Emma figures she'll just have to bide her time until she lucks out and gets within reach of a keycard whilst she's in the lab. The last few times she's been there, the Professor has let her help out after he's taken the necessary samples - she had always planned on putting up a fascinated façade, but she occasionally finds herself genuinely interested. On those days, she gives herself a good shake, and carries on.
On sharing her progress with the others in a near-silent whisper one dinnertime, she gets a mixed response. Paul, to her surprise, is more excited than anyone.
"I can try and distract Professor Hidgens next time I'm in the lab." He suggests. "Get him to leave his keycard, or even if I started some trouble and knocked it out of his hand without him realising-"
"No," Emma interrupts sharply. "Don't do that. You could get hurt."
"Well, so could you with this plan!" Char mutters petulantly - she has been especially agitated these last few days, absorbing and magnifying the jitters everyone around her has been feeling.
"I'm being careful. But we have to try not to do anything too impulsive, okay?" She tries not to glare at Ted with those words.
"Just keep us in the loop, Emma." Bill rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. "And if there's ever something you need, you don't even have to ask."
Suddenly, Emma feels something she hasn't in years and years. The corners of her mouth lift without her even thinking about it, and she squeezes Bill's hand in return. These people are good, for all their flaws. Bill is wise and kind, and Ted is determined and fierce, and Char is sweet and thoughtful, and Paul-
Emma drops her hand back into her lap and picks up her spoon. She can think about love when all of this is over.
...
Her window comes, finally, when she enters the lab one day to Professor Hidgens mopping up puddles of blood. Her stomach drops through the floor, and she has to swallow hard before she can get any words out.
"Professor?" She manages to hold her voice steady, and the soldiers either side of her relax their grip on her arms, as if deciding she isn't going to freak out on them. Until she finds out who's blood is all over the laboratory floor, glinting mockingly in the sickly yellow light, she herself has decided no such thing.
"Oh Emma, dear." He spins around, wads of red tinged gauze clutched in his hands. "Don't panic, it was just a little accident."
She peers around at the state of the place, grimaces. "Is anyone hurt?"
"No, no - well, I'm afraid Paul may be a little bruised but he heals quickly, of course." The Professor moves to a yellow bin bag, disposes of the bloody waste he has collected.
"Paul? What happened?" Emma pulls away from her guards reflexively, and they tighten their hold.
Hidgens waves a hand. "Let her go, boys. She won't hurt me, and I could use an extra pair of hands."
Weirdly, they do exactly as told - exchanging an uneasy glance, admittedly, but without much hesitation. The Professor holds more influence than she had first realised. He hands her an apron and a pair of rubber gloves, explaining as she dons them:
"He had some trouble, today." He frowns. "Sort of panicked, when they came to collect him after our session - and he damaged some goods, smashed some samples that I had on the counter." He gestures at the crimson soaked tiles beneath his feet and Emma nearly keels over in relief. It's just from the test tubes; nobody has bled out and died here, alone and afraid.
"Oh no, really?" She puts on a disappointed tone as she grabs some more towels off the side and starts helping. "I wonder why he did that? I'll have to have a word."
"Could you?" The Professor's eyes light up. "That would be ideal, Emma, if you could make the boy understand."
Emma represses a shiver at the obsession in his voice, focuses instead on the fact that the soldiers have left them to it, and they are alone in here. "I'll try my best, Professor, but he's been here a long time; I worry sometimes that he's reached his limit."
Hidgens blinks at her, all sincerity. "He doesn't have a limit, my dear. He is made for this work. To help others. It is a sacrifice he should be grateful to be making."
Before Emma can retch at the comments he is so off-handedly making about hurting her friend, he curses and straightens from the floor. "There is some glass here that I failed to spot." He notes. Looking at the state of his hands and clearly deciding it isn't worth his effort, he turns to Emma. "Could you grab the dust pan and brush from over there for me?" He gestures at a cupboard in the corner.
