Chapter Text
Pocket’s never really liked hospitals.
It’s the whole smell they got to ‘em– all sterile and chemical-ly. Like, it’s clean, but too clean, ya know? Artificial. It gives Pocket the creeps something fierce. Give her the smell of turf and the pounding of track beneath her feet any day. Not this fake-ass hospital smell.
“This is it.”
The nurse stops in front of the sliding door, checking the patient card. Out of the corner of her eye, Pocket glances at the room’s number plate. 2003. She’ll have to remember that next time she visits. Which, hopefully, won’t be too often. Hospitals suck. But hell, it’s probably even worse for the people stuck in them overnight.
“You can’t stay too long, I’m afraid.” The nurse flips the chart over and turns to Pocket with a critical look. “The patient is still recovering from her surgery and she has another one scheduled in a week, so rest is important for her right now.”
Another reason why Pocket Jungle can’t stand hospitals. So many rules and regulations in place and all the nurses and eggheads always act like she’s on the verge of breaking one. It makes her skin itch all over. Still, she stuffs back the urge away and just shrugs instead.
“s’ fine by me.”
The distrusting look in the nurse's eyes doesn’t go away but she at least moves outta the way. She gives Pocket one last nod and scurries down the hall to whatever other person she has to give the stink eye to, no doubt. Fun job.
Pocket watches her go until she’s sure that she’s alone. Once the nurse disappears around the corner, Pocket turns back to the sliding door.
Shit. Now that she’s here and alone, her heart is beating a little too fast for comfort. She takes a deep breath and when that doesn’t really help, she vigorously slaps at her cheeks.
“Get it together,” she mutters, letting the sting ground her, maybe. She tugs at her prism pendant, the chain digging into the back of her neck. Why is she so nervous? There’s no reason to even be nervous. She's raced in the goddamn Japan Cup. This shit is nothing.
No use. Her heartbeat is still thumping hard. It feels like she’s in the paddock, waiting for the starting shot to go off. But she's not in the paddock. She's in a hospital that smells like bleach and chemicals and there's nowhere to run.
Screw it, it’s not gonna get better any time soon. Just get it over with. She shoves the sliding door open.
“Yo. Whaddup.”
Beep… Beep… Beep…
There’s no answer to her overly forced greeting. Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor as it pulses in the silence. Pocket lets out the breath she’d been holding in and quietly slides the door closed behind her. She tiptoes into the room, coming over to the bedside.
Tachyon doesn’t even stir at the noise. She just goes on sleeping, her chest rising and falling in time with the beeps.
Beep… Beep…
Pocket drops her school bag down on the floor and pulls out the stool next to the bed. She plops down and looks over the sleeping uma. Even with her eyes closed, Pocket can tell that Tachyon’s got it rough. Her brows are knitted together into furious wrinkles and there's a deep frown cutting into her face. Pocket’s eyes go lower, down to her legs.
To the white plaster cast.
Pocket stares at it for a long second. In the back of her head, she knows why the cast is there, why it’s necessary, but seeing it now… It’s weird. Suddenly, everything is too real and not real enough, all at once. She can’t tell if she’s supposed to be feeling bummed or pissed.
Man. This is why she hates hospitals.
“It’s me.”
No response. Obviously. Tachyon’s out like a light, but if Pocket doesn’t make some noise, then beeping from the heart monitor is going to drive her insane.
“You're a pretty damn hard person to track down, ya know,” Pocket murmurs. She could talk louder, but it feels wrong to be loud right now. Like, if she tries to raise her voice, something might break. Stupid thought, but she can’t help feeling that way. “I had to ask Cafe why ya stopped showin’ up to class one day and she straight up told me ya checked your dumbass into rehab.” Pocket pauses. That’s not how she meant to say it. She tries again, stumbling over her words, “I mean, rehab’s not dumb. That was actually a good idea. But you're the dumbass for waitin’ this long to get it fixed. And even dumber for not telling anyone why ya went and disappeared.”
Pocket reaches up behind her neck. She feels for the clasp of her necklace and unlocks it. She begins tossing it up and down in the palm of her hand, in time with the beeps.
“The doc said that your leg healed all wrong because you never went to get it looked at in the first place. Said it was a miracle ya were even able to walk with all the pain ya were in. Pisses me off that I never noticed it in the first place.”
The prism lands in her head and she gives it a tight squeeze before tossing it up again.
“And ya know what pisses me off even more?”
Up. Down. Up. Down.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
“That ya never thoughta tell me where ya disappeared off to.”
Because that’s what Tachyon does. She goes off on her own, ahead of everyone else and doesn’t think about who’s gonna be hurt by her actions. Or maybe she does think about them. Maybe she knows and just doesn’t care about the consequences. Maybe she thinks it’s alright as long as people chase after her.
Or maybe it’s all just bullshit rolling around in Pocket’s head.
Beep… beep… beep…
Pocket sighs and catches the pendant.
“You’re an asshat. But I’ll get over it.”
Again. No answer. But that’s okay for Pocket. It feels easier this way, to admit to stuff that she would never be brave enough to say out loud in front of Tachyon. Because there’s a crap load Pocket wants to say, wants to tell her, but it's hard to put feelings into words. Even harder to pretend that she's okay.
