Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

The salmon was really good. That one would get penciled down on her mental docket—and then her actual physical journal later—as one to come back to. The yuzu soda was good too, if a little odd. Kind of like sparkling water and lemonade with maybe a little grapefruit? She'd found so far she absolutely hated grapefruit, but if something that tasted like it could be good then it couldn't be all bad, right?

They talked for the rest of lunch. Little things, meaningless things. Quinn talked about her favorite spots on the Aerie so far. Dahlia listened, then responded with suggestions of other places she'd like. Favorite foods came up too, Dahlia's firm preferences and Quinn's ever-evolving palate.

As they wrapped up, Quinn's phone started to vibrate. That was one of her reminder alarms. Perfect timing, wasn't it? She slipped it out of her pocket, turning it off and taking a deep breath.

Then she hopped up, sneakers squeaking a little against the lacquered floor. "That's my cue, I think. Sorry to cut lunch a little short!" Slurping down the last of her water, she jogged towards the entrance, waving at the head chef as she passed out from under the lamplit ceiling. He waved back, smiling widely. Why don't you ever smile? he'd asked her a week or so ago. She didn't really know how to answer him why she'd stopped smiling. It just didn't feel right anymore.

Her jog carried her out of the commons and out towards medical. Over the past few weeks she'd started to learn her way around the labyrinthine interior of the Aerie, and now she could find her way pretty easily without checking for signs everywhere. But of all the places she went, the medical wing was probably her least favorite. Her flashbacks had steadily decreased with the course of time. But if there was anything most likely to trigger them, it was probably the sterile smell of those clean white hallways.

As she entered, she slowed to a quick walk so as not to get in anybody's way. A few courteous nods greeted her, but she hadn't really gotten to know any of the medical staff. Well, with the exception of Doctor Follen, obviously.

Speaking of, his office was right in front of her. Through the window she saw him bent over his desk, looking over some papers. It was admirable, she thought, how seriously she took his work. If Dahlia was her sister and Besca was—well, she supposed he was a bit like an uncle, right?

She opened the door with a careful touch, rap-tap-tapping her hand on the jamb as she walked in, footsteps suddenly muffled on the cream-colored carpeting. Just like that first horrible day, this office always made her feel a little safer, a little more at ease. And his smile, even moreso.

"Hey, Doctor Follen!"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn frowned, but not much, and not for long. She was disappointed that Besca couldn't join them for sure, but she was the commander, after all. However busy Quinn thought she was, Besca was definitely busier, and it always amazed her to no end.

“Guess it’s just you and I today. What do you wanna do after this? We should try to squeeze in another session before dinner, but anything on your plate besides?”

Quinn hmmed, lightly tapping the rim of her glass with her fingernail and tilting her head up to look at the ceiling. "I've gotta do some more sim work, but..." Tap. Tap. "I'm not really sure what I'm s'posed to do in there right now without a weapon."

She sighed and dropped her hand, the faint ding falling silent. "I should do that soon, I really should. I'm just..." —scared, she finished in her head. But it sounded a little ridiculous to say even to herself, so it would certainly sound totally nonsensical to Dahlia. "...Kind of worried about what it's gonna be. 'S a big thing, y'know?"

That wasn't a lie, either. She really was deeply apprehensive of the whole thing. After all, once a pilot pulled a weapon, that was their weapon, and no force could change that. She knew, academically, that the weapon was supposed to represent a pilot, so it would be something they clicked with no matter what. But that didn't stop the nerves from burning a hole in her gut.

And though it was obviously absurd, the hidden fear of seeing that cannon again wasn't a rational thing. She couldn't even begin to think about it without her hands clenching into tight fists under the table.

Still, she needed to do that soon. She was a pilot now, she really was. And a pilot needed a weapon. It was past time. "Either way, I'll probably wait as much as I can on those, see if I draw that thing soon."

She sat up straighter in the booth, looking back down to Dahlia. "So I should probably go knock out my eval with Doctor Follen. No sense putting it off, right?" And really, she was looking forward to it. He was just the nicest, and whenever she talked to him she felt better for the rest of the day. Hence the #2 spot on the Quinn's-Favorite-Person list.

"If I've got any free time after, I'll probably head back to the gym anyway." Her mental docket flapped for attention. "That last kick stretched me a little more than I'd like, so I need to start really working on flexibility." She idly toyed with the hem of the familiar mustard-brown shirt she was wearing as she spoke.

"But first thing's first, checkup for sure."

Amygdala Circuit

God, Quinn loved this place.

