Chapter Text
It was no use, by the time she was rescued, she was already in terrible condition.
When Vertin was loaded into the ambulance, she lashed out violently, and though she was wounded by Manus Vindictae, she was still strong enough to injure two Foundation rescue members. They had no choice but to sedate her.
The blaring sirens of the ambulance rang through the otherwise silent night, headed straight to the rehabilitation center. Sonetto rushed over, stopping outside the cordon surrounding the scene. She was only able to catch a brief glimpse of an unconscious Vertin in the excessively dazzling blue warning lights. Her body was bound to the stretcher, and as the rescue team moved her from the ambulance, she could see the bruises formed by needles dotting her veins like stars in an ominous constellation. The upper arms of her navy blue sleeves were stained dark with blood. Face tense, lips pale, her eyes were squeezed shut, and she leaned into the stretcher as if she were still living a nightmare.
“...Timekeeper!” Sonetto yelled frantically. She had been writing reports all day, and having not spoken until now, her voice was hoarse and worn out. The vibrations of her vocal cords fell into her stomach one after another, causing fresh pain. She tried to keep still, but eventually couldn’t help but try to rush forward, only to be held back by the security personnel beside her.
Mesmer Jr, who followed the stretcher into the center, glanced back at her, eyes cold as ice.
“If you want to do something for her sake, then I suggest you leave.”
The metal-framed glass door slammed shut, and Sonetto was stunned. Her legs went weak, and it took her a few moments before she was able to regain the strength to stand upright.
The memory of how she walked back to the dormitory that night was a blur. She made one mistake after the other - even trying to use her dorm key to open the front door, but eventually, muscle memory kicked in, and she went into autopilot.
Her team members saw that the chief assistant had quickly adjusted and recovered, and were subsequently relieved. She submitted reports, explored new information, and organized the team as if nothing had happened.
Sonetto didn’t draw the curtains before going to bed the next evening. It was the new moon and the night sky was pitch black, save for the few moths that repeatedly crawled and fell vainly on glass panes of her window. She didn’t have the strength to get up and drive them away. Laying flat on her bed, she took a few hard breaths. Her breathing was shrill and weak, and a cloud of chaotic grief rushed into her brain. She stayed like that for a long time, eyes aching, unable to shed tears as freely as she did when she abandoned the Timekeeper. At least that would have made her pain more bearable.
It took four days for the rehabilitation center to give any news. Or was it five days? She couldn’t remember, her sense of time had been awry for the entirety of the week. A century wasn’t that long, right?
The time of positive progress was much longer and more difficult than the time of retrogression.
Sonetto personally went to the Foundation and the rehabilitation center to hear the news. In the narrow office on the top floor of the building, she sat on the side with her back to the window, her hands clasped and folded on the table, as if she was the prisoner being interrogated.
The situation was terrible.
The director said that in order to ensure that Vertin didn’t escape, the Manus had used drugs to subdue her. The ingredients of said drugs were mixed with a variety of potions, making it difficult to detect. The currently known ones were morphine and amphetamines, and administration was primarily through intravenous injection, but inhalation and ingestion could not be excluded.
There were dozens of pinholes on Vertin’s forearm. Two of which were the sedative injections from the medical staff, the rest were traces of drug injections based on the bruising. There were also multiple bite wounds that she inflicted onto herself. It was still unclear whether she had the urge to self-harm when the drug took effect or whether she bit herself to stay awake.
A drop of cold sweat ran from the roots of her hair and trickled down her neck. Sonetto closed her eyes with difficulty, and the light from behind her reflected her trembling figure on the table.
“How could they do this to her?”
It was obvious that Vertin was receiving a certain dosage of regular injections. In addition to treating her physical wounds, the more urgent task was treating her addiction.
The director carefully avoided the word ‘detox’.
Not long ago, Sonetto had seen the poor souls who were unable to afford gold bars in the streets of Chicago. They were slumped on the sidewalks, bodies warped like trees that curled in the strong wind, and arched inch by inch on the ground, using their overgrown nails to cut themselves. Their fragile throats bled from being clawed at so desperately, and their faces were gray and decadent, without a sliver of dignity. She remembered her feeling of pity when she passed these homeless people while walking beside the Timekeeper. She couldn’t imagine Vertin’s body twisted so grotesquely in the hospital bed due to addiction, and she couldn’t accept that she would have feelings similar to pity for her.