Beep… beep… beep…
And all of a sudden, the melancholy hits Pocket like a truck. She can’t stand how dead the room feels. It’s stifling. Tachyon shouldn’t be here. She should be in her lab running experiments on whatever insane idea has hold of her this time. She should be in class, doodling equations and nonsense on the window and not paying to a damn thing the teacher is saying. She should be out on the track, running against the wind and laughing up at the sun. She should be there. Anywhere.
Not here.
A sting creeps into Pocket’s eyes and she rubs at them furiously before abruptly standing up.
“Get better, ya hear? Still owe me a race and I… we miss ya.”
Pocket waits for an answer.
All she gets back is the slow beep of the monitor, the labored sound of tired breaths.
The door slides open behind her.
“Sorry.” The nurse from before pokes her head in. There’s an apologetic grimace on her face. “Visiting hours are over.”
Pocket just shakes her head. She wipes at her nose and grabs her schoolbag, slinging it over her shoulder before brushing past the nurse.
“Nah, it’s fine. I was leavin' anyway."
—
Pocket’s not sure why she keeps going back. It’s sure as hell ain't for the riveting conversation Tachyon brings, unless you count soft snoring as conversation and as funny as it is to hear her rattle on like an old radiator, the fun kinda drains out after the first half-hour. And there’s only so much Pocket can do to keep herself busy before she starts getting antsy, cooped up as she is in that small hospital room that still smells too much like bleach. But even with all that stuff that drives Pocket up the wall, she still finds herself going back, one more day, one more time.
Maybe she’s a glutton for punishment. Maybe she’s hoping for a miracle.
Or maybe, she just feels bad for Tachyon. Because despite all the shit she’s put Pocket through, it would kinda suck if she woke up and no one was there to greet her.
Maybe. Who the hell knows?
Today is bristlingly cold and freezing, making the trek to the hospital all the more shitty. By the time Pocket slides through the door to Tachyon’s room, she’s covered in a thin layer of snow and ready to huddle up next to the radiator and defrost for the hour or so she’s allowed to visit.
She takes a second to shake the melting snow out of her hair, giving no shits about the mess she’s making on the freshly mopped floor. “Freezin' my ass off out there. You're so damn lucky ya don’t gotta walk to classes in this weather, for real.”
“...mmfph.”
Pocket freezes.
And Tachyon lifts her head from the hospital bed.
The first thing Pocket notices is that Tachyon's entire face is paler than the sheets she’s lying on. Her expression is all screwed up too, probably from the pain plus the cocktail of drugs they have her hooked up on. She looks terrible, like absolute shit.
But she’s awake.
“You…” Tachyon's voice comes out rough, confused. Her red eyes are barely focused on Pocket. At the sound, Pocket flinches before mentally smacking herself. Dude, get it together. She can’t look like a pussy in front of Tachyon. Pocket clears her throat before making her way over to the bedside.
“Bout damn time you woke up.”
There’s a flicker of recognition in Tachyon’s eyes.
“...Pokke?”
Pocket wraps a hand around the bed railing. She squeezes. Hard.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
Tachyon’s eyes widen a fraction.
“You…” she manages to rasp out, “...different…”
Pocket pauses. Different? Does she mean she looks different? It has been a while since Tachyon last saw her but she can’t have changed that much… right?
“Ha. I guess.” Pocket chuckles, running a self-conscious hand through her hair. Is it her bedhead? Maybe it’s getting longer than what Tachyon is used to. Shit. Pocket drops the hand and tries for a smile. “Guess I'm not the Prince Charmin' ya were hopin' to wake up to, huh?"
Tachyon blinks. Once. Slowly.
Pocket feels the embarrassment crank up a few extra notches. She quickly pulls away, clearing her throat again.
“J-just kiddin'. Ya can laugh now.”
Tachyon doesn't. She just keeps staring at Pocket like she's some sort of alien uma. Well, screw it. If she wants to stare so bad, then go right ahead.
An awkward silence descends on the room and Pocket's tail begins to twitch uneasily. With nothing else to do, Pocket falls back on the routine of her usual visits, just to keep herself busy. Draw back the curtains to let the sunlight in. Done. Dump out the water in the flower vase and replace it with new water from the sink. Check. Straighten out the bed covers and… on second thought, don’t do that one. Grab a glass of water instead, just do it.
“How… long…?”
Pocket pauses at the sink. She glances over her shoulder.
Tachyon stares back at her. The look in her eyes is unreadable.
Well. Shit. How long. There’s no way Pocket can answer that truthfully because the truth is hella depressing. With a sigh, she turns the sink off and flicks the water off her hands.
“A while,” she admits, like a total chicken and maybe it’s her own imagination, but the look in Tachyon’s red eyes seems to dim.
“I… see…”
Not good. The awkward silence is suffocating like all hell. Pocket walks back over to the bedside and offers the glass to Tachyon.
“How ya feelin’?”