She tried to bounce around as much as she could with her food choices—eating in any one place for any length of time started to make her feel nervous and twitchy—but if she was honest with herself, Tohoki Grill was definitely her favorite. She could smell it from way out at the entrance to the commons, the food was obviously godlike, and the handful of times she'd met the head chef had put him pretty high up on her list of favorite people, after Besca and Dahlia (she couldn't imagine choosing on over another) and Doctor Follen.

Quinn looked around at the nearby people, and especially at their food. "You know, I always forget how big the portions are here." Still relatively hot and thirsty, she drained half the water in one go (though she at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed about it).

She was always floored by the amount of options she had at Tohoki. All the different tastes to try! She'd been here a month now. And though she was starting to run low on new dishes, she still hadn't repeated anything yet. They hadn't all been good. But they were definitely interesting, and she was starting to learn what she did and didn't like. "I'm almost to the end of the seafood now, so..."

She scanned down the menu with her finger running along it, and every single word she read—all the food she'd eaten—reminded her how good everything tasted here (well, not everything, but close enough). And how much better everything tasted in general when she wasn't eating it alone.

"Ah, I'm up to the seared salmon with mirin and ginger. I've been wanting to try that one for a while now!"

She hummed tunelessly as she flipped to the back of the menu, checking out all the drinks this time, especially the ones she hadn't tried yet. Her eye lit up. "...Aaaaand I think I'll try the yuzu soda. Whatever yuzu is."

Amygdala Circuit

Ah. They were done. God, she couldn't chug down the water fast enough. She pulled the helmet off, readjusting her eyepatch strap where it started to slip, and spiked it into the ground—not the most comfortable, was it?—before shaking her braid back to the center. Her chest was still heaving, sucking in long, deep breaths. Still, she couldn't help but huff out an almost scornful amused breath, which was about as far as she ever came to laughing these days.

"Hah, you and I both know that's not true. I'm still a looong way from beating you." She took another long drink. "Definitely gettin' closer though. Almost tagged you with that last one." She was...mostly satisifed with how she'd done. That kick had strained her a little more than she wanted it to, though, and it wasn't even a particularly high one. She penciled in train flexibility more on her mental docket.

One last pull from the bottle and she'd drained it, dropping it to the ground and knocking it into the wall with a gentle tap. She always tried to catch it with her foot, but it almost never worked. One day, she thought.

"Your call."

As always, being able to choose sent both a warm thrill and a cold shock down her spine. Being able to choose meant being able to choose wrong, after all, and the last thing she ever wanted to do was disappoint anyone, especially her new family. As time went on, though, the feeling was starting to drop, and making decisions was starting to come more easily to her.

"Been craving some noodles," she said, tearing the last of the pads off and sending them after Dahlia's, "and we've been eating at Dane's a lot the past few days. You okay with Tohoki?"

Walking over to the exit and wiping off her forehead, she fished her phone out of the little mesh pocket by the door and slid it into her own. She still marveled at the sleek little dark gray thing sometimes. She owned a phone. Quinnlash Loughvein owned a phone! A month ago she never would've dreamed of having one, and now she slid one into her sweatpants pocket every morning. It was didn't even seem real.

Kicking out the improvised doorstop, she yanked the door open—it was getting easier every day—and stood in the frame, propping it open. "Lead the way, Deelie."

It wasn't just to be polite. Something about leading people somewhere, she'd found, dropped a ball of anxiety into the pit of her stomach. She was trying to get better about it, she really was. But today, she just wanted to follow.

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn's breaths came hard and fast as she moved, backstepping out of the way of Dahlia's punch. She'd had a lot of catching up to do as far as her physique was concerned. Still did, by quite an extensive amount. Turned out that staying in one room for your entire life did very little to prepare you for fighting.

Who knew?

Those first few days had been...deeply unpleasant. Both for the aforementioned issues with fitness, and for the very strong aversion to actually hitting her frie—her sister. She was still getting used to the concept, but the more time passed, the more and more right it felt to call her that.

But after a month of long, grueling, and oftentimes somewhat painful practice sessions, she was starting to feel like she could...well, obviously she couldn't actually keep up with Dahlia. But she could at least feel the impact of her hits, and that was a kind of satisfying all its own.

Warding another punch off with her own forearm, she snapped her leg out in a quick roundhouse kick and it slammed into Dahlia's padded hand. The report was like a gunshot in the relatively small gym, and it was a satisfying reminder of the progress she'd made in what felt like an exceptionally short time. The advice she'd just been given (again) in mind, she tried her best to see the whole of Dahlia, engaging proactively in the fight instead of reactively, moving in closer.

Dahlia'd noticed fairly early on that she was favoring kicking rather heavily. But, she'd said, it wasn't always going to be feasible to space yourself to the point that kicking was practical. She was right, of course. And so every training session, Quinn had to throw some punches too. She even managed to hold her own for a bit on a good day.