“May I go downstairs to visit the Timekeeper?”
“Yes, but she’s currently in a coma. You can check on her condition from outside the care unit.”
‘The situation was terrible’ was an understatement.
Standing outside the double-paned window of the treatment room, Sonetto could hardly bear to look at the heavy chains on Vertin’s wrists. Her hair spread loosely over the pillow, and her ever calm pale green eyes were hidden away. She lay harmlessly on the hospital bed, with shackles and IV tubes entertaining her motionless form.
How could they?
Sonetto clenched her fists, and feared that, on impulse, she would hit the blast-proof glass, but reason floated up coolly and told her not to move. Her clenched fist finally loosened helplessly, and shoulders drooped. Mesmer Jr, next to her, watched the whole process and adjusted the position of the intercom on her chest.
“I hope you don’t try to see her after the effects of Valium wear off. It’s terrible and undignified. She probably wouldn’t want to be seen by others, and especially not by you.”
‘Dignity.’ The word that was once carved into her very bones by a lifetime of education. However, after entering the world, after seeing the pop-oriented streets, melted gold bars, and torn banknotes, it no longer seemed important.
With or without dignity, the times would not be gentle.
“I really don’t mind.”
Mesmer Jr stared at her, stunned.
“A dirty face does not hide one’s essence, just as a rotten heart still reveals itself beneath a mask of gold.” Sonetto lowered her head and smiled, “Sorry, I don’t mean to offend, I’ll take my leave now.”
She couldn’t explain her own state of mind. She could only guess that Vertin's existence was something like a membrane, and in the years of her absence, when the protective membrane was swept away, Sonetto herself had grown thorns. She couldn't understand why Vertin, without any objection, had accommodated these people so readily, without complaint.
In extraordinary times, life continued on.
Manus Vindictae appeared from time to time, critters overflowed in the forests, and humans killed each other in hunger. Everyone soon began to get used to the depressing year of 1929 - with rapid depreciation of experimental equipment, eye-popping inflation, and supplies that could never be replenished.
Sonetto’s team spent a whole day clearing out a group of disturbed critters that had fled to human settlements. When she turned Glasfeder to defeat the last carbuncle, her body was at its limit. Unable to control herself, she vomited out a mouthful of blood, which splattered onto the ground in irregular blotches. The worried team members who gathered around her were waved away. She knew that it was her own uncontained hatred, a hatred that could only manifest itself in bloodshed and battle. No one knew when the Storm of this era would come, but must the hanging raindrops of each era end with tragedy? With Vertin leaving her?
Again, she was almost convinced of fate.
Three days later, Madam Z sent a message to the team stationed in the Weyerhaeuser Forest. Vertin would be returning to the team soon. She did not explain much in the letter, only asking Sonetto to take good care of Vertin, and try to maintain her physical condition and psychological stability.
The documents sent by the rehabilitation center the next day explained in more detail that Vertin’s drug resistance had prevented their tranquilizers from taking effect on her with reasonable dosage, and excessive use of tranquilizers would create new addiction problems. Under the condition of ensuring that her wounds didn’t affect her performance, Vertin was allowed to return to the team for limited fieldwork. Her treatment was to be eventually completed by decreasing the dosage of addictive drugs taken day-by-day.
By what was implied, she was simply too uncontrollable.
Will there ever be a day when the rehabilitation center admits that it’s powerless? Sonetto held the letter, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Vertin returned earlier than expected.
Sonetto gathered up the team in the afternoon and finished reviewing battle statistics. When she returned to the station, Vertin was already in the room where she originally lived. There were two security personnel guarding the door. It was clear that they were hoping she wouldn’t do anything dangerous when her medication took effect. Inside, there was no light in the room, and the afternoon sun was no longer bright. Vertin sat on the chair by the window, flipping through a few pages of materials Sonetto had compiled earlier. The sleeves of her suit covered her wrists, so she looked normal, but her face was a little pale.
Everything was right, just like Sonetto had imagined countless times that they would meet again, but the feeling of something wrong filled every corner. This premonition came from a tacit understanding as her cooperator, her partner. Sonetto stood by the door frame for a while, and she realized that what made Vertin look wrong was not her pale face and tired body, but that the drug’s control over her nerves had dispelled her spirit. This probably detracted from her as much as shooting her in the chest.