The other uma looks blankly at the glass for a good long second before finally taking it. Pocket tries not to notice how her hand trembles as she tries to keep it up.
“Sore,” she offers up and not much else. Damn, those drugs must be pretty strong if she can’t even use her smart science words at a time like this. She takes a tentative sip. “Tired.”
“Yeah, the docs told me you're probably gonna be feelin’ like that for a good while. They had to really knock ya out for the last couple surgeries.”
Tachyon chokes, coughing up water, her entire body shaking. Ah, shit. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the multiple surgeries stuff. That shit’s gotta be depressing to hear.
“Hey, hey, easy there.” Pocket to thump her on the back and that kinda makes Tachyon cough even harder. Oops. Uhhh… what can she do that’s sorta comforting and not so rough on the body? Quickly, Pocket switches over to rubbing soothing circles instead. Fuji likes to do the same thing for Pocket whenever she overdoes her training. Now seems like the perfect time to take a page outta her book.
That seems to work better. Tachyon’s coughing subsides and Pocket lets out a relieved breath. “Ya good? Want me to holler over a nurse?”
“Why?”
Pocket pauses. Her brows knit together.
“Uh. Just to check to make sure you're not dyin'… or somethin'?”
Tachyon coughs again. She wipes at her lips with a trembling hand before looking up at Pocket with those empty, red eyes.
“Why are… you here?”
Oh.
Pocket's seen that expression before. The look in Tachyon's eyes.
Suddenly, she's transported to a different moment. To the last time they talked, right before the Japan Cup. She remembers opening the door to Tachyon’s room, seeing the inside clogged with trash bags and dust. The window had been open and even then, the sun could barely penetrate the gloom. She doesn’t really remember what she said to Tachyon at that time, only that it took all her willpower to say what needed to be said and not bolt.
But what she does remember is the look on Tachyon’s face. That same empty expression in her eyes.
Lost.
Pocket reaches over the bed rail. She finds Tachyon’s hand and latches on.
Tachyon’s head shoots up and Pocket gives her hand a gentle squeeze. She tries not to notice how cold her skin is.
“Ya looked like you could use a friend.”
Tachyon doesn’t reply. She just stares a moment longer at Pocket before slowly turning her head away.
And Pocket doesn’t pull away, not even when warm tears begin to dot the back of her hand.
—
To be totally honest, not much changes with Pocket’s weekly visits to the hospital, even now that Tachyon’s awake and kickin’. Most of the time, she’s too doped up on painkillers to really interact with Pocket. Other times, she kinda disappears into a funk and no amount of badgering from Pocket can get her to react. That would’ve pissed Pocket off something fierce in the past, being ignored like that, but now, she just lets it slide. Pocket’s been in that place before, been in that same boat, and yeah, it sucks, but it’s up to Tachyon to row herself out of it.
The least Pocket can do is be there for her on the days when it’s rough.
Today just so happens to be one of those rough days. Pocket can tell as soon as she slides the door open to Tachyon’s room. The first thing she notices is that the lights are off, so the entire room is depressingly gloomy. The second thing she notices, or hears in this case, is the heavy, labored breathing coming from the hospital bed.
Alarm bells immediately start ringing in Pocket’s head. “Oi. Tachyon?” she calls out, hand moving to the light switch.
“Don’t.”
Her hand stops.
From the bed, Tachyon weakly lifts her head off the pillow. Her entire face is red and there’s a really unhealthy, glazed-over sort of look in her eyes. Shit. She looks sick as hell. In an instant, Pocket is by her side, hand gripping the bed rail so hard that it actually creaks.
“Whoa, whoa, you okay?” She tries not to sound as panicked as she feels. Not like they need two people losin’ their damn heads at the moment. Just chill. She places a hand on Tachyon’s sweatslicked forehead and it practically burns to the touch. That’s not good. “Dude, you’re on fire.” Pocket reaches over for the call button. “Hang on, I’m gettin’ the nurse.”
But Tachyon quickly shakes her head. “No.” When Pocket looks down at her incredulously, she elaborates through shuddering breaths. “They’ll give me… something for the pain. Put… put me to sleep.”
Of all the times to be stubborn. Pocket frowns, her hand still hovering over the button. “Yeah, that’s the point. You’re supposed to be takin’ it easy, remember?”
Tachyon lets out a strangled sort of noise.
“Don’t want… to sleep,” she huffs out and just as Pocket is about to argue back, she adds in a much quieter voice, “not...when you’re… here.”
That gets Pocket to shut up. Her jaw clamps shut. Well… shit. When she puts it like that.... rock, meet hard place.
Tachyon is still staring at her, silently, and if Pocket squints hard enough, maybe pleadingly as well. But that’s crazy. Tachyon doesn’t do pleading. She does unhinged. Pompous. Absolutely full of herself. Not pleading.
Pocket looks away. She scratches at the back of her head. Then at the side of her head. Then her entire head because dammit, she’s not built for shit like this. She lets out an explosive sigh and drops her hand.
“At least tell me somethin’ I can do to help.”
Because if calling the nurse is out of the question, then it's up to Pocket to step up to the plate. And she really, really hopes that Tachyon has something that needs doing. If not, Pocket might just explode.
