I have something for you. [ He sounds quiet but there's a clarity in his voice too, one that's at odds with the heavy way he blinks at her, his gaze tired. ] To protect yourself, if this happens again.

[When she's finally pulled away from him, Yin stands there, still. She would normally be silent, but instead, she tugs at Hei's arm.]

What about you? [Because, twice already, the one she would have defended against would be Hei. What would have happened to him?]

[ At the tug, Hei's gaze dips, briefly, to her fingers. Yin has, he thinks, the most beautiful skin on her hands. Pale and smooth, and in the lamplight he can see a very subtle down of white hair on the tops of her forearms. Such thin wrists, exquisite. That's the word that comes into his head -- exquisite. Not a word that occurs to him often. In that moment, his decision made, the world seems clear and unstrained, cool as water. Completely simple. Hei's been giving himself a singular goal for years -- it's the way he's lived his life. Staying ten steps ahead of his enemies, living with eyes at the back of his head, safeguarding his own well-being above anything else. But that doesn't mean he's never capable of ... not sacrifices but concessions. His ability to not be anchored down by one person doesn't mean he doesn't -- worry for Yin. ]

[ Matter-of-factly, ]

This isn't about me. It's about making sure you're safe -- from anyone who tries to hurt you.

[ Including himself. He doesn't say that. But there's no need to. ]

[Yin's only goal was to be obedient, in the beginning. Then she gave herself a new goal - feel again. Now that she has accomplished that goal, simply being obedient unquestioningly is no longer an option. She takes a step back and shakes her head. She will defend herself against others at Hei's request, if it saves him some grief. But against him she will not. Yin shakes her head.]

[ When she shakes her head, Hei blinks once, eyes losing some of their mathematical focus. ]

[ He was expecting hesitation. But not an outright denial. It's so un-Doll-like that it leaves him grappling mentally as if under some unexpected weight. But Yin's been defying the limitations of Dolls for ages now. He's staggering, instead, under the weight of that unexpected -- subtle -- truculence. It amazes him sometimes, when he stops to think about it, that he'd started out wanting nothing from Yin but professional cooperation. She wasn't even Yin in the beginning, just a Doll, a voiceless stepping-stone to his plans for revenge against Amber, for combing through the Syndicate in his search for Pai. And now years later here they are, inextricably entwined, so that when one is hurt, the other flinches. Time is fucking hilarious. ]

[ Hilarious like gonorrhea. ]

You don't have to like it. You just have to do it. [ The words are flat and sharp, like a crunch of bone. (He'll say them to Pavel, too, at the end of the month. Has been saying them to himself -- for years and years -- as a maxim to overcome all difficulty.) It's not an ultimatum, or an order. If anything, the look on his face -- flat-eyed and pale -- makes it clear: This is for your own good. ]

[ Quieter, ] I'm sick of hurting everyone who matters to me, Yin. I'd rather stay here as City Dead, then let last night repeat itself.

[She shakes her head to his words. It's not the same as disliking it.]

I'm already City Dead. It makes more sense to put your life before mine. Otherwise, we'll both end up City Dead, and both trapped here. At least you can return home.

[Yin shows the big picture she's being staring at for a while now, so even if she could put aside her dislike for the idea, there's a logic she can't turn away from. For all of her emotions, there's a part of her that is still thinking of the best for the team. No. Just the best for Hei; it still seems illogical for both of them to end up dead.]

That makes no sense at all. [ He draws his sleeve away from Yin's clutching fingers and offers her a straight, flat look. His face seems to both soften and age at once, a combination that doesn't sit right on him. ] If you're City Dead, that doesn't make you less important. And there's no guarantee, that once you die here, you never leave. There are plenty who've left -- and come back different. Alive.

[ He's made too thorough a study of the Network's past entries to note any patterns. The City is disquietingly arbitrary. Some City Dead, it banishes to netherworlds of spirits and nothingness, with a careless sweep of disaster. Others, it tempts and teases with welcome oblivion, only to toss them home, then yank them back, all alive and heartbeaty. There's no way of predicting circumstances. Which is maddening to someone like Hei -- because control seeks structure. Science needs predictability. ]

But why is it okay for us to both be City Dead? [She didn't like it, she didn't get how it would be okay, and she certainly couldn't understand her life had equal value. She didn't think of their lives in weight. Not until now.]

[ Hei exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He feels empty inside, still and desolate. Half wants to open Yin up and crawl into her, to invade her sensorium, be in her mind. Show her how blurred and gray the world is in his eyes. Show her what he thinks about her. Hei deals with lives as currency and bargaining chips. But he also understands that there are many layers and variations to the word Alive. Looking at Yin, something curls dimly in his chest, a vague sort of feeling on the fringes of his awareness. (It's trust, maybe. He trusts her. Values her beyond her potential usefulness as an asset or ally.) ]

[ When he speaks, his expression is soft. Quiet. ]

Because it's just a word. It's your thoughts that make you Yin. Not labels slapped on you by the City.

[And it's the very words he says that make him Hei to her. It's those words that solidify her earlier determination and bring it back full-force. There's no longer any point in arguing it, debating it, or trying ti talk it out. There is no other option, no other possibility. When she looks up at him, her eyes are glassy, almost wet.]

I won't. [Anything else he could say would just make it worse. He might be cursed when he killed her, but he was asking her to harm him while she was in her right mind. She would have to watch, horrified, pained while she hurt him just to protect herself. There was no way to push her further, logic or not. It didn't matter anymore.]

[Hei did.]

IC Contact

message - left later tonight after she revives

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