I'm sick again when I wake up, dizzy and disgusting. I'm home now, so at least there's that. Still, I'm not sure I want to go back to the long, boring days of waiting around for something to happen. Even Rufus seems bored out of his mind when I see him in passing. I splash my face with cold water to wake myself up, staring hard at my reflection under the harsh bathroom lights. I look paler than ever; the dark, puffy circles under my eyes look more like remnants of a beating than bags.

Despite that, I can't help but see Tseng's face in my own, reflecting in the sharp angles and deep shadows. The eyes… Elmyra said they're the same. I sigh, feeling a little stupid when I stand on my toes to get a closer look. Dark, dark, dark. They're not even the same color, but even the way I look back at myself holds the same coldness he did. I shiver, feeling my head grow fuzzy and light, but I can't look away. What is it?

"Where are you taking me?" I demand, watching Tyler lock my cell behind him. He doesn't answer, shoving a bag into my chest and motioning for me to follow him down the bright hallway.

We've stopped talking since he was caught subjecting me to his twisted research. What I thought was love wasn't it after all; I was only being used again. Still, they don't say anything about him. I can speak his name and I can recall his face without that painful sting in my chest. Why can't I forget him? No answer. Sighing, I hurry to catch up, refusing to look at other personnel that pass by.

"Tyler!"

"You're being pulled for a few days for family."

"Family?" I repeat. He doesn't look back, punching in a passcode and swiping his keycard through the slot. The door clicks, sliding open. "You mean Sonyeh?"

"Yes."

Without another word, Tyler motions for me to enter the lobby. A tall, slender woman stands with a graceful smile that reaches her lively gray eyes. She tucks a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear and clutches a purse to her other side.

"Thank you, Dr. Marx."

"Mhm." Tyler adjusts his glasses, his expression deadly serious. "Be careful, Miss Kisaragi."

"Of course." Sonyeh turns back to me, her smile only growing. "Well, let's get you home, yeah?"

I frown, squeezing the bag tighter to my chest. "Home?" Something inside the bag shifts, leaving an empty space that crinkles closer to my skin. It smells like cheap soap. Sonyeh shakes her head, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand.

"Of course he didn't tell you. Tseng said you could stay with us for a few days. Get a feel for the real world again."

"Oh."

It's been a year since I stopped hearing threats against Tseng—since we've been relatively amicable. Something tells me this was more Sonyeh's idea than his. Ever since he announced their engagement to me, she's made an effort to pay me regular visits. She's nice enough, I guess. Doesn't strike me as Tseng's type, not that I know what that would be.

I know a few things about her. She's the estranged daughter of Wutai's emperor. She ran away when she was younger and all ties were cut for good when her father learned she was going to marry a Turk. Her favorite color is some very specific shade of pink I can't remember and she has a habit of chewing on her right pinky while she thinks. I don't think she knows anything about me but what I did.

"Ready to hit it?" she asks, cheerful as always. Maybe that's why it doesn't match up in my head. She's always so happy, and Tseng's, well, gloomy. Serious. Drab. It's an odd pair.

"I guess."

"You can help me cook dinner."

We take a taxi across Midgar to her and Tseng's small home across the city. I'm surprised that she visits so often with how long the drive is. Maybe she doesn't work. It begins to rain when we step onto the curb. Where most would cover their heads and hurry indoors, Sonyeh spreads her arms wide and spins, taking a deep breath and turning her face to the sky. With a satisfied sigh, she smiles back at me.

"I love the rain." Her smile falters and she cocks her head to the side. "How long has it been since you saw the sky?"

"It's been a bit."

"Well, I won't steal it from you if you want to stay out here a little longer."

I look up at the dark, looming clouds, flinching when a lightning bolt strikes the ground in the distance. "I'm ready to go in."

I forgot how violent nature could be. All the paintings and photographs in the hospital say the real world is a peaceful, beautiful, patient. That you make evil within yourself. I almost forgot those were all lies.

Sonyeh nods and unlocks the front door, ushering me inside. "Kick your shoes off by the door. You know how Tseng can get; no stains in the carpet." I obey, watching as she unwinds the long scarf that was draped around her neck and hurries into the kitchen. "I told him I'd make dinner tonight. Wanna help?"

"Sure." I shrug, following her and tugging at my baggy, white clothes. She laughs, pushing me out.

"You can change first, silly. Feel normal."

"Okay."

