Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
There wasn't any actual noise, though. Your mind was making up the sounds to go along with that flashing light, mocking you from its seat in the treadmill interface. You couldn't understand much else on it, the numbers, graphs; you saw your heartbeat. You didn't like to look at it. So, you continued, focusing on the one thing you could; and your mind made up for the silence.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was green. It didn't seem to flash in accordance with anything else on the machine. Maybe it's sole purpose was to grab your attention. That thought made you think about how heavy your footsteps must have been on the conveyor, you became aware of the weight behind them, your calves and your thighs compiling. You glanced down at your feet, but you didn't move your head down. You learnt quickly that Moira didn't like your mind wandering. Beep. Beep.
Your feet were dragging now. The treadmill didn't have a timer, and the sterile grey walls of the room didn't have the time, but you knew it had been at least an hour. An hour of running, no, sprinting. You weren't anymore, though, and it only took a few seconds of your feet dragging and your throat heaving for Moira to switch off the treadmill. It did slow down, but at the speed at which you were moving, it didn't matter much; your forearms braced the machine and your body caught up with the space around you.
Beep.
The final light flashes, the air fills with a fog, and you wake up in your room- arms crossed over each other like a mummified corpse. The gas lowers your heart rate, slows your breathing, cools down your body. It puts you to sleep, and leaves you feeling as if you didn't run a cross country. Yet you continue to lay there, and close your eyes again, for the artificial sleep never left you feeling refreshed. Not really.

Cross country. You thought. Marathon. One of these days you would run for a day straight, and that was what made it worth it. The fact that you were better than you were a year ago. No signs of the cancer left, you hadn't coughed since you came here, and you could run. And it was all thanks to Moira, who, despite her faults - and there were many- went out of her way to treat you and continue treating you. Sure, you feel stronger than you've ever felt, almost abnormally stronger, and she gave no estimate on your release, but you owed her a bit more of your time. Right? Right?

The lab lights buzzed on with a flicker, and the sliding doors opened smoothly. You could see everything from your glass room. All of her office, her medical examination where she treated other Talon members. You didn't know much about Talon. It was a blur, unimportant. Maybe they were in the news, once? Your memory failed you- you didn't question it.
She stepped into her office, back turned to you as she hovered over her chair- not sitting down quite yet, just looking at something on her computer. You'd almost not heard him enter behind her.

Black boots, black pants, black coat. It was all black.
Reaper.

His misty form settled into the examination chair, and you could tell it was bad. Whatever it was, the mist and tendrils and cloud that surrounded him, it rarely got that visible. You sat in your bed, watching. Moira didn't mind. He did. He seemed in pain. You pitied him, and in turn, wondered if he instead pitied you- you were the one confined to the lab, after all.

She slipped on her medical coat, adopting the expression you'd seen her wear when treating and examining you. She had this incredible look of wonder in her eye, that would be endearing, if it weren't so unnerving. She pressed her nails into his shoulder and pushed him back onto the chair. He didn't go without his mask, ever - but as it turned to gaze at you, your breath hitched. You sat on your sterile bed in your sterile room and watched him through the floor to ceiling glass that separated your quarters from the lab.

He turned from you to remove his gloves, and as Moira swivelled his chair to face away from you, he removed his mask gingerly. You couldn’t make out much from your room, but what you could see was a mop of curly dark hair and neat, trimmed sides, atop a tanned neck- he was not a pale man. So why where his veins such a violent purple?

What followed was a long, bizarre medical procedure you couldn’t begin to deconstruct. Curiosity eventually gave way to exhaustion, once again, and as you laid down on your bed you dozed off staring sideways at Dr O’Deorain and the Reaper.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
The light before your eyes flashed consistently.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Your heavy footsteps pounded on the treadmill band, sending shockwaves up your legs, stomach, chest. You felt beads of sweat accumulate on your upper lip and trickle down your sternum, collecting in the waistband of your gym shorts. You had a focus to you today, your strides were confident, measured- you were staring straight ahead, afraid you'd meet Moira's gaze which you could feel burning a hole in your temple. Afraid, that if your eyes met, Dr O'Deorain would read your mind and see the source of your determination. You see, you had woken up with one goal this morning- one vague, blurry goal, to understand all you could about Moira's other labrat; Reaper.

Chest heaving and eyelashes saturated with sweat, you felt the band beneath you begin to slow and a towel smack you on the shoulder, snapping you out of thoughts of the tall, dark stranger. You patted your forehead and decolletage dry, throwing the towel over your shoulder as you stepped off the treadmill and met Moira halfway.

“Phase 2.” She remarked as she passed you to look at the scores on the treadmill. You felt her periphery gaze on you as you passed each other, but you didn't know what to do with yourself in the centre of the room- this was the first time she hadn't stopped the machine, the first time the gas hadn't filled up the room and put you to sleep. Had you passed? Was Phase 2 a good thing? You could only stand there, awaiting an explanation as your chest heaved, glistening with sweat. You heard a distant beep and click as someone else entered the lab. Moira didn't react as she finished recording your results on her tablet. You didn't, either, making your way to the fridge in the lab stocked with various vials, medicines, and what you were after- water, which you practically inhaled. You heard a grunt as a man sat in the examination chair; The plastic bottle creaked in your tightened grip as you realised it was Reaper in the room with you now.

“Pardon.” You felt Moira's presence behind you. Stepping away from the fridge as she reached past you to retrieve a glass vial filled with a viscous purple fluid. The colour flashed passed you and you kicked yourself for not reading the label. As you turned to watch her walk towards Reaper your breath hitched, not expecting him to be staring at you. Was he though? With that mask on it was difficult to tell his gaze was on you, or Moira. His stare was up for debate, but yours definitely wasn't as your curious eyes ate up the platter of information before you- his skin was tan, but it had a sickly parlour to it, which made his veins stand out as if they were tattooed on. He was lean, leaner than you were expecting- from what you could see of his arms, which were muscular, and his stature which was a looming, imposing one- he had a bizarre frailty to him.

Maybe it was his posture, the slumped, exhausted way he sat in the chair. The veins, the skin, the fact that his mid-section seemed caved in to a malnourished degree. Reapers body was pure muscle fighting against something sinister, sapping away his very life force. Was he sick? Was Moira treating him? The purple vials had to be a cure, you thought.

He mumbled something.

“Doctor.” He repeated, louder. She turned to look at him, and now he was staring at you.

“I wouldn't concern myself. She's quite docile, unlike you.” Her corner lip curled with that finishing bite to her sentence.
He huffed.

“I don't believe Talon would ever produce something docile.”
His chest heaved with the effort it took to speak a sentence.

You scrunched your face in subtle scrutiny at his words, walking away from the two to your chambers. Moira called out to you.

“It's only three in the afternoon, Y/N.”

You paused and stared- more tests? You thought.

She smiled softly,
“Phase 2 comes with privileges. You're free to roam common areas. Return by ten.” Your eyes widened in surprise as a confused smile crept upon your face, despite her stern tone.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head slightly to the doctor, and then to Reaper, who didn't respond. You went to shower.

Chapter Text

You were staring at yourself in the labs bathroom mirror, analysing your appearance. You had never left the lab, Moira had found you in an abandoned lab and brought you to the Talon facility. You hardly remembered your life before the other place. Kidnapped- You knew that much. Stolen for medical research by an organisation even more shrouded in secrets than Talon, and that was saying something. Your thoughts drifted to the day Talon found you.

Dripping water had been the background noise to your existence for a month, or two, you weren't sure then- it was after your “rescue” by Talon that Moira told you how long you'd been in the abandoned lab, and you didn't believe her at first. 8 months she said, tilting her head at you. How your mind compressed the time to less than half of that, you didn't know- perhaps it was a coping mechanism, Moira offered. Probably, you shrugged.

There was a loud explosion, rumbling through the facility as your keeper, ‘warden’, whatever, evacuated his work space, looking at you for a moment before running off. You remember the panic you felt in that moment as the space around you came crashing down with subsequent explosions, eventually bringing rubble down all around the perimeter of the space. By some luck, the centre of the room buckled and braced under the tonnes of collapsing stone above it and yet, remained standing. You breathed shuddering breaths, unmoving from your bed as if even taking too deep a breath would disturb the fragile miracle around you. Not that you could move much if you wanted to, as your warden hadn’t taken the time to unbuckle your constraints to the examination bed before he evacuated. Your stillness didn’t last long as the cloud of dust entered your already fragile lungs causing a coughing fit violent enough to produce blood.

The smell of dust and blood would permeate in your nose for the remainder of your time there, no matter how much the dust settled, no matter how long ago the blood had dried.

What the doctor did to you before the explosion guaranteed your survival during it- though you understood little of what his goal with you was. No, that’s not quite right- you knew he wanted to make you stronger, capable of surviving multitudes more than the most impressive human, what you didn’t understand was the why. You, of all people, a completely random civilian plucked from the crowd, completely unremarkable (well, apart from the cancer corrupting your lungs). You could only assume if this was a process to make some kind of super soldier- he’d see it’s full potential on the most pathetic specimen, and so far- he'd been succeeding, even if success was bringing you up to speed with a healthy adult woman by winding back the clock on your disease.

And so for 8 months your body miraculously did not wither away in the depths. Though you thirsted for water- the water you could hear dripping in the distance- and though you hungered for sustenance, your body survived. Somehow, your mind as well- which Dr O’Deorain found just as fascinating.

“Inmates in solitary confinement have been shown to suffer anxiety, depression, anger…” The doctor tilted her head as you stared on vacantly.
“... cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, paranoia…psychosis.” She squinted.
“The results from your tests have yielded results…not aligning with the above. Somehow, your mind has avoided these pitfalls.” She paused.
“Was there ever a point in time where you did experience these symptoms?”

Your vacant stare drifted over her shoulder, into the distance. Truth be told, you had. It was as if a portion of your average, normal…human mind had began to deteriorate- and as soon as the newer, altered you had detected this shift, that corrupted part of you was locked far, far away.

Something had happened to your mind in that pit. Something your new body had made sure to protect you from. You did not tell O’Deorain about your dreams.

You used the word dreams as a coping mechanism, a part of you still hadn't accepted that you did, in fact, suffer hallucinations in the pit. Trying to remember them was like trying to invent a new colour in your mind- whenever you felt almost close to an answer- it drifted away. You remembered lighthouses, warm sun, crashing waves. Tall grass swaying in the sea breeze, linen on clotheslines whipping violently in the wind. Why you thought of such a scenario escaped you.

Eight months to yourself, half of which you spent in hallucinations, the other half lucidity- two sides of you, awake and asleep, sane and…you didn't like the other word. That corrupted portion of your old psyche was inaccessible to you for the foreseeable future, and you hoped for the distant future as well. You'd do whatever it took to forget the pit, and whatever alien functions injected into your body to make you stronger, had made you mentally stronger as well. And yet, sometimes you looked into your reflection in the mirror trying to find remnants of the person you were.

When your mind would drift into psychosis and hallucinations, it was the water dripping that would snap you back into reality; rubble shifting, a breeze upon your skin from an unseen crack in debris, little shifts in the space whatever they were. Though despite these little things being able to break through your mental state, when Talon broke through the rubble with controlled explosions, you figured it another nightmare- leftover from how you came to your predicament. You lolled your head to the side, watching vacantly as a figure appeared from the smoke and dust. The dark expanse of the facility coupled with burning white flashlights backlit an imposing figure as dark as the abyss behind him. He spoke coarsely into a radio on his shoulder through a white mask depicting a skull, and he stopped in place as the radio issued him commands. His taskforce moved gracefully around him, filling the room and focusing their lights on you after sweeping what remained of the lab.

“Copy.”

He looked at you and turned off his radio.

You were catatonic as he undid your restraints and lifted you carefully into his arms, exerting very little effort if any at all. Even the act of being lifted was too much for your fragile state, as you'd drifted away in his arms soon after.

The next thing you remember was Dr O'Deorains lab and her inquisitive look, which you'd faced the last seven months. The next time you'd see your saviour would be a month after your rescue.

Chapter Text

The bathroom mirror unfogged quickly thanks to the medical grade exhaust fan above, and you took a moment to analyse the nude form before you. In truth you hadn't paid mind to your body in the last seven months, for the past fifteen months you'd felt disconnected from it in a mild dissociative state that made you a simple pilot to your form.
Again, you didn't remember much from your old life, including your body- and yet you knew what stood before you was not made in God's image. You were malnourished, little more than skin and bones- and though O'Deorain kept you in impeccable shape, you couldn't help but notice you were made in her image.

Your low fat percentage highlighted what had been done to you, with colourful oil spill veins of purple and teal mapping your skin like lightning. Your skin was sallow, eye sockets deep, and as you moved and clenched your jaw you could see every muscular mechanism work beneath your skin like hidden machinery under translucent casing. You felt goosebumps as a pang of an old emotion came to surface; self-consciousness. O'Deorain had finally granted you freedom (a small one but freedom nonetheless) and you couldn't help but feel like Frankenstein's Monster escaping confinement. Still, you got dressed in the ‘uniform’ the doctor had supplied you a small closet of; A grey shirt, grey sweatpants, grey socks with strange rubber soles that gripped the floor. You attempted to conceal your nerves as you left the lab, but Reapers stare didn't help. The door opened automatically, and you were sure O'Deorain had the remote in her pocket.

You were met with another room, a coat-room which followed similar design to the lab behind you. A floor-length mirror spanned the wall to your left, with two potted elephant ear plants in front. To your right was a single narrow bench, aside an almost empty coat rack apart from a simple grey woollen coat, which must've been the doctors. You approached the second set of doors, waving your hand over what you assumed, correctly, was a hand-motion sensor. The light was almost blinding.

As you lowered your hand that shot up to shield your eyes from the burning sun, your vision adjusted to the sight before you; a decently sized, well manicured courtyard with well-kept grass and occasional pockets of ferns and thin trees providing shade over stone benches. Even the garden was clinical. Still, you closed your eyes to take in the warmth of sun on your skin, and the fresh air, scented of cut grass and…something else that hung subtly in the wind. Something like burning, but chemically, not entirely off-putting- you opened your eyes as your mind clocked the scent; explosives.

The courtyard was a perfect square enclosed by an O-shaped building, a block that wasn't tall at all, maybe two stories at most, letting a lot of sunlight in. The block was largely featureless, a concrete and steel structure with floor to ceiling windows that you couldn't see into; they were made to reflect the harsh sun, or made to hide their interiors. Probably both. There were at least 6 other doors that you could see leading into different sections of the block. You made a mental note to remember which you came from, as the lab entrance was almost indistinguishable from every other door. Overwhelmed by choice, you chose to sit on the bench beneath the tree in the courtyard - a tall, thin birch tree with bright orange leaves. It's not Autumn, you scrunched your brow- it was a warm 30° with a hot breeze, why are the leaves turning?

You sat there with your head lolled upwards at the tree for a while, occasionally focusing your eyes on the leaves or the sky behind them. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and you couldn’t see the sun- which was odd, surely it’d be high in the sky right now, but it could also just be hidden by the building encasing the courtyard. There wasn’t a sound apart from occasional chirps from birds you couldn’t see, they weren’t in any of the trees so you assumed they were perched on the roofs around you. You looked up and around at the gutter encasing the view, when something caught your attention in the sky; a blur, you squinted, trying to focus your eyes to make sense of the object. You stood up to get a better view, locking your eyesight on the blur, and it was when you moved that you noticed it wasn’t moving right- it wasn’t something far above in the sky, like a plane or a distant star or planet. It was floating in mid air, and as you stood where you thought you’d be just beneath it, your heart sank. It wasn’t something in the sky. It was something on the glass. Your breathing slowed as you stared and listened, listened to the invisible birds chirping the same song over and over again as if…as if they were on a loop and you’d just recognised where the track ended and picked up again. Your hands began to sweat and something like nausea washed over you in waves and just as you thought you’d faint a lithe hand gently rested on your shoulder.

“Everything alright?” The doctor softly asked. You took a deep, sharp inhale and swallowed saliva down your dry throat.
“Why don’t you come back to the bench.” She moved her hand down to your back and took a step closer, clearly worried you’d not make it to the bench. Back to the bench, you noted- she’d been watching you this entire time. You took another sharp inhale and nodded, walking slowly over and sitting down with your hands in your lap. The doctor sat next to you, crossing one leg over the other as she looked about, mimicking the same directions you had been looking.
“What gave it away?” She asked coyly, nudging you softly with her shoulder. You turned to face her, she had a playful smile on her features. Maybe it would’ve been a sweet one, but under the circumstances of your latest realization, it strayed a little more to the unnerving. You attempted to swallow down the feeling of unease, and answer her question. What did give it away?
“There’s a stain on the glass.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed past it. “Over there.” You pointed with a nod. “That and the tree.” The doctor's smile turned lopsided, and that one was a sweet smile.
“I have a fondness for Autumn.” She admitted, and the innocence of it was infectious as you couldn’t help but smile in return. She noticed, seemingly satisfied at the shift in mood.
“Does it upset you that I was watching?” She probed- you shook your head. “I have a duty of care for you, can’t have you fainting around the facility.” She waved her hand lazily over the courtyard. The two of you sat in silence for a moment as she rested back on the bench, swapping over folded legs. You sat back, as well, thinking on the relationship you had with the doctor.

It was stunted at first, of course. From one lab to another, one doctor to another, you felt like a science project being handed over to a different department. That being said, though you wouldn't describe Moira as particularly warm, she did treat you like a human being which is more than your previous captor granted. You even resented the word captor to describe Moira, she had saved you, and while you knew Talon was not an above-board organisation (because you weren't daft) you had no reason to have any issue with that. Moira had given you purpose with her tests, her pushing of your limits and she never pushed too hard; a gentle but firm hand guiding you to achieve things you never thought possible. Of course, she had ulterior motives and you knew you were very much still someone's project, but what did you have to lose? More importantly, what could you gain out of this situation?

You enjoyed the little tidbits of her personality that she'd drip-fed to you over time, increasing the past month in particular. She was always polite if not down-right proper which admittedly had rubbed you the wrong way in the beginning, as you'd attributed it to a cold and clinical nature which again, wasn't untrue but you'd eventually come to realise it was as simple as the nature of her upbringing. Moira was just pleasant in that regard, no day ever went by without a goodmorning, goodnight, a ‘pardon’ when she ever touched you for examination purposes. You felt cared for, she had always respected your consent, which was regrettably not the case beforehand. As wary as you were of the feeling that had been bubbling inside you recently, you could only stand by and watch it grow- you liked Moira.

“Would you like a tour?” Moira broke the silence, looking at the smart watch on her wrist. It had an old leather strap, but was otherwise as sleek as everything else around you. It was almost five now, you wondered if you'd see the dining hall and the thought of being exposed to so many faces at once twisted your insides. “I'd thought you'd be itching to leave the lab, but it's one interior for another. I can see why you enjoy this little oasis.” She reasoned with herself, not usually one to feel the need to fill the silence but she seemed at ease today, not that she normally wasn't but this was different, somehow. The doctor was always at ease, but today she was relaxed. More importantly, she was relaxed with you by her side. You bit your lip and stood up slowly, wary of the fronting feeling to return but it didn't. Moira seemed satisfied, rising from the bench and slipping her hands in her grey coat, the one you'd spotted earlier. “Cafeteria first, before it fills out.” She began towards the door completely opposite the lab entrance across the courtyard.

With a swipe of her hand the two of you entered a horizontal corridor that stretched to your left and right, it must've wrapped around the interior of the block- except for the lab, which you supposed could only be accessed from the courtyard. Ahead of you was a pair of large, glass double doors that slid open when the two of you approached, leading to a large hangar-like room with concrete flooring and long steel dining tables spread evenly before a buffet being manned by about four staff dressed in chef whites.

“Hungry?” The doctor asked as the two of you walked towards an unmanned drink station surrounded by smaller, cafe-style seating. The doctor poured herself a cup of black tea out of the myriad of options; coffee, water, juices, sodas, all available from different dispensers ready to be poured into stainless steel cups. There was a fridge, fully stocked with protein shakes, smoothies…anything you could ever want, you were overwhelmed by choice. The lab was state of the art, you could gather Talon was a profitable organisation, but for whatever reason it was the cafeteria that really impressed you. What can you say, you had a rough upbringing. Moira stirred a single sweetener satchet into her tea while you settled on half a cup of apple juice. God was it the best thing you've ever tasted, it was the cloudy kind, none of that syrup shit. You practically chugged it leaving a drop to escape down your chin which you wiped with the back of your hand.

“Good?” Moira asked, amused.
“Fucking hell, yeah. Yes.” You said breathlessly, making Moira laugh and it dawned on you that's the first you've ever heard it, not the half-sigh chuckles and snorts you'd managed to elicit from her before. You laughed in turn, grabbing a glass of water to sip on as she led you to the buffet.

There were trays with an array of recessions in them to plate whatever was on offer, not unlike a prison tray, which the two of you grabbed and made your way down the line with. The cooks stood silently at attention with their hands behind their backs as the doctor made herself a platter of today's offerings; she’d chosen a portion of fillet mignon (opting for the red wine reduction over the mushroom gravy) accompanied with grilled asparagus and a salad of which you could identify sweet potato and rocket. Varied, but small portions, which didn't surprise you as the doctor had a very slender figure for such a tall woman. You, however, were apprehensive at the thought of putting your stomach through the shock of a freshly cooked meal over what the doctor had been serving you for the past eight months. You placed a hand over your stomach in hunger.

“You can eat,” She assured, waiting patiently beside you with her tray of food. “The meal substitutions I've had you on are quite forgiving to your body in case of drastic dietary changes. If you're hungry…eat. If you feel unwell, I'm here.” She assured with a gentle hand on your shoulder before leaving to sit at the nearest table to the buffet. You looked around at the options, still nervous but less so. You decided to play it safe with a bowl of pumpkin soup, and a piece or rye. You sat next to the doctor.

“It's something, you have here.” You looked around. “All of this, even your lab. You must do important work.” You probed and…complimented? You weren't sure what you were looking for, but it was something other than friendship. Were you friends? The doctor nodded, cutting the meat before her not unlike you've seen her work a scalpel. You wondered if all meat was the same to her. Were you? What a thought. Moira washed down her bite with a sip of tea.

“It is, absolutely one of if not the most advanced labs I've ever had the pleasure of running. Not to mention the auxillary facilities.” She picked up another juicy piece of steak with her fork and examined it as she spoke as if to prove her point before biting it.

“Where did you work previously?” You took the bait willingly, getting started on the soup as the question hung in the air. It was creamy and peppery with light garnishes of parsley that you submerged into the orange abyss as you stirred. You blew softly before tasting definitely the best soup you'd ever had, period.

“Iraq.” She simply replied with a wry smile and you knew this meant she wasn't elaborating; you respected her secrets, and in turn she respected yours. “Yourself?” She asked as she cut an asparagus stalk in half and slid it into her mouth. You tasted a hint of butter in the soup, savouring it before swallowing.

“I was a cook.” You said without pride. “I was studying to be a chef. Didn't get far.” You shrugged with a smile, which she met in kind.

“Stressful career for one riddled with lung cancer.” She reasoned.

“I was good.” You tore of a piece of rye to half submerged and soak in the soup, letting it drip a few times before dropping it in your mouth. A few crumbs escaped into the liquid, floating amongst particles of parsley. “With the stress, I mean. Some of us are made for hospitality.” Moira seemed to deliberate on those words. She slid another cut of asparagus between her lips, chewing thoughtfully.

“What do you believe you're made for now?” Her face was blank, expressionless. You took a deep breath as you thought on your answer carefully. Was this a test?

“Something greater.” You answered with quiet determination, and Moira smiled into her tea. Right answer, you thought to yourself with a subtle sigh of relief. The two of you continued to enjoy each other's company, and before long the cafeteria began to fill up with an array of personnel in different yet cohesive uniforms.

You studied them as they lined up for food and drink. There were some in all black, much like Reaper and you were keenly aware of the fact you may have been looking for him amongst them, to no avail (and your disappointment). They seemed heavily armoured, soldier-esque. Security, military, you assumed. There were those in lab coats much like Moira, though you recognised none of them. You wondered if there were more labs on the compound - there had to be with the amount of doctors in the cafeteria. Doctors, scientists, whatever they were. What little remained of the crowd was made up of suits, the types you'd see in any given office. Neat, corporate clothing with accessories of lanyards and passkeys. Everyone, regardless of station, seemed to have some manner of documentation clearly displayed on their person. In the case of some of the soldiers, as well as Reaper, they had their names embroidered on their uniform. You did notice however that of the military with their names embroidered, they had regular run of the mill names- Spates, McRory, Wright…and then there was Reaper. You refused to believe that was his legal, birth name. Moira broke through your concentration.

“Everything alright?” She had ‘finished’ her meal (about a third remained on the plate she'd pushed to the side) and was no just finishing her tea. She squinted at you with slight concern. You nodded apologetically

“Yes. Sorry. Just people watching.” You looked around.

“Not too overwhelming, I hope.” A notification popped up on her smartwatch which she glanced at briefly before swiping away.

“No, I'm alright.” You took one final, cold spoonful of soup before pushing about half to the side along with Moira's tray. “Need to leave?” You nodded at her watch. She raised a brow.

“If you're finished.” She looked at your unfinished tray beside her own with a vaguely amused expression on her face. As the two of you left, you felt eyes on the both of you, and just as the both of you stepped through the exit it was as if everyone in the room let out a breath they'd been holding; you hadn't noticed that you and the doctor had been the only ones in conversation, and only now that'd you'd left had everyone felt comfortable enough to start their own. Had it been yours, or the doctors presence causing unease?

The two of you crossed the courtyard and you took a moment to glance up at the night sky, navy blue and littered with stars. The compound had to be in the middle of nowhere to access such a view. You'd never seen so many stars in your life, and Moira must've clued in as she slowed her stride and halfway through the courtyard the two of you were pretty much strolling. She had her hands in her pant pockets, shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows as her posture propped her coat slightly up and out of the way. You thought she looked incredibly chic, how well she fit into the picture of Talon and it's advanced compound, and so an unexpected pang of self-consciousness hit you out of the blue. You ran a hand through your hair and rolled your split ends between your fingertips.

“Time for a trim?” She asked and you weren't sure if she was joking. She did look incredibly well maintained, and you'd not thought about it until now but there had to be some manner of grooming services on site for that to be the case.

“Are you as good with scissors as you are with a scalpel?” You teased, and could feel her smile even in the dimness.

“I'll show you the barber tomorrow, after we're done in the morning.” She typed something into her watch and you managed to catch a flash of a calendar of sorts; her meticulous nature never ceased to amaze.

Chapter Text

Phase 2 and it's implications were the first thoughts you awoke with, before being overshadowed by the realisation that this was the first time you've awoken without being put to sleep by the fog the night before. You felt equal parts groggy and with this clarity about you, rubbing your eyes with nostalgia as fragmented memories flooded back of your old life before this fever dream; where you'd wake up in your shitty apartment and brew an admittedly shit cup of instant, freeze dried coffee for yourself and…a man you hardly remembered.

You sat up in your bed and looked at the empty space beside you trying to picture him there. A lover, perhaps? He was tall and thin with a youthful face, permanently sleepy eyes and mousy, floppy hair. You tried to remember the nature of your relationship but one specific memory seemed unavoidable. Your small room was illuminated by street lamp light creeping in from the partially shut venetian blinds, awakening you to a heavy tightness in your chest and phlegm in your throat that you didn't wish to wake him with by coughing. You stumbled your way to the bathroom and couldn't shut the door before you began to choke on stifled coughs and collapsed onto the toilet bowl violently drowning on what you thought was phlegm but could now see as blood. Through struggling breaths you white knuckled the porcelain as your body involuntarily heaved and convulsed as it transitioned from coughing to vomiting, eventually passing out from exhaustion and that's how he'd found you; curled up around the toilet bowl covered in blood and phlegm and vomit that was a combination of the two along with bile. Through your haze you remember his slender fingers combing comfortingly through your hair and a wet towel cleaning you up before he eventually fell asleep curled up next to you, cradling you.

That's how you'd left him, on the bathroom floor, with a goodbye note on the counter. You didn't remember what you'd written, but you knew it had been sweet and much less than he deserved; you were always bad at saying goodbyes.

It was there at the end of the line, wandering the dark empty streets where you'd resorted to dialling the number a stranger outside your chemo clinic had given you for an experimental cancer treatment. It wasn't long after the phonecall ended that you were picked up by a black truck and the rest was history that your mind was trying it's hardest to protect you from, and you were grateful for that much.

Your mind wasn't stuck so much on your former lover, funnily enough, but the empty space on the bed he once occupied. For the first time since you'd been here, and maybe it was due to the fog clearing and the sudden mental clarity, you'd realised how lonely you felt. What a strange sensation. You snapped yourself out of it, the feeling bringing with it a pang of embarrassment, and met Moira for the beginning of Phase 2.

“Morning.” She was standing over her desk with one hand moving the mouse and the other gripping a coffee mug. “I made you a cup.” She motioned to a bench near the room with the treadmill, which looked ready to go. Great, you thought you'd finished this part of the treatment. Apparently not. You had a small sip of the coffee and a wave crashed over you comparing it to your instant coffee from a lifetime ago; this was however the best coffee you'd ever had, probably due to it being the first you'd had in over a year.

“It's decaf.” She walked over to you and motioned to the treadmill, you took the hint and made your way over, hooking yourself up with sensors taped to certain points on your body- an ECG machine, though far more civilised than any you'd ever seen. You hadn't noticed the difference, and though a part of you was disappointed it was probably for the best not to caffeinate the test subject. The machine started and before long you were soaring. Muscles, tendons, and most importantly lungs working in tandem to keep you a perpetual motion machine. Breathing in and out through your nose, in perfectly timed cycles, brows not even furrowed and not a wrinkle of stress or effort on your features as even your blinks were measured in time with the sheet music of your physical exertion. The very sound of your footsteps landing on the treadmill band was a drum keeping you in rhythm, one that was abruptly stopped by the doctor and though this run was as exhilarating as the first time you'd passed the test, you shocked yourself most when you managed to stop at a moment's notice, from sprinting to still at the flip of a switch. It wasn't just your body that had improved, but your senses too. You felt alert, ready for anything, at attention even, and though your skin glistened with sweat and your chest was visibly rising and falling you didn’t struggle at all to breathe- the pain was completely gone, even that burn that you felt before the cancer had even come into play was absent. Moira tossed a gym towel your way and you caught it without looking, dabbing your face and neck as you made your way over to her desk. She had two reports pulled up before her.

“This was yesterday morning,” she tapped the left monitor gently with a long, manicured nail, “...and this is today.” She tapped the screen to the right. Even though yesterday was impressive, somehow you'd improved even upon that performance. You were running like a career Olympian.

“Holy shit.” Was all you could muster at the green numbers before you, making Moira smile crookedly.

“Have a shower, we're getting you presentable.” She patted you on the shoulder before sitting down at her desk. You obliged.

As your naked form stepped out of the shower you took a deep breath of the steam and felt as it filled your lungs, an action that would've had you gasping for dry air just a year ago. Strange questions floated around in your mind of what new capabilities you had, how much of the air had to be breathable? How long could you hold your breath? Could you smoke? Memories came back to you of a version of yourself that would share a cigarette outside a club with strangers on fun, late nights. Memories of your former lover passing you a joint as you laid together naked on the bed, also came back to you. Would he recognise you now, you wondered, and as you stepped into the slowly unfogging bathroom mirror you hallucinated something strange; for a brief second before your reflection became fully clear, you could've sworn your eyes were pure black. Yet there you were, staring at yourself, your reflection unchanged from yesterday.

Moira led you across the courtyard once more and you noticed the temperature and view above was exactly the same as the day before, something you weren't complaining about as the warm air met your still-moist body. The two of you walked as if you were heading to the cafeteria though she'd taken a left at the interior corridor of the cafeterias building, and along this wide open hallway you got a glimpse of some of the facilities Talon had to offer. You passed a gym, very well equipped with sleek machinery being used by a handful of personnel. The smell of chlorine hit you meters before reaching the glass doors leading to what looked like an Olympic sized swimming pool, which was only occupied by a lone swimmer going at a very decent speed. Your eyes were distracted by your hearts yearning to return to the water, it had been so long since you've swam. Hell, since you've been submerged at all; all you've known for the past year or so has been showers.

“Y/N?” Moira called, grabbing your attention. She led you into, well, decidedly not a barbershop or hairdressing salon. You didn't know what you were expecting. A few personnel, military and otherwise, were sat around chatting in a room that looked more like a therapists office spare for the barbers chair and accompanying accessories. It was decorated in the same sleek tones as the rest of Talon, colours of beige and whites and greys with the occasional tastefully placed fern. The three people immediately stood at attention as the doctor entered the room, two excusing themselves leaving who you assumed was going to be taking care of you today.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Moira stood tall with her hands in her pockets, “This is Y/N. Y/N, Jack.” she waved you forward towards the pale, ginger man with impeccably groomed hair including his facial hair. He must've been in his thirties, and stood at about Moira's chin. You gave him a firm handshake which he returned with a warm smile.

“Pleasure, miss.” The Irish twang took you by surprise, he seemed more at ease with Moira than anyone else, maybe it was some strange countryman solidarity, you mused. “Have a sit and we'll chat what you're after.”

You took a seat in the leather chair and looked at yourself in the mirror, Moira had sat on the lounge a bit away and was already engrossed in her work. Apart from the once she left to retrieve coffees for the three of you, she worked quietly for the two hours it took Jack to make you presentable. Presentable was putting it gently, you looked good, and it wasn't just the cut but tidying you up had brought attention to how the colour really had returned to your cheeks. Your eyes looked brighter, fine stress lines had faded away and you'd filled out a healthy amount.

“Satisfied?” Jack smirked, packing away his tools.

You smiled in kind, looking over your reflections shoulder at him. “Thank you.” You walked over to Moira who was lent back on the sofa leisurely looking over some reports on her tablet. “Thoughts?”

The doctor looked up at you and tilted her head, raising a finger in a twirling motion, you obliged and turned slowly. “Well done Jack.” Moira nodded in approval and you could see Jack's expression twist in a mix of pride and relief. She took the lead in leaving and you followed in matching stride with your newfound confidence, waving back at the Irishman.

“It suits you.” Moira patted your shoulder, taking a right from the makeshift barbershop away from the cafeteria and leading you in a new direction. Loud sounds of gunfire entered your senses before the smell of gunpowder and smoke, and you realised this was the source of the scent you'd picked up on in the courtyard the day before.

The two of you stood before solid steel doors as opposed to the glass doors that accented the rest of Talon you'd seen so far. As they slid open at the touch of Moira's passkey you were presented with concrete beneath you and clear blue sky above, with a haze of tangy smoke in the air that excited you. You turned to Moira looking for an explanation.

“Phase 2.” She said with that trademark all-knowing smirk of hers which you found much too endearing- there would surely come a day where it wasn't so, you knew that much. You followed behind her as she led you to a firearm registrar. One look at her from the woman operating the counter and you had a surprisingly hefty gun in your hands. You didn't know guns, but this is what you, a civilian, would call a pistol. Moira took you to one of many shooting ranges in the arena-like space. It wasn't wide open desert but it was a very large space with dirt picking up where the concrete left off and you could tell the sky was protected by the same glass you'd seen in the courtyard.

In the distance you could see black torsos as targets with varying degrees of damage sustained by gunfire. Moira positioned you with gentle hands upon your shoulders in front of a mid range torso. You lifted the pistol with both hands before you got accustomed to the weight and settled on your right hand.

“Safety.” Moira flicked a small switch on the side of the piece. “Ready?” She nodded to the target in the distance.

“Just like that? No pointers? I've never even held a gun.” You raised the barrel up high and closed an eye, trying your best to line up with the red centre you could barely make out.

“Not until I see what we're working with.” She gently placed a pair of earmuffs on your head before doing the same and stepping back.

As you breathed your arm accustomed itself to the slight movements your body made during inhales and exhales and after a few breaths your grip was stock-still and lined up with the target up ahead, to the best of your ability. As you squeezed the trigger you were surprised at the resistance, and surprised again when it suddenly gave as the recoil rumbled through the bones in your forearm and up your shoulder. It wasn't an uncomfortable sensation, and neither was the rush of adrenaline that coursed through your veins and surfaced through your skin making your hairs stand on end. After the thrill of firing a gun for the first time faded you were left with your results; you actually managed to hit the target. Sure, it wasn't dead centre, but a wave of pride washed over you and intensified as Moira clapped your back in congratulations.

“Again.” You saw her mouth the word enthusiastically as you smiled back at her, incredulous at your first shot. Beginners luck, you humbled yourself as you lined up your second shot.

You breathed steadily, eyes glancing at the burning hole you'd left to the right of the centre, and ever so slightly readjusted to the left. You chewed the inside of your bottom lip in focus and held your breath as you squeezed the trigger once more.

You hit dead centre.