Sonetto tentatively called out to the Timekeeper, but received no response. She quietly walked to Vertin’s side. Her top hat hung on her head, at risk of slipping off at any time - entirely supported by the curled hair underneath. Unable to bear to look down at Vertin, Sonetto stepped away and lowered herself on a knee. Before she could see whether she was asleep, Vertin suddenly tilted her head and her top hat fell onto the table. There was a sound as she fell down to hug her.
The security personnel outside heard the noise and turned the door handle to come in. Sonetto held Vertin with one hand and tried to stop them with the other. “It’s okay! She’s in good condition.”
The sound of the door knob turning stopped, and Sonetto placed her other hand on Vertin’s back and found that she was trembling.
“Timekeeper...are you alright?” She tightened her arms subconsciously, as if to give life-saving heat to someone suffering from hypothermia.
“No, just call me Vertin.” Vertin put all her weight into Sonetto’s arms, but she was still too light. She had lost so much weight in just half a month, so much that they thought they’d lose her in treatment. The lost weight, like milk and honey, gold bars and banknotes, nourished the ambitions of countless others. Sonetto stroked her shoulder blades, they were so sharp, as if they would transform into a pair of wings and take her away.
Don’t leave, at least not now.
Vertin continued, “They didn’t release me as the Timekeeper, they just hoped that I wouldn’t let my madness spread in the rehabilitation center and make everyone look bad. The title of ‘Timekeeper’ is too humiliating... I can barely even keep myself awake.”
“It’s okay, that’s okay.” Sonetto couldn’t tell whether she was trying to comfort Vertin or herself. She tried her best not to think about the horror of losing control, and kept her kneeling position. Eventually, she had to lift Vertin up as her legs grew too sore, only to see two lines of drying tears on her face.
These tears came unexpectedly. Over the years, Sonetto had always seen Vertin grasp the switch that controlled her emotions tightly, gradually molding herself into a dummy that knew no wounds - a her that the Foundation was no doubt happy to see.
Vertin turned her head and wiped away the tears, refusing to look directly at the stunned girl before her. “I’m fine... I just… At times I can’t control my emotions. Sometimes when I feel sad, I just cry.”
That’s obviously the right thing to do. Laugh when you are happy and cry when you are sad. Why did she learn this so late, under the influence of drugs?
The two stood in relative silence, immersed in the awkward and shameful atmosphere. After a while, Sonetto raised her head and asked, “Time... Why are you back? Your physical condition isn’t suitable for taking on missions.”
“Ah. I just don’t want to do artificial somnambulism. The equipment in the rehab center is a bit uncomfortable.” Sonetto noticed that Vertin’s mood had suddenly changed, and now she raised a sweet and innocent smile, “I’m a little allergic to the nerve patch of the device, and when I wake up, it’s hard not to vomit. So I ran away!” Her tone was like that of a child secretly pouring unwanted cold medicine down the kitchen sink, if the scars on the back of her hands were hidden, everyone would have been none the wiser. Vertin was probably the one who best understood the feeling of artificial somnambulism. After all, after the Storm in 1986, she was locked up in the rehabilitation center for a whole month.
Things entered a strange cycle again. No matter what Vertin did actively or passively, as long as they thought she was abnormal, they would arrest and ‘fix’ her.
Sonetto was dumbfounded. She was not prepared to face such a Vertin, or perhaps it was better to say that there were many Vertins here, and she didn't know how to distinguish them properly. Before she could react, Vertin’s expression quickly fell and she said in a low voice, “The important thing is... I think... Before the Storm comes, I should try my best to ensure that everyone gets the shelter they need. At the very least, we should bring Druvis and Schneider back.”
Sonetto held her hands, trying to avoid the wounds and the red marks. Her palms were cold and dry, as they had always been.
The crow on the tree outside screamed at an inappropriate time, and a pair of metal, weighty handcuffs hung unceremoniously on Sonetto’s wrist, causing her forearms to fall. The silver cuffs were not locked, and the other ring jingled and shook, with the key inserted in its keyhole.