The bag contains only a single pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. They're loose on me, but at least it's something. I shove my uniform back into the bag and leave it in the hall. Sonyeh laughs when she sees me again, washing a trio of carrots in the sink.

"Well, Tyler didn't guess your sizes correctly at all."

"That's okay," I shrug, shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt. Gods, it feels good to have pockets again.

"Wanna help?" she asks again, lifting up the carrots and setting them down on a glass cutting board. I nod, coming closer.

Sonyeh starts to hand me a knife and then hesitates. Her round eyes flicker up to mine, checking to see if I noticed—if she hurt my feelings. I don't mind; I know what I've done. I know why she's afraid. She takes a deep breath, forcing a smile and pressing the handle into my hand.

"Normalcy," she whispers to herself, shaking her head and turning back to the potatoes she was chopping. "So… What do you do to stay busy in that place?"

"Sometimes I read. Most of the time, I see the lady and her cat or I sleep."

"The lady?"

"Therapist."

"Is she nice?" I shrug. "What about her cat?"

"Her name's Belle." The knife slices through the thick end of the carrot and hits the cutting board with a crisp clack. "She's fluffy and gray. Soft. I like her."

"I'm surprised she's allowed to have Belle around. A lot of people are allergic to cats." I don't answer, watching the knife cut the first carrot to irregular slices bit by bit. It's mesmerizing. "Anything else?"

"I talk to you a lot."

"Yeah?" Sonyeh smiles back at me, but I don't look up at her. I can feel their presence, but I don't know what they want. "Does it bother you that I come so much? I'm sorry if it does. Tseng works a lot and I get lonely."

"No, I like it." At least, I think I do. I move on to the second carrot, still trying hard to hear the voices. They're waiting, watching. Willing her to do something wrong. Wishing for a reason to hate her. I frown. "But why do you bother? Everyone says I'm a lost cause, even Tseng."

"Oh, honey." Sonyeh drops a few potato chunks into a pot of water. "Don't think like that. You're different, sure, but as soon as you learn how to take care of yourself and see the signs, you'll be alright." She dusts her hands off and tosses a pinch of shredded cheese into her mouth. "Besides, Tseng wishes he could see you more. He told me so."

"Does he?" I scowl at the blade, confused. "I thought he hated me."

"He's hurt. Hurting isn't hatred." Sonyeh rubs her hand on my lower back, peeking over my shoulder before turning back to the fridge. "Nice chopping."

"Thanks…" I shake my head, head filled with nonsensical whispers. Questions. "But… He tried to have me executed."

"Sometimes pain makes us blind." Sonyeh stirs the pot with a wooden spoon, humming to fill the silence. With a tap of the spoon against the pot, she turns back to me. "He really loves you, Kat. We both do."

Lies!

It's Marx all over again…

I press a hand to my head, trying hard to wrestle myself back into control. I can hear Sonyeh talking, concerned, but I tune her out. Not this one… Not this time. I can't ruin things for Tseng again. My heart throbs, confused and pained. He loves me? But he tried to kill me… A sharp pain shoots through my head and I grit my teeth, feeling them choke the air from my lungs. I tried to kill him, too.

Foolish little girl!

I'm here to protect you!

You're going to trust this?

Wait! She didn't mean anything by it!

She's using you to get closer to him.

She's going to turn against you.

It's better this way.

You'll see.

I lose my grip entirely. My hand squeezes the knife and swings it around, digging a deep gash across her smooth forehead. With a startled cry, she raises her hands to protect her face, but I kick her to the floor, pinning her arms down and stabbing deep into her wrists, watching the blood flow like a smooth, crimson river. She struggles, sobbing, but they're too strong. The handle of the knife hits her temple until her eyes close.

She looks eerie there, sprawled out on the white tile in a pool of red with her pink lips pulled into a frown. It's wrong. The knife digs in, slicing a premade smile into her cheeks. Slippery and sticky with blood, I stand, dizzy. Springing across the floor (delicately, on my toes, like the dancers I saw on TV at the hospital), I spin and hurl the knife into the table. Her bright blood platters across the wood, drops slipping into grooves.

Twirling and swinging my arms about, I dance across the couch cushions, jumping from the coffee table to the TV stand to a stiff chair in the corner. Around and around and around I go, jumping and twirling and dancing. It's the only way to get rid of all this extra energy... I don't know how much time passes. It's enough for the shallow water in the pot to boil down and for the potatoes to start burning, filling the house with smoke and setting off the alarms. It feels invigorating and I dance to the sound of the chirping alarms, my mind twisting them into a rhythmic song.

