Ch. 19: Sanity Check

"Well?" I ask, standing in front of Emily.

A pair of dark grey jeans, and a simple red top with slightly puffy frills around the shoulders, plus running shoes that should have been retired ages ago.

"You look beautiful. Also, your outfit is fine," Emily jokes. She went with a summer dress, white and purple in a pattern that reminded me of dyed animal cells under a microscