Work Text:
Collei used to be lucky. It’s darkly ironic now, she knows, as she sits numb on the cool, messy floor.
She can’t feel much these days, if she’s honest. She’s mostly grateful for it, glad to be free of it, but she knows it means the worst is coming. Her body is shutting down, overwhelmed with pain, and will barely be able to function soon. Maybe she’ll die. Would that make her lucky?
She doesn’t have time. Not enough, at least.
Enough to what, though? Escape? She’s given up on that. There’s nothing else for her to do, no one for her to call or search for. Anyone who loved and noticed her must have given up by now– assuming she was even half right by assuming it had been more than a year since her abduction. She wasn’t sure, given how The Doctor didn’t have much of a sleep schedule, and the pain made minutes stretch to hours stretch to days.
Collei never remembers it, by the end. She knows what it was, can see in her mind’s eye what she saw then, can understand on some levels how it felt. But she can’t handle it, she knows. No one could.
She was far from strong, even before, it’s a miracle she’s survived this long. A curse, maybe.
‘Lucky,’ she was called as a kid.
Collei forces her eyes open. She’s met with the sight of an open door. She’s propped up against the wall, a puppet cut from its strings, numb and lifeless. But she sees it. Beyond the door, another one. One she’s never seen before, that has blood on the floor in front of it.
Like hers.
She feels something surge in her, too dire to call hope but too positive to call dread. Collei flexes her fingers against the tile. She knows it’s cold, but can’t feel it right now. This is good, this is a chance.
Forcing her body forward, Collei shifts so her arms are below her, pushing herself upwards. She leans against the wall so heavily, sheer determination keeping her shaky legs from giving out. She can’t fall. She won’t fall. If she goes down she won’t be able to come back up, and she needs to see this. Needs to work towards this goal she’s never had.
She doesn’t think of the implications of another test subject, doesn’t consider if whomever lies behind the door is even alive, she doesn’t let herself. She can’t lose this momentum.
Using the wall to steady herself, Collei pushes forward, so dearly grateful that she can’t feel the searing pain that must be in her. Maybe she is lucky, again, after all these years. Carefully, she pushes herself from the wall, takes a step. Then another. Then another. She’s wobbly and is already getting tired but she’s doing it!
She feels a breath escape her, soundless shock reminding her of joy, pride, a sense of accomplishment she hasn’t felt in so long.
She makes it to the door, leans against it. She lets herself catch her breath, scans the area. The Doctor is nowhere here, she knows that. She isn’t sure how, but she’s never worried that he’s there and she doesn't know; she’s always been able to tell.
Collei remembers one day, when she’d realized it may have been intentional, and she was reckless. She’d pushed herself from the table, grabbed the nearest sharp object, and had nearly cut off her own arm in fear. The Doctor had come back to find her bleeding out, and she could sense panic in the way his already erratic movements worsened, and he hadn’t spoken.
The restraints were installed soon after, and Collei was never left alone anywhere that wasn’t this room again.
Lucky, yet foolish.
She trusted her instinct now. Had to, in order to actually do anything. It could always get worse, she knew, but it would be worth it. If she could just find one good thing, make a memory to cling to when she couldn’t take it, something to replace the distant and eroded faces of her parents, her friend, and her own reflection.
Sucking in a deep breath, Collei pushes off the doorway. She walks, her steps still slow and heavy, but the door is only a few paces away.
She feels anxiety rise in her chest. What if the door was locked? What if trying to open it would set off an alarm? What if–
Collei grabs the handle and yanks it. The door swings open. It’s lighter than hers.
Her eyes are immediately drawn to a glowing indigo in the corner of the room.
They’re eyes, she realizes.
The eyes widen, and Collei can hear the person’s breathing quicken.
“It’s okay!” She whisper-shouts, raising her hands to show they’re empty. In doing so, she loses the one thing keeping her balanced, and she only has a moment to smother a yelp when her legs give out and her head thuds against the wooden doorframe.
She hears the person move towards her, and she blindly pushes herself away, further along the wall into the room as instinct urges her to run. She doesn’t know if they won’t cause harm.
The person notices her hesitation and pauses. Scoots back.
“I’m Kuni,” they say, their voice low. It cracks over the second syllable, and Collei wonders how long they’ve been here. How much The Doctor makes them talk. If she’s lucky enough to not have that level of engagement.
“C-Collei,” she chokes out. Her voice is thin, breaks, and she shivers at how it sounds so wrong coming from her mouth.
Kuni’s eyes look over her, likely taking in the bandages, and the blood on her knees. “You’re not trying to esc-cape…?” They seem to stumble on words, like her, looking frustrated when they don’t come out right.
Collei shakes her head, looking away. “I don’ think I c-could,” she croaks. “I– Usu’lly, I’m in t-too much pain t-to move at all.”
“I see,” they whisper. They sound defeated. Collei wants to apologize, but she feels tears welling in her eyes and doesn’t really want to cry in front of them. “Then why are you here?”
“I… wan-ted t-to see wha’ was on the other side of the door,” she says meekly. She can hardly speak, all the t’s getting stuck on her tongue and the roof of her mouth.
Kuni stares at them for a long moment. “Do you wan-t to know what I am?”
The question feels like a trap. The way Kuni is looking at her, like he’s waiting to be swallowed whole the way she is every time The Doctor’s voice trickles into her mind…
She shakes her head. “I think I jus-t wanna t-talk. If that-t’s okay.”
Kuni doesn’t seem to know what to do with that. “...About what?”
Collei shrugs. “Anything, really, j’s not… this place.”
They’re silent for a moment, Kuni staring at her contemplatively as Collei glances between them and the ground.
“What-t’s your favorite season?”
Collei’s eyes snap to the glowing indigo.
“Fall,” she replies. Kuni watches her expectantly, and she continues. “It get-ts colder, but st-till looks nice, the plant-ts are st-till living. You?”
Kuni considers for a moment. “I think I like sp-pring the most. Bl-looming f-flowers and warm air.”
Collei nods. “Have you ever been t-to Sumeru?”
Kuni shakes their head.
“It-t’s where I’m from,” she tells them, a flickering smile on her mouth. “There are t-these fruit-ts, called Harra Fruit-ts. They’re very good.”
“I’m fr-rom Inazuma. We have Laven-nder Melons.”
Collei hums, nodding again. She doesn’t really know what to say, her mind falling silent when she needs it.
“Do you have a mother?”
Kuni is looking at the floor, the red sticking to their clothes, and Collei feels a sympathy she welcomes.
“I d-do.” Collei pauses before asking, “can I desc-cribe her t-to you?”
Kuni’s eyes snap to hers, and for a moment she’s terrified she’s said something wrong because there are tears in their eyes, but they nod, attention focused on her.
So she speaks.
“My mother is an art-tis-t. She’s very t-talent-ted, her drawings look like real life. She used t-to– when I was lit-tle and couldn’t-t sleep– she would wrap a blanket-t around me, and she would hold me t-to her, so I could hear her hea-rt beat-ting…” her voice trails off, and she feels the tears burning in her eyes spill over, warm on her cheeks. She sees Kuni is crying too, and finds herself feeling better in a way.
She is trapped here. She will always be trapped here. Kuni probably is, too. They’re not getting out, but… they’ve found each other. They know they’re not alone.
They spend more time talking back and forth, asking random questions, avoiding anything that could lead them to where they are now. Collei knows that Kuni is doing the same thing as her. They’re making little memories, collecting pieces of data so they can endure. If she’s lucky, Collei might see them again.
She doesn’t count on luck much, anymore.