“Listen, Sonetto, my next words are very important, please be sure to carry them out.” The handcuffs reflected a small dim spot of light on Vertin’s forehead above her lashes, and this time, her voice had no obvious emotion, “I can’t always ensure that I am in my right mind, and I am still in the process of tapering off the medication. So if you see me... Please don’t hesitate to fix me in a place that is not easily damaged.”
“I took a look when I came here. The bed might be a little dangerous with handcuffs alone, but the pipe at the door and the handrails at the head of the bed should be pretty solid.”
How could they do this to her? Sonetto’s mind buzzed, and the phrase quickly turned into “How could I do this to you?” But she couldn’t refute that there were currently no drugs that could cure addiction, and that the patient could only rely on pure willpower to quit. At its most severe, without intervention, extreme self-harm was not uncommon, regardless of whether the patient was usually strong-willed or not.
But... Sonetto touched the rough, blunt latch, and her fingers stiffened. She sniffled, took off the handcuffs and put them on the table. “I’m sorry… but I won’t do this, Vertin."
She couldn't do this to her.
Sonetto forcefully took over most of Vertin’s care, even insisting on sharing a room with her at night. When Vertin broke the ampoule and withdrew the clear liquid within, Sonetto turned to face the sealed window, waiting for her to finish her injection.
The first half of the night went smoothly until she was woken by a strange rattling sound at two in the morning. Sonetto got up from the bedding she had spread on the floor and was met with a horrifying sight.
The ampoule that was thrown into the trash before bed was turned out at some point, held in Vertin’s hand, and broken into several irregular and curved pieces. Lashes lowered in thought, she picked up one of the shards and placed it into her mouth. The sharp edge cut her fingertips, and droplets of blood oozing grazed the corners of her lower lip with the movement of her hand - an eerily beautiful sight. Not even stopping to think, Sonetto rushed over the shards of glass scattered on the carpet, and tried to pry open Vertin’s mouth, spit it out, spit it out quickly.
Vertin raised her head to look up at her. Narrowed eyes pooled with ignorant cruelty, she muffled a chuckle, and took the thumb that Sonetto pressed to her lips into her mouth.
A momentary tingly stream of electricity ran through Sonetto’s brain, and she shifted her gaze to her right hand in disbelief. Her fingertip was keen, first feeling the smooth surface of the piece of glass, then the soft and flexible tip of her tongue curling around her finger along with the shard, wet, slippery, overwhelming.
Sonetto moved closer, momentarily frozen in her dilemma. She wanted to insert an index finger to take out the shard, but Vertin's lips were pursed too tightly to allow for a second finger. She wanted to pull out her thumb, but she feared that the movement would make her swallow the piece of glass.
Vertin? Vertin? She could only keep calling her name, in hope that she would realize that she was still in a world where reality had not been lost, and pain was not an afterthought.
The tip of her tongue suddenly retracted, and after a moment of stillness, Vertin released Sonetto's thumb, pulling out a glistening silver thread in the moonlight. Sonetto reached for her chin again, but was dodged by a tilt of her head. Vertin’s body swayed, leaning in, she bit Sonetto’s bottom lip the second before she collapsed on top of her.
Sonetto almost immediately tasted the fishy sweetness in the latter’s mouth, and could only imagine the small sword scratching Vertin’s silent mouth over and over. Reluctantly, she stuck out her tongue.
The potion amplified one’s sensitivity to touch. Each time the rough texture of her tongue traced over the scratches, Vertin's body would arouse a subtle tremor. It was hard, wasn’t it? Sonetto tried her best to carefully avoid all known wounds, dealing almost helplessly with the most ridiculous miniature battlefield she had ever seen. There was no lingering atmosphere at all, and at the most dangerous moment, the glass almost touched Vertin’s tonsils. Sonetto crouched down and managed to roll the shard into her mouth when Vertin leaned over. Her tongue immediately chased after it, but was blocked by Sonetto’s teeth. The fragment had been caught at last, pressed firmly beneath her tongue. The sweetness of the glass itself mixed with the rusty taste of blood almost indistinguishably.
Their eyes met, and all was still. The dampness of the night slowly encroached up the soles of her feet. She saw the cruel and stubborn shell on Vertin’s body peel off, briefly revealing clear and sad eyes. The hand holding her shoulder loosened, and Sonetto subconsciously gasped - the air passing through her clenched teeth and the glass shard made a hissing noise, like an exhausted snake.