"Sure." Emma creeps over to the other side of the room, around debris and feeling all the while like she's breaking some rule or another. The feeling only multiplies when she sees a glint of white plastic under a desk that she passes on her way. Her heart stops but her legs keep moving as she realises what it is - a keycard. Before she can even think, her gaze is darting over to the Professor; he isn't looking, so she reaches a shaking hand out and swipes the card off of the floor, shoving it into her bra in three seconds flat. She carries on her course to the cleaning cupboard, retrieves what she needs and carries them over to the Professor. "These?" She croaks, knuckles white.
"Ah, perfect!" Hidgens takes them, looking right at her. He smiles. "Aren't we a good little team?"
Emma grins back, although she barely feels the movement. "The best." She agrees, and crouches down to continue mopping. The movement disguises the trembling of her hands, and gives her something to think about other than the hell she'll have to pay if anyone discovers what she has just done. She takes a deep breath, shifting her stance on the tacky tiles.
Oh my god.
...
She can't tell the others until the next morning because they're being watched in the cell. She manages with unsteady hands to slip the keycard into a secret hiding place, before making a fuss over Paul, who is slumped on his unmade bed, sheepishly nursing a black eye.
"What did I tell you?" She hisses, not entirely pretending for the cameras. "I saw all that blood and I thought you might be dead!"
"I'm not sorry." Paul takes her hand and grips it hard. "Did you help clean it up?" He asks with sudden intensity, and Emma reads the hidden question there.
"Yes." She says carefully. "It went well. All sorted."
Paul lets out a breath and smiles shakily. "Ok." He nods to himself.
"Ok." Emma repeats, squeezing his hand in return.
...
"So this is it?" Bill is staring, quite obviously, at Emma across the dining table. "Everything is ready?"
Emma nods pointedly. "If everyone can hold it together and act normally until Char decides its time."
Bill looks away and continues poking at his food, the stodgy porridge sort of squelching beneath his plastic spoon.
"Why me?" Char startles, although she is grinning somewhat manically, glowing with everyone else's excitement. She hadn't shown any interest in her food, instead passing it off to Ted who is making his way steadily through it.
"Yeah, why her?" He says through a mouthful. Without looking at him, Char elbows him in the side, and he scowls but shuts up.
"Because she can feel the guards, if she really tries to. I've seen you do it." Paul answers for her. "Just let us know when there isn't anyone around, or they're feeling tired, or distracted."
Char clenches her fists together on the tabletop. "What if I'm wrong?" She whispers.
"You won't be." It's Ted who says it. "You never are, when it counts."
She blinks slowly, eyes suddenly wet. "I was once."
"Not anymore." Ted puts his cutlery down and opens his palm underneath the table, out of view of the cameras; Char slides her own hand into it. The air is still and it takes a moment for Char to continue whispering into the buzzing silence.
"How do I let you know without someone seeing?" She asks Emma.
"They can hear us and see us in the cell, but only if they're looking." Paul cuts in.
"I'm willing to be that if we wait until lights out, and we're quiet about it, they won't realise anything has changed until its too late." Emma finishes for him.
"This really is it." Bill gapes. Then he shakes himself, puts down his spoon with a slam that probably would've been more impressive had it been silverware. "You guys have been a family to me, when I lost my own." He declares, ignoring the way Ted rolls his eyes. "Even you, Theodore." He puts a hand on Paul's shoulder affectionately. "I'm gonna protect you all, I hope you know that - but just in case I fail-"
"You won't fail, Bill." Paul breathes, tears stubbornly refusing to fall. "Please." It isn't clear to Emma what he's asking for, but understanding settles on Bill's face.
"We all protect each other." Emma declares, taking Paul's hand under the table and reaching across the table to put her other hand on Charlotte's arm. "We all fight."
"I've had enough of this f*cking place." Hisses Paul.
"Damn straight."