Today was evidently not one of those days.

She kept her eye focused as best she could. But a momentary lapse let a fist into her blind spot, and telegraphed and eye-catching as the pad may have been, she couldn't stop what she couldn't see, and took a shot right to the side of the helmet. Straining to keep her composure, she closed the distance as fast as she could, trying to take advantage of her slightly smaller size and Dahlia's momentarily extended arm to sneak a punch in. But it was not to be; she just wasn't fast enough, and she struck only air. And though she recovered as quickly as she could, it wasn't quite quickly enough to stop the foam from thwacking into the ribs midway down her left side.

She hopped back a ways and brought her fists up again, then straightened before opening them and holding up her hands in the universal 'time out!' position.

"Gimme a sec," she gasped out as her shoulders heaved, "need a drink."

Her muscles ached as she jogged over to the—her!—hard plastic water bottle by the wall. But it was a good ache these days. The kind that let her know she was getting better, not worse. Shucking off a padded sparring glove and unscrewing the cap, she resisted the urge to lean against the wall as she took a long drink.

It hadn't stopped tasting sweet yet.

Amygdala Circuit

Safe.

She was...safe.

She tried the word out in her mind. She was safe. Right here, with Besca and Dahlia—people who cared about her, people who would never yell at her, or lock her in her room, or give her another drink of bitter dark angry water that she needed to drink—she was safe.

And the voice—Quinnlash—it—she—had said that...that they were trying to turn them into them, it was true. The dream was still crystalline in her head, she remembered perfectly. But she also remembered Quinnlash saying that she—that they were stronger. And Doctor Follen had said she was strong, right? She needed to be strong to pass the test, and she'd passed. That meant they were strong, didn't it? So they weren't going to turn them into them. They were...

Safe.

Safe.

She looked still into Dahlia's glinting silvery eyes. She was fierce, and strong, and nice, and she was always there when Quinn needed her. She did her hair, she'd helped her through the test, she could get through to her when nobody else could. She would keep her safe. She'd never had anything like any of this. She was almost like...

Her eye flickered down to Besca then. She was kind. She was caring. Quinn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Besca would never hurt her or leave her, she would always be on her side. She'd promised. She would help her through the dark days, she would be there to share the bright ones. She left the doors open when Quinn asked, and she wanted to make what Quinn wanted to eat instead of just putting a plate through the door. She was even helping Quinn right now, cleaning up the rips she'd clawed into herself. She would always keep her safe. All things that her parents would never, ever do. She was just like...

"Um..."

Her voice was small. It was small and thin and tore at her throat, and she could feel tears creeping into it already. She was afraid. Terrified they'd say no, even though she knew they wouldn't. But...strength was about going on even when you were afraid, right? She leaned forward into Dahlia's arms, doing her best to speak loudly enough for both of them to hear.

"I—I don't—"

It was a lot to take in. It was a lot to ask. But...she had to do it anyway.

"I don't...have a family now. And I—I don't think—I don't think...I ever d—did. So can—"

She was holding the tears back now. It was hard. They wanted to come out. But she needed—she wanted to ask.

She lifted her head laconically from Dahlia's shoulder, looked between the two of them. The tears were still beckoning her, thickening her already barely functional voice, but she wrestled them back. Slowly, slowly, she fought the last sentence out through that painful lump:

"—Can you be my family instead?"

Amygdala Circuit

Quinn stilled.

When she'd heard that the eye was gone—oh no—she'd expected panic. More panic, more blinding nightmarish panic.

But instead, everything went completely and utterly quiet in her head, but for a high ringing. She felt for a moment like she was back there on the lake, back in the dream. And she thought.

She'd felt something when she pressed her hand deep into her eye socket, she'd thought. Something hard. Something that shouldn't be there. She didn't know if she wanted to ask. She didn't know if it was there at all. So she didn't touch it again. But the thought burrowed into her mind, taking root all the way in the back. And what was displaced, what came forward through that—floating like a bubble in water to the surface—was a simple thought. One that she hadn't ever expected to think. It felt wrong to even entertain it; but it didn't make sense anymore, her eye breaking from looking outside. It had never made sense. It wasn't just wrong. It wasn't just stupid.

Rotten place, full of rotten people.

The thought crystallized then, into five words:

They had lied to her.

And then, another thought. And this one carried with it the bitter smell and dark tint of water. The twisting of a sick stomach. The image of a door with no knob and four white walls and only a screen for sixteen years. It carried an echo of the wonder she'd felt stepping out for the first time. That first talk with Besca. The clarity and sweetness of...of normal water. The terrible feeling of terror that she'd felt as she'd emptied herself in the lake, the first RUN that had beaten through her head. The giant with the cannon, staring at her. Hunting her. HER.