Immediately, Tachyon’s expression relaxes. A thankful sort of look seems to pass over her face as she turns her feverish gaze over to her nightstand. There's a humongous stack of papers lying there; curious, Pocket picks up the first stack and reads the title out loud. Well, she tries to, but there are some mighty big words on there that make Pocket’s head spin just skimming at them. She glances back at Tachyon. “What’s this?”
“Casual reading.” At Pocket’s astonished blink, a breathless laugh escapes from Tachyon’s lips. “Helps distract… from the pain.”
Casual. Yeah sure. Leave it to Tachyon to find big-ass research dissertations as just a lil’ bit of light reading. Pocket shakes her head with a wry snort. “Aight, I’ll take your word for it. Want me to read it out loud for ya?”
“If it’s… not too much trouble.”
“It’s why I’m here, ain’t it. Can I at least turn on the lights?”
Tachyon has the grace to look at least kinda guilty. “My eyes… are rather sensitive at the moment.”
Damn, what kinda meds do they got her on that mess with her eyes too? Shit’s gotta be rough. Pocket shrugs. “Figures. Well, whatever.”
Pocket grabs the stool and plops herself down before taking out her phone. The phone light should be dim enough that it won’t hurt Tachyon’s eyes. She begins to read haltingly, the scientific jargon stumbling her words more than once.
“Research shows increased reaction to external factors, specifically in receptors responsible for producin’ core… coreddy…”
Tachyon lets out a small chuckle. “Cortisol.”
“Ah, gotcha. Courtazole. Based on these findings, it’s safe to assume that… how do you say this one?”
Pocket goes on reading. It’s slow going and she’s not even sure if Tachyon is really getting anything useful out of her crap awful pronunciation. But she hasn’t told her to stop yet, so Pocket pushes through her own faint embarrassment and focuses on the words before her.
Halfway through one long-ass paper talking about blood circulation and some other sciencey shit, Pocket sees Tachyon start to shiver. It’s not super noticeable at first, but the more Pocket reads, the harder Tachyon starts to shake until it gets to the point that even her teeth are chattering from the force.
Pocket pauses in her reading. “You good?” she asks, even though she can clearly see that Tachyon’s probably the farthest thing from good at the moment. The fever must be really kicking her ass. She’s sweating buckets.
But the other uma just stubbornly nods her head through the tremors. “F-fine. A little… chilly b-but…” is all she manages to get out before descending into even harder trembling.
Yeah, this isn’t just ‘a little chilly.’ Fine then. If she’s not gonna be honest about how she’s feeling, then it’s up to Pocket to take matters into her own hands. She stands up from her stool and comes over to the bedside. “Scootch.
Tachyon pauses mid-shudder. “P…pardon?”
“Ya heard me. Move over.”
Bewildered, Tachyon does as she’s told without putting up a fight. Once there’s enough room, Pocket grabs the bed rail and heaves herself over and into the bed, ignoring the surprised squeak that Tachyon makes. She kicks off her shoes and wiggles under the covers, making sure not to disturb the cast that’s around Tachyon’s left leg. Gently, she draws Tachyon closer to her and lets her own body heat do the rest.
There’s another noise from Tachyon and this time, if Pocket tries really hard, she can even pretend that it sounds embarrassed. She’s a little embarrassed herself, to be honest, but she quickly smooshes that feeling away. It’s for Tachyon’s own good. Besides, her own body runs hot anyway.
She glances at Tachyon out of the side of her eye. “Still cold?”
Slowly, Tachyon’s shoulders relax. “...No.”
“Cool.” Pocket makes herself as comfortable as she can. Squeezed in tighter than a can of sardines but it'll have to do. She stretches her left arm across the pillow and with her right, she picks up the papers and begins to read where she left off. “Where the heck was I? Based on these findings, it’s safe to assume that…”
Slowly, Tachyon’s shudders begin to subside. She nestles in closer as Pocket continues to read, keeping her voice low and quiet.
The light from her phone casts long shadows over the paper, smearing the words on the page. Time blurs. The muffled noises of the hospital from beyond the door are like white noise. Pocket's words begin to slur and she has to pause mid-sentence as a yawn makes its way out of her mouth.
A soft weight falls onto her arm. Pocket stops mid-yawn.
Tachyon’s eyes are closed, her head nestled in the crook of Pocket’s arm. Her breathing is slow and steady and the warmth ghosts along Pocket’s bare skin.
Pocket stares at her sleeping face. Huh. This close-up, Tachyon's actually kinda pretty, but the effect's ruined by the fierce-looking wrinkle cutting deep into her forehead. Even when she’s asleep, she looks like she’s in pain. Like she’s still trying to run away from the hurt.
Maybe she still is. It’s crazy to think that this is the same uma who wiped the floor with her at the Satsuki Sho and all the other races. Back then, Tachyon looked unstoppable, like a freaking force of nature. And now, well… it’s hard to believe this is how she turned out. Sickly. Alone.