The door opens when the sky gets dark. The house is smokey, but the alarms have stopped. I stand on the coffee table, spinning in place and admiring the splatters that stain my sleeves. The keys hit the floor with a dull jingle and I pause only for a moment to see Tseng staring at me. I can hear his heart pounding from across the room. For a moment, he can't say anything, looking from me to the smoke to the knife in the table. The river from the kitchen has begun to seep into the carpet, turning tan to black.

"Kat." Tseng closes his eyes, taking a deep, trembling breath. "Kat, what did you do?"

"Stained the carpet," I sing, closing my eyes and tilting my head back like Sonyeh did in the rain. My gut twists. Why can I still remember you? I take another breath of the smoke to numb my body, continuing my dance. "Stain the carpet, stain the carpet. Not the shoes, shoes, shoes."

"Kat!" Tseng snaps, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Where's Sonyeh?!"

"She made dinner," I shrug, running my fingers through my hair and wondering if it'll stain. "Maybe left it in too long." Smiling, I take a sharp turn, leaping onto the couch. "Burn, burn, burn..."

Tseng slowly walks toward the kitchen, hardly able to take in a full breath. His shoe sinks into the bloody carpet and he stops before the smiling body. He makes a strange noise, but I can't see his face, so I keep twirling, arms spread wide. He doesn't yell or cry or tell me to stop. He stares a little longer.

Finally, he draws nearer, pressing his fingers to the side of her throat. His hand jerks away as if her skin burned him. I close my eyes and fall backward, free-falling toward the floor. My back hits the ground and I laugh, breathless. I can hear him talking to someone, probably on his phone. Probably the carpet cleaners.

He's upset; I understand. I made a mess. He invited me here, and I trashed the place. I tried to cook, I tried to clean, I tried to cure my sadness. I roll back to my feet, spinning, spinning, spinning with my face to the ceiling and my arms out wide. It's okay that he's upset, because…

You know how Tseng can get; no stains in the carpet.

I shudder, squeezing my eyes shut. Gods, what the fuck is wrong with me? All that blood, the horror on Tseng's face, the whimsical carelessness of a child who has no idea what she's just done… It makes me sick a second time. Shaking, I drag myself back onto my feet and force myself to brush my teeth. I'm paying Marx a visit.

It's slow going, but eventually, I get myself into a clean uniform and down the hall to the elevator. No one but an odd assortment of unrecognizable workers is inside, so I keep to myself, slouching against the glass wall until the lift sets me free with a chime. I step onto the infirmary hallway and jam my shaking hands into my pockets. Forgetting Tseng's admonishments, I open Marx's door without knocking. Elena looks up sharply, arms crossed as she attempts to stare down Marx, who looks quite sick of his job.

"Can it wait, Kat? Your associate here won't leave me be."

"It's fine," Elena scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Can't change policies."

"What?" I frown, uncertain if I should enter the room.

Marx shakes his head and scratches at his beard. "She's upset that I'm forced to make the President aware of any health conditions his Turks might have."

"Any?" I repeat, raising an eyebrow. "So, like, if I have the flu, he has to know?"

"He gets an email," Marx shrugs, placing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "Whether he reads it or not is not my concern. I'm just following the rules."

"He doesn't need to know about my hernia!" Elena cries, stomping a foot on the ground.

Marx shakes his head, looking over at me. "Take it up with Shinra. Is there something you need, Kat?"

"Yeah, actually. If you don't mind," I add, glancing at Elena.

She shakes her head, scowling at the floor. "Go ahead."

"Is this about…?" Marx starts, shooting me a look. I shake my head. "Okay. Go have a seat. Miss, if you don't mind, I have to see my patient now."

"She can stay," I say, shrugging and sitting down on the crinkling paper. "I don't care."

"Thanks," Elena huffs, sitting in a chair beside me and crossing her legs. "Haven't had anything to do. It's driving me crazy."

"Alright then…" Shake his head and pushing his glasses up, Marx sits down on a rolling stool and pulls himself closer. "What's up?"

"I've been pretty sick the past few days."

"Define pretty sick. Deep breath."

The cold metal on my chest makes me flinch, but I obey. "I've just felt like shit. Puking, sore, headaches, the whole works. Reno wasn't feeling too hot last week, so I thought that was it, but it hasn't gotten any better."

