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It was dark. The cold wind was playing with Iron's raven hair as she was standing at the rooftop of the SALVA hospital, her hands in her pockets, gazing at the Syndicate streets underneath her, where, she was sure, there were lots of Maniacs lurking around, although she could not see them. Maniacs like her.
She gritted her teeth.
Even if the chilly air did help a little, her heart was still racing in her chest. Although her body was mostly numb, she felt some pain in her shoulder, where her flesh connected with her metal prosthetic arm. There was ringing in her ears, so she couldn't hear the sounds of her environment very well.
That's why she got startled when a hand landed on her shoulder. She turned around – it was Anne.
"Do you hear me? Iron, are you okay?" she asked.
Anne's cheek was still red from when the back of the hard metal hand collided with it just a few minutes ago. Or, maybe, more than that. She couldn't tell time.
Anne's healing ability had already mostly cured the consequences of the hit, but the red mark, it was still there, still visible. It brought Iron back to that exact second: the sound of Anne's scream that cut through the ringing in her ears and the way she gripped the back of the hospital bed to keep balance.
Anne took a step closer, and automatically, Iron took a step back.
"Don't come close."
"Iron," Anne smiled. It was a sad kind of smile, and Iron hated it, hated the way it never failed to make her feel guilty for not being able to smile back. For causing pain to someone who was nothing but kind and so dear to her.
"Another step, and I-"
Iron cut herself off: she didn't know what she was planning to say.
"It's alright, dear, I'm not hurt," Anne assured her.
"How dare you call me that," Iron whispered.
"Dear?"
"Yes. I told you that you could leave."
"But I don't want to."
"Well, that's stupid of you."
"Perhaps…" Anne looked away. There was a short silence before Anne looked at Iron again. "But it really is alright. I'm not in pain, you didn't-"
"I could've taken it further," Iron cut her off, suddenly raising her voice. "It could've been like last time! It could've gone worse. We ran out of Hypercubes, and there are almost none of those pills left. You're not skilled in combat, you wouldn't be able to stop me! Oh, who am I fooling? You wouldn't even try to stop me! I could've...." she paused and inhaled deeply, as if she was out of air. She continued in a lower voice. "I could've done it again. I could've hurt you."
Anne wasn't as quick to respond this time. It was too dark for Iron to see it, but she imagined that there were tears forming in Anne's eyes.
"Better me than a patient," Anne then suddenly answered. Iron's heart sank.
"Don't say that," she interjected.
"You can't do this alone. You need someone to look after you. I know you don't care about yourself, but you do care about the patients, don't you? And your dream.... You can't cure this city from Mania if you lose your mind, you know that."
"My dream is not your concern. It's only my business. I either achieve it-"
"...or die trying," Anne finished in her stead. "You said that before."
Frustrated, Iron turned around to look at the city again. Anne took a step closer and looked in the same direction. It was quiet.
And then Anne took her metal hand in hers. As she lifted it up and covered it with her another hand, Iron looked at her again, confused. She wanted to pull her hand away, but Anne's grip was tight. Huh, so she did become stronger after their training. Or Iron was just weak from exhaustion.
Anne caressed the hard polished surface of the back of her hand, and then looked up to meet Iron's gaze. They looked into each other's eyes through the barrier of Iron's glasses.
Iron was angry, she wanted to argue or run away like she had just did. But at the same time, she was scared to make sudden movements, as if any extra motion could hurt Anne. This fear, it made her stay in place. She even held her breath.
She remembered the way these same eyes looked at her when they had first met. It was at the entrance to this same hospital building that, to be fair, looked nothing like a hospital back then. It was the night that she was sure would be her last. When she had lost her hope completely, Anne saved her with her soft voice calling through the other side of the door, asking for help. This voice, the desperation in it, it motivated her to try to linger in this world for at least one more surgery. She cut off her arm to stop the growing, overwhelming Mania from spreading to her chest and to keep her sanity for a little longer. She remembered the terrified look on Anne's face when she saw the blood dripping from her shoulder as soon as she opened the door. Perhaps, Anne already knew at that moment that this doctor wouldn't be able to save that dying child in her arms in such a condition. But Iron was thankful that she trusted her despite that, and she felt guilty that, in the end, she couldn't help, couldn't save this woman's last loved one.
Instead, it was Anne who helped her. Without her, she would have just died that night, or turned into a horrific monster, losing her sanity. She wouldn't be able to invent this revolutionary technique of constructing prosthetic limbs, wouldn't discover her new power, wouldn't reemerge as a Sinner. No one in DisCity would ever hear about the name of the SALVA hospital, so respected and feared today. All of this happened just because of Anne. Of her support, of her assistance. She became her most valuable nurse and her closest friend.
Friend... This word, it didn't seem like the correct one to describe their relationship, yet Iron didn't feel like she had the right to use any other.
After all, it was all pretty much one-sided. Each day, she was a step closer to her goal, and it was all thanks to Anne. But did she ever pay her back?
Anne was so kind to her, even when she was sad, even when she was angry, and Iron, she was never able to express her gratitude or her respect to her. No, not respect. Her growing admiration of Anne, her undeniable affection towards her – she couldn't put it into words, she felt like it wouldn't be right to express it. Instead of this, she gave her commands at the operating table, scolded her for mistakes and shouted at her when she was exhausted after days of no sleep. Now, when they were low on resources to keep her Mania level in check, she started lashing out on her in other ways that would leave these horrible marks on her body which made her heart ache each time she saw them for hours or days before they would fully heal. This sense of guilt that they raised in her only contributed to her frustration further. Made her lash out again. It was a never-ending cycle. A loop that she was trapped in.
Slowly, Anne lifted the metal hand to her lips and left a soft kiss on the ice-cold knuckles.
How ironic. They were standing close to each other now, and Iron could see that there were, in fact, no tears in Anne's eyes. Instead, her own vision started blurring.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "I can't even feel it."
"You can," Anne answered calmly, with the same smile on her face. "You do."
Iron did not understand what she meant.
"And because I know that you do, I know that you don't mean what you say. I know that if you were in right mind, you would never do something like this. I’m fine with it, really. It will all get healed tomorrow, and everything will be fine. If it helps you to let out your emotions, I’m not against it. I’m not as weak as you think. I can endure it, if it means that you will be nicer to patients, especially to those kids, if they will be fine. That’s all I care about. And the fact that you get so worked up about this only means that you care about me, and I appreciate that. I really do. It would be nice, though, if you could... say it sometimes."
"Say what?" Iron’s voice was hoarse. The Mania symptoms were slowly fading now as she was calming down, and as the numbness disappeared, the headache, as well as the pain in her shoulder and in her heart, became sharper.
"What you feel."
"I..."
Iron knew what Anne expected her to say, but couldn't bring herself to utter it. It wasn't right.
"Anne, I..."
"Yes?"
"…You're more important than the patients."