But she’s trying. She’s trying so damn hard. Pocket can tell. And right now, yeah, it sucks, and every day feels like a battle, one after the other but that’s okay. That’s expected. You don't heal from something like this overnight but she’s gonna get better. She’s gonna run again. Pocket would know.
When you hit rock bottom, the only way left to go is up.
Pocket turns off her phone light and sets the papers down on the nightstand. As gently as she can, she sets Tachyon’s back onto the pillow, careful not to wake her up. Based on how many painkillers they’re pumping through her system, it’s probably not that necessary to be gentle, but better safe than sorry. Once Tachyon’s safely settled in, Pocket brings the covers up, making sure that they’re both snug in bed. She still looks like a stiff breeze would send her keeling, but it’s better than before at least.
Some of the wrinkles fade from Tachyon’s brow. A strand of hair falls over her sleeping face and Pocket reaches over to tuck it behind her ear. It’s getting pretty long. Tachyon’s been cooped up so long in the hospital that she's starting to look kinda wild. Can’t be comfortable having her bangs constantly shoved in her face. Pocket’s gonna need to bring along some hair ties next time.
Next time. Huh. The thought makes her smile a bit.
Because yeah, there’s gonna be a next time. There’s gonna be something to look forward to.
Things will get better. They’ll be better.
Only way left is up.
Pocket leans over and places her lips on Tachyon’s forehead. She pulls back and closes her own eyes, letting the rhythm of their heartbeats and the soft sounds of the hospital lull her to sleep.
—
“There’s something different about your running.”
The towel wiping her forehead pauses mid-swipe. Pocket looks up from the ground, sweating and still breathing heavily from her lap around the track despite the chilly winter afternoon.
Dantsu Flame smiles back at her. There’s a water bottle in her hand that she’s offering and Pocket gratefully takes it. “Whaddya mean?” she asks as she pops off the cap and takes a swig. It doesn’t feel like her time around the track was any slower, but who knows for sure?
“Hmm…” Flame taps her chin thoughtfully, glancing up at the clear blue sky as she thinks. “It’s hard to explain,” she says. A cold breeze blows past her and she pulls her tracksuit closer around her. “There’s just something different. It’s like you’re more… thoughtful, I suppose?”
Pocket stares back at her and the other uma grins sheepishly. Running thoughtfully, whatever that means. How’s someone even supposed to run thoughtfully? Flame’s been hanging around Manhattan Cafe too much, that's for sure. Both of them always read way more into nothing. Pocket takes another swig of water and swallows before replying, “Huh. Thatta good thing?”
“Oh, definitely.” Flame answers immediately and wow, no hesitation there. She glances back down from the sky, her smile growing when she sees Pocket’s surprise. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing wrong with the way you used to run. It was just a little… mmm, I guess you could call it rough. Very gung-ho, guns-a-blazing kind of running.” She closes an eye and mimes finger guns. “Pew, pew”
That makes even less sense than what she said before… but at least guns-a-blazing sounds pretty badass. Way cooler than running thoughtfully. There’s only one winner in a race, after all. “I mean, that’s still how I run now, ain’t it?”
“A little. But compared to how you used to run, the difference is like night and day.”
Flame plops down on the ground next to Pocket. She props her knees up and rests her arms on them as she continues to speak. “Before, you used to run like you had something to prove. Which… I guess you did,” Flame admits with a chuckle, tail swishing behind her. “You wanted to be the strongest, after all.”
“Damn right and still do,” says Pocket with all her chest and Flame chuckles again.
“But nowadays, it feels like… hmm. It feels like you run because there’s something at the finish line that’s calling out to you, pushing you to be better. To be your best.”
Flame pauses. She glances over to Pocket and a sly smile makes its way onto her face.
“Or someone.”
Without warning, Tachyon’s face flashes in Pocket’s mind before she can stop herself and whoa, whoa, whoa, where did she come from? What the hell? The back of her neck turns uncomfortably warm, even though the temperature is still freezing. Or maybe it’s not as cold as she thought. Yeah, that could be it. Has to be it.
Then the image of Tachyon in her mind starts to laugh and Pocket can practically hear the high-pitched cackles echoing in her head.
Flame looks so goddamn pleased with herself. “Whatcha thinkin’ about Pokke?” she asks, all bright-eyed and innocent and Pocket turns away, shoving imaginary Tachyon out of her head with a growl.
“Nothin’. None of your beeswax.” She leaps up to her feet. “C’mon, enough putzing around. Break time’s over.”
Flame giggles. “Okay, okay. Matter, dropped.” She stands up, brushing the dirt off her legs, and gives her arms a stretch. “I can do one more lap. You good for it?”
Normally, Pocket would never cut a good training session short. But if she wants to catch the evening train to make it to the hospital before visiting hours are over, then she’s going to have to call it early for today. Oh well. She’ll just have to pester Tachyon some more when she’s over there to make up for it. Pocket bends her knees, settling into a running stance and Flame follows suit. “Hell yeah. Let’s do this.”
“That’s the spirit! On the count of three, 'kay? One… two… Oh, and before I forget, tell Tachyon I said hi.”
“Huh?”
“Three!”
—
When Pocket arrives at the hospital later, Tachyon’s bed is empty.