"Hm." Marx presses the stethoscope to my back, listening. "You're still smoking."

"And?"

"Other than that, your lungs sound okay." He slides back toward his desk and I roll my eyes at Elena. She nods, pressing her lips together. "Any ideas what Reno had?"

"Nope. Far as I know, he was over it in two days."

"Yeah, well, people recover at different rates." He types something into his computer. "I'll get your blood pressure to check-in and then we'll see about those symptoms. You could just be hanging on to a bug a little longer than he did."

I cringe as my arm is crushed under an unpleasant amount of pressure and roll my eyes when I get another lecture about smoking. Elena snaps to shut him up. Marx's nerves are getting frayed by our attitudes, but something about his desire to make up for his mistakes makes him keep his cool. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

"Well, we can do a few things, Kat. You can ride it out a few more days to see if it's what I said, we can do some bloodwork to test for other things, or I can keep poking at you."

"I don't mind bloodwork," I shrug. "I'm bored and I want to feel better."

Nodding, he leaves and returns with a tray. Elena squirms at the sight of the needle, making a point of looking at the wall. I shed my jacket and roll up my shirt sleeve, watching the needle slide into my arm and the blood flow out. I hate that it's Marx doing this, but in some twisted way, he's the only one I trust.

"So, a few questions." He cocks his head to the side, keeping an eye on my arm. "Routine."

"Spill."

"How's your hydration?"

"Not top-notch, but I'm not dead yet."

"Alright." He raises his eyebrows, taking a deep breath. "Are you sexually active?"

"Yes...?"

"Using protection?"

"Yes."

"Every time?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Just making sure."

"Any other pressing questions on your mind?" I scoff. Elena shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Not if you're going to be like that."

"Like what?"

"Kat." Marx shoots me a look that I'm sure he uses to scold his teenage daughter (that's still so weird) and withdraws the needle. "I'll run this quickly, make sure there's nothing too sketchy."

"Is that your effort at layman's talk?"

"Did it work?"

I roll my sleeve back down, swinging my legs boredly as I wait. Elena sighs and glances up at me with a smile.

"So… Are you and Reno a thing?"

"A thing? Sure." I raise an eyebrow. "Like in the sense that anything else is a thing."

"You haven't made it, like, official?"

"Haven't thought about it. He hates that kind of stuff." I crinkle my nose. "I do, too."

"Huh." Elena shakes her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I know he was your uncle and all, but… I miss Tseng."

"Yeah? Me too." I cross my arms, cold. "Would you have wanted to be a thing?"

She laughs. "Y'know, it's kind of stupid, but… I think so. He… asked me to dinner when we were in the Temple. That was right before he died." She shivers. "I wonder what would've happened."

"Wait, he really asked you out?"

"I don't know if it was, like, a date!" she cries, raising her hands defensively. Her face is turning red. "He could've just been hungry."

"Elena, Tseng doesn't-didn't-spend a lot of his time at casual coworker dinners."

"No?"

I laugh, shaking my head. It's funny to imagine. It's Tseng, so he didn't stammer or stumble over his words. He probably laid it out there without a second thought for her reaction. I'm surprised, though. Maybe he heard she was interested and decided to shoot his shot. Poor guy didn't hit it before he bit the dust.

"Well… It doesn't matter now, I guess."

"No, I guess not." I pick at my nails, impatient. "C'mon, dude. Where is this test?"

As if on cue, Marx steps through the door, face grim. In his hand, he holds a stack of unstapled papers. I sit up straighter, raising an eyebrow. Marx touches his glasses and raises the papers.

"So…?" I prod, wiggling in my seat. What if I'm dying?

"So…" Marx clears his throat, scanning the second page over and over again as if he's trying to make sure he's getting the words right. "I'm not sure this is great news."

"Okay? Is it that you're wrong?"

Elena laughs, covering her mouth. He shakes his head.

"Well, yes and no." He touches his glasses again, scratching at his beard. "You may want to quit the cigarettes and bar nights."

"We already had that lecture," I huff, waving his words out of the air. "Spit it out, Tyler."

"Fine." He tosses the stack of papers onto my lap and they nearly go flying apart. Elena catches a page that floats to the floor, frowning at the list of negative signs.

"What the hell's this?"

"Congratulations, Kat," he says dryly, tucking his hands away into his pockets. "You're eating for two."