Rotten place, full of rotten people.

She stared at the ceiling still, as all these images played behind her eye. Her voice had lost all inflection, all emotion, blank and toneless. Hollow, as the thought rushed through her.

And that thought, she spoke.

"What did they do to me?"

Amygdala Circuit

"Whatever you saw, it was nothing, it was a dream. You're awake now, breathe. Breathe."

She breathed.

"You're okay, you're okay. Relax. Talk to us."

She breathed again. Then a third time.

Finally, finally, Quinn's senses dripped back into her head and she seemed to realize where she was. The hand knotted in Besca's shirt loosened then released its grip, falling to the floor with a limp thud. Conversely, she squeezed Dahlia's hand like it would vanish if she let it slide away. Her gaze slid down to her arm and she stared at the red lines as Besca dabbed them.

She'd done it to herself, she knew. The fingernails of the hand clenched around Dahlia's hand were testament to that. She could feel the fragments of skin underneath them, knew they were stained red. But it felt so far away, so...irrelevant to everything. Her head felt like there was a thick layer of fog in it, and she struggled to string thoughts together.

"What eyes, Quinn? What needs to have its eyes?"

A fraction of the fog lifted. She remembered how to talk.

"Savior," she croaked out, voice as shredded and torn as her arm. “Th' Savior. Tell me 's got both eyes. Pleeeease." A long, low moan as her head lolled on her neck, lips parting as she faced the ceiling. "Don' wanna be them. Tell me 's not true."

Amygdala Circuit

Even as Besca held on, Quinn strained fruitlessly against her. Still in the throes of a hysterical breakdown, she fixed Besca with a wild, unblinking eye.

In between screams—“IT NEEDS TO HAVE BOTH EYES!”—almost inhuman noises, strangled guttural things, burst from her throat, and her hands curled into twitching claws. She tore the right from her forehead, leaving a furrow above her brow as she clutched at Besca's arm. She caught the shoulder of her shirt instead, and wrapped her hand into it so tightly that stitches started to snap and pop. “IT NEEDS TO!”

Time ran together like ink into water and lost its cohesion. She didn't know how long she was there pinned against Besca, one hand gripping her shirt like a vise and the other held around the wrist and twisted into warped talons. It could have been hours; it could have been just a minute, or even less.

The she heard footsteps and Dahlia's voice. Recognized the concern and borderline fear in Besca's eyes. The taste of iron spilled into her mouth as she bit the inside of her cheek. And all at once, the crazed energy drained from her like water from a glass. Her body remembered how exhausted it was, and she sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, falling back into the wall. The only thing that kept her upright was her arm, still caught in Besca's shirt.

But even then—even with all the fire out of her head and all the cuts on her arm and forehead starting to hurt—her eye still stared sightless, and the only thing she could do was to keep coughing out “Please, please, the eyes, does it have eyes?"

Amygdala Circuit

When she awoke, she was screaming.

Again.

Her dream played in perfect detail through her head, feeling less like a dream and more like a memory.

It thinks it can take everything—our friends, our home, our eye—well I took its eye.

Thoughts whirled through her head like a blizzard. What did it mean? Took—it took her eye? The Savior. H—her Savior. Took her eye? No. That didn't make any sense. It had popped because she looked outside—

...But that made even less sense, didn't it?

Doesn’t belong here. Rotten place, full of rotten people.

All these thoughts passed through her head in the time it took her eye to fully open. No. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. This wasn't right. She needed to—needed to—NEEDED TO—

The blizzard turned to flame.

Her hand flew up to her eyepatch, slamming against her face. Then heedless of anything, she bolted from her bed in a blind panic, stumbled, bashed into the wall, wobbled, bolted again and this time made it through the door.

No. No. No. It couldn't be—it couldn't—

—well I took its eye.

What did it mean? She'd seen with both eyes yesterday. It still had two, right? Right? It thinks it can take everything—our friends, our home, our eye—

Turning us into them.

It needed both eyes. It NEEDED to still have both eyes.

She skidded on the floor, barely stayed upright, then slammed through the ajar door to Besca's room and collided with her wall too, not far from the bed. Pain bloomed in her shoulder where it had made contact, but it paled against the fire in her head. No. No no no. It HAD to be a lie, it had to IT HAD TO BE IT HAD TO BE—

"THE EYES!" She shrieked, pressing the ball of her hand her empty space where her own used to be. Hard. With her other hand she tore at her right arm, carving shallow scratches there just like she had done in the Savior yesterday. Drops of blood welled up along the torn skin. Her mind was burning. It needed to still have its eyes. It needed to. IT NEEDED TO!

"ITS EYES! TELL ME IT STILL HAS BOTH EYES!"