That makes Pocket stop dead in her tracks, her foot freezing halfway through the doorway. She blinks. Turns to her side to check the room number and make sure she didn’t get the wrong room.
2003. Yeah, this is the right one. She didn’t get it wrong. This is Tachyon’s room.
So where is she?
Just as Pocket is about to have a minor freak-out and call the nurse to turn the hospital upside down, inside out, the bathroom door swings open.
Tachyon steps out, adjusting her sleeves. When she notices Pocket standing stock-still in the doorway, she freezes, straight up deer in the headlights, oh crap expression.
“Oh.”
As soon as she sees Tachyon, Pocket feels an unreasonable amount of relief surge in her. She’s here. Safe and sound. She didn’t disappear like she did back then. Well, of course she wouldn’t. Not like she can get anywhere with just one working leg at the moment.
…wait. How did she get to the bathroom by herself then? How did she come out of the bathroom?
Pocket's eyes drift down. Her jaw drops open.
“Ya can walk now?!”
Tachyon’s tail twitches. It wraps around her left thigh, just above the cast.
“Slightly. The doctors insist that I only put weight on my leg when absolutely necessary.” She crosses her arms and the gesture almost comes off as defensive to Pocket. “They still want another week of bed rest before starting physical therapy.”
Holyyyyyy shit. Absolutely awesome news aside about her leg, that’s probably the longest sentence Pocket’s gotten out of the other uma in a long while. Which is good. Means that she’s not doped up on painkillers at the moment.
Which means she’s getting better.
Which means…
“Ya can run again!”
Pocket leaps forward. She smacks Tachyon on the back and the other uma stumbles a bit. Oh, shit, probably don’t do that to a recovering patient. Still though, it doesn’t stop the ecstatic grin that makes its way onto Pocket’s face. “Sorry, sorry. But, dude, that’s freakin' great! Ya can run again!”
“Not anytime soon,” Tachyon reminds her and her lack of enthusiasm makes Pocket’s grin dim a bit. Huh… kinda a lackluster reaction to what Pocket was expecting. Maybe she’s still feeling fuzzy from the meds after all.
“Right, right. But still…” she says breezily before a realization suddenly hits her. Wait. Something's different. Pocket glances back at Tachyon and when she sees it, her eyebrows shoot up.
“Hol’ up. You're wearing your racing duds.”
At Pocket’s exclamation, Tachyon stiffens. “I am,” she says and offers nothing else. She pulls a bit at her labcoat sleeves and… okay, yeah, she’s definitely acting self-conscious now, it’s not all just in Pocket’s head. “I… wanted to see if it still fit.”
She glances at Pocket from beneath her bangs before quickly looking away.
“How… does it look?”
…Now that’s a loaded question, hoo boy. Pocket gives her another lookover.
To be totally honest, she looks… hella awkward. The time spent in the hospital has made her lose a ton of weight and it definitely shows. Her shoulders are all bone and skin and they’re practically swallowed up by the labcoat. The tights she’s wearing are just as bad, hanging loosely off her thighs and even the test tubes in the holsters are looking a little worse for wear.
But this is Tachyon. She’s not asking if she's gonna win any beauty pageants. That's not what she's asking.
Do I still look like me?
Pocket thinks it over. She opens her mouth.
“Your tie’s crooked.”
Tachyon blinks. Before she can say anything, Pocket steps forward, right into her space.
She hears Tachyon’s breath hitch but she ignores it. Instead, she reaches out with her hands and carefully pulls out the tie's knot. She begins to redo the tie, following her own muscle memory.
Straighten. Criss-cross. Loop over. Pull.
Pocket can feel Tachyon’s eyes boring a hole into her head as she works. Even though she’s shrunk a bit, she still has that single inch over Pocket. That single inch used to annoy Pocket so much in the past, but now… well, now, it feels pretty silly to think about. A problem from a whole lifetime ago.
Tachyon shifts slightly and Pocket clicks her tongue to get her to stay still. “Ah, ah. No movin'. Don’t mess me up now.”
“I can do that myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I wanna help.”
Tachyon falls silent. Pocket continues. She takes her time, making sure to do it right, to do it properly.
Loop under. Pull. Straighten.
From the open window, she hears the sounds of the outside world. The breeze whistling through the tree branches, the low murmur of distant conversations, the quiet roar of a plane’s engine as it flies overhead in the sky.
Knot. Tighten. One more and…
“You should hate me.”
Pocket stops.
Tachyon stares back at her. Her shaded red eyes are unreadable.
“Why?” Pocket asks. Tachyon holds her gaze for a second more before looking away.
“You know why,” she says, and there’s no inflection in her voice. Just a flat statement. “I ran away and left you to chase after ghosts.”
A feeling stirs in Pocket’s chest. One that she’s felt before and it’s awful. It squeezes at her heart, fills her veins with ice. It’s the same feeling that whispers into her ear in her dreams, over and over again.
The same feeling she got when Tachyon left.
You’ll never beat her.
Pocket takes a deep breath.
“I never hated ya.”
There’s a pause. Tachyon whips her head back, eyes shooting wide open.