A tear gathered at the corner of Vertin’s eye. It rolled bigger and bigger, was stopped by her lower lashes, then finally fell onto her cheek and slid down the length of her face.
“I’m sorry.” She said softly, voice hoarse, “I'm sorry.”
She was coughing.
"Just kill me."
That couldn't be her true desire. Sonetto turned her head and harshly spat out the piece of glass stained pink with saliva and blood. It glistened brightly on the moonlit floor. Instead of attending to the both of their wounds, she hugged the struggling Vertin tightly.
The potion spurred a new wave of nervous pleasure, and the sensation overwhelmed her again. Vertin’s body burned, arms twitching slightly. Every now and then she would let out a muffled whimper. She suddenly bit Sonetto’s collarbone, and the latter gasped in pain. When she lowered her head, she saw the marks left in her skin.
They were on the same tiny boat in a stormy sea. The oarsman were working tirelessly against the current, and all she could do was hold on tightly to the sail to prevent it from sinking.
The struggle in her arms gradually became more intense. Sonetto glanced at the handcuffs placed squarely on the bedside table, and her heart was filled with a sadness as dense as ants.
This was no longer the Timekeeper she knew. She had to do what must be done.
Sonetto grabbed the handcuffs before the two of them rolled to the ground. She did a good job, cuffing Vertin’s wrist to the blood-red fire pipe at the door, all while avoiding the shattered glass shards on the floor - not causing any more extraneous damage. She pressed her body against Vertin's, and felt her hit the concrete wall with her elbows over and over. Afraid she would break her bones, Sonetto got up and fetched a soft cotton rope to tie Vertin’s limbs in place, and placed a soft cloth underneath for additional padding.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered in Vertin's ear, intermittently, “...may the peace be with us.”
How would peace be with them?
Finishing, Sonetto stood and let her hair fall around her ears. She swept away the glass shards on the floor, tidied up the messy bed, and stood against the corner. After a momentary stillness, she slowly went back to her sleeping bag, curled up, and buried her face in her knees. Covering her mouth, she let out a muffled sob.
The sound of friction and struggle lasted all night, and neither knew how the other fell asleep. Sonetto slept restlessly, and woke early the next morning. When she drew the curtains and turned around, she found Vertin also awake - of whom averted her gaze as she saw her looking over. Sonetto went to her side and silently helped her untie the cotton rope and handcuffs, and without a word she helped her stagger out the door.
During the day, Vertin was in the half-life of her medication. She was full of energy and clear of mind. She dealt with last night’s wounds, formulated a medication plan for the next few days, and even studied the intelligence of the inspection team. But like a sunflower, she weakened uncontrollably as evening approached, with dizziness, depression, agitation, and anxiety taking turns passing through her ailing body.
By night her hands were shaking to the point that it was impossible for her to inject herself with the medication of a new day, and she was forced to ask Sonetto for help. Sonetto looked at the skin of her forearm, marred with countless needle wounds. She paused, and unrolled her sleeve. “I think we should switch arms for the injection.”
“No, if we do my right arm, it will affect writing.”
“I think health is more important, don’t you?”
“And you want to talk to me about health?” Vertin shook her gray fingertips, and she didn't know whether it was a wry or sarcastic smile on her face.
Sonetto ignored her, and rubbed the cool alcohol cotton over her skin, without any difficulty, the needle was inserted.
After the bleeding stopped, Vertin stretched out her arm obediently, eyes brightening as the medication began to run it's course. Sonetto pursed her lips as the latches of the handcuffs closed with popping clicks.
That night the bed was filled with low sobs, of which subsided with the arrival of dawn. Sonetto brushed away the strands of hair from Vertin’s sweat-stained forehead early in the morning. The flush on her cheeks hadn’t faded. It had clearly been a rough night. Wringing out a wet towel, Sonetto wiped sweat from Vertin’s face, and watched in relief as the reddish hue of her skin subsided, and returned to its usual fairness.
Vertin murmured indiscernibly, mind still clouded by fever. Sonetto leaned in close and listened carefully to find that the broken words pieced into a single sentence: “I won’t hurt her.”
Sonetto silently pressed her lips to the tiny patch of freckles on the bridge of Vertin’s nose.
“I believe you won’t.”