“What?”
“I never hated ya.” Pocket looks down, back at her work. She means what she says and with her words, the ice gradually loosens its grip over her heart. “I mean, it made me feel like shit when ya left, but… doesn’t mean I hated ya for it. Everyone’s got their own reason to run or not.”
“My reasons were entirely selfish.”
“Mm. Yeah, but I didn't hate ya for them. If anythin', when ya left, I felt… I dunno. I felt lost. Like I was in a boat without any way to row forward. Made me doubt myself because I could be the best in the whole goddamn world, but I’d never catch up to how ya ran at the Satsuki Sho.”
Even now, Pocket can feel the doubt, the anxiety creeping in. The thoughts that pop up and tell her that she’ll never be good enough, that she can run all she likes but she’ll always be chasing ghosts.
“To be honest, I was scared as hell to run after that,” Pocket admits quietly. “Still kinda am sometimes.”
She glances up. Tachyon is still staring at her.
“How can you still run after all that's happened?”
How can you still run when you're scared?
And the answer leaves Pocket’s lips before she can even think.
“Cuz I love it. And something ya love is worth facing your fears for.”
Tachyon’s eyes widen. Her breath hitches in her throat.
“That’s my reason for runnin'. That's why I can keep runnin'. Maybe I’ll never be good enough to beat ya at your best. But I’ll never know if I don’t try. And if I lose again, then screw it, I lose. It sucks, but ya know what? I’ll just try again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Until one day, I’ll beat the ghosts. I’ll be the strongest. I’ll be the me that I really wanna be.”
Pocket ties the last knot and gives her work one more lookover. She’s almost done with the tie but… hm. Something’s missin’. Something to complete the whole look. But what would– oh!
She reaches behind her neck and grabs the chain holding her prism pendant. Before Tachyon can react, she raises the necklace over her head and places it around Tachyon’s.
The prism falls right over her tie, shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the open window. Perfect.
Pocket steps back, nodding. Yeah, that really ties the whole look together. She chances a glance up towards Tachyon's face and when she sees the stunned expression there, she has to stifle a laugh. Not often she gets to surprise Tachyon, but damn does it feel good.
“And who knows,” says Pocket, her own grin growing like the sun. “Maybe one day, ya can figure out who ya wanna be too.”
Tachyon doesn’t reply. She just raises her hand, reaching out to touch the pendant. Just before her fingers ghost the surface, she stops.
“How will I know when that day will come?” she asks, small, unsure and boy, Pocket wishes she had the answer. It’d make her own life so much easier, just to know.
“Beats me,” Pocket admits with a shrug before grinning ruefully. She reaches out a finger and taps the pendant. “I’m still figuring that out for myself. But until ya do, ya can hold onto that for good luck.”
Tachyon falls silent. Her eyes are glued to the pendant shimmering on her chest. There’s something soft in the way she looks at it. Vulnerable. Like she’s unsure if she even deserves to hold onto a star.
Suddenly, Pocket feels more self-conscious than she’s ever felt in her entire life. It’s like she’s barging in on a private moment, which is really stupid to feel because it’s just the two of them in the room. Shit, maybe it’s all the stuff she said earlier that’s making her feel all outta whack. It's really mushy stuff, now that she thinks about it. Aughhhh, why did she have to open her fat mouth?
With a cough, she stuffs her hand into her pockets and looks away. “I-I mean, just for now. I’m expectin’ it back when ya beat me. I mean, if ya can beat me.” Why is it so warm? Freakin’ hospitals, this is why she hates them. She scratches at the tips of her ear and that feels warm too, goddamit. She clears her throat roughly. “Not to brag, but I’ve gotten pretty damn fast since the last time we raced. Hell, I might even be faster than when ya–”
“I…”
Pocket shuts up. Tachyon twists the pendant in her hand and the light catches in the surface.
“I think…” She hesitates, then shakes her head. “No, never mind."
Oh, no. She's not leaving it at that. Pocket comes up right into her face and Tachyon takes a startled step back. "What? Whatcha gonna say?"
"Nothing." Is it Pocket's imagination or is Tachyon starting to look a little feverish again? Her cheeks are turning a funny red. "I only meant to say... I may have just now... discovered a reason. To run."
Pocket's eyes widen. Oh shit. "Yeah?"
Tachyon turns away. "It's a silly reason."
“Maybe. But it’s still a reason. C’mon, tell me.”
Tachyon takes a breath. Her hand closes around the pendant.
She tells Pocket.
And Pocket lights up like the sun.
—
…bright and sunny with not a cloud in sight, perfect conditions for our racers today! And lemme tell ya, folks, today's race is one you’re not gonna want to miss! It's history in the making! Even more exciting, returning from her hiatus, we have the legendary…
"Yeah, yeah, we get it already, c'mon."
Standing in the threshold of the track tunnel, Pocket tunes out the announcer's voice. Nothing against Izumoto, but when she gets this excited, she can kinda go on a spiel and the last thing Pocket needs right now is to psych herself out. A lot's riding on today’s race. A hella lot.
But it's no use. There's just too much energy in her right now. Pocket kicks off the wall and pulls her leg back, stretching out the muscles. She’s not nervous, no way. She’s too excited to be nervous. This moment, right before the start of a race, is what she lives for.
The sounds of the crowd coming from the end of the tunnel contrasting with the quiet surrounding her. The smell of the turf. The sun shining down on her, blinding in every which way. It’s a powderkeg, just waiting for the spark to light it all up.
“We're here!"
Finally. At the familiar voice creeping behind her, Pocket grins.
“Took you long enough!” She whips around and pounds an excited fist into her palm. “Was startin’ to wonder if you guys were ever gonna show up!”
Manhattan Cafe just rolls her eyes at that, sighing a little in exasperation but Pocket can tell she’s just putting on a show. Her tail gives her away, swiping left and right with barely contained excitement. "Cool your jets," she mutters, pulling on her gloves. "We're right on time."
Tightass. To Cafe’s right, Dantsu Flame at least gives Pocket a sheepish grin as she ducks her head apologetically. "You weren't waiting too long, were you, Pokke?"
Barely a minute. But before Pocket can answer, a third voice joins in.
“Apologies, apologies! I had a little experiment on the back burner that I wanted to run beforehand that required my attention."
Tachyon comes up between Flame and Cafe, taking all the time in the world to adjust her tie, all smarmy and without a care in the world. She fixes Pocket a robotic smile, the same one she wears whenever she wants to start shit.
“It’s good to see you so eager, Pokke! Though perhaps it would be best to rein it back some. Having another false start like the one back at the Satsuki Sho would be embarrassing, no?”
“That was one damn time! You smug lil'…”
“Now, now,” goes Dantsu, holding her hand up placatingly before Pocket can swipe the smug smirk off Tachyon’s face. “To be fair, I think we were all pretty excited back then. It could’ve happened to any one of us.”
Cafe scoffs softly. “Speak for yourself,” she says and Tachyon cackles. The two share knowing smirks. Punks. They're always on each other's side.
“In any case, we’re here now.” Tachyon flicks out her sleeves and folds her arms behind her back. She steps forward, next to Pocket, and turns around to address the group, throwing that shit-starting smile at all of them this time. “And it goes without saying, but I’ll be the one to take the victory today.”
The responses are immediate. Cafe’s eyes sharpen and she scoffs again. “Not happening,” she says, right as Dantsu cheerfully chimes in, “I don’t think so!”
And Pocket doesn’t say anything. She just grins back and burns the memory, this moment, into her mind.
This is it. The spark.
All that’s left is the track before them.
“Let’s go.”
Pocket turns around. She makes her way down the tunnel, towards the light, towards the cheers. Her blood is pumping fast, faster than her own heartbeat.
“Confident, are we?” Tachyon sidles up next to Pocket, falling in step with her while Flame and Cafe hang further back. She glances amusedly at Pocket from the corner of her eye before holding up a sleeve and bringing something small and bright up to Pocket's face. “But are you sure you can afford to be while I have luck on my side?”
Pocket snorts. She doesn’t even need to glance over to know what Tachyon’s holding up in her hand. “Who said I needed luck?”
She turns her head and grins. In the prism pendant, she sees her smile reflected in the surface, shining back at her like a mini-star.
“Ya can keep it. You’re not gonna be winnin' any time soon.”
Tachyon blinks, caught off guard for a second. Then, she throws her head back with an echoing laugh. “Suit yourself,” she says, hanging the pendant around her neck again and Pocket doesn't miss the fond glance she gives it before looking back to Pocket with a growing smirk. “Though you might find yourself regretting your words, seeing as you have yet to beat me in a race.”
Oh, now those are fighting words. “Today could be the day.” Pocket fires back, before deciding, nah, that’s a half-assed answer. She stops and turns to face Tachyon head-on and pounds her chest with a fist. “Scratch that, today is gonna be the day. Just watch me!”
Tachyon’s smug smile never changes, but her eyes are soft. They stare fondly into Pocket’s and her gaze is as warm as the sun shining down.
“Well then…” She leans in, face hovering a few inches away from Pocket’s, the fondness in her eyes growing. “If not luck, then maybe you’ll accept this instead.”
And when she kisses Pocket's cheek, the warmth explodes like wildfire.
Behind them, Cafe just shakes her head wryly while Flame lets out a muffled squeal. And Pocket, well, her brain just needs a second to reboot because sparks are going off in her head like summer festival fireworks. Just a second.
But that second is all Tachyon needs. She pulls back and with a high-pitched cackle, darts around Pocket and towards the tunnel exit, lab sleeves flapping manically in the wind.
“Good luck catching up!”
Pocket blinks. Her brain finally reboots and…
“Ya cheatin' sonnuva–!”
She takes off after Tachyon, towards her reason for running. Behind her, she can hear Cafe and Flame pick up the pace, chasing their steps. They’re gonna have to play some catch-up. They all will. But that's alright. It’ll just make the win all the sweeter.
From up ahead, she hears Tachyon laugh, high and free, and the wind carries the sound up into the burning sun, towards that brilliant prism of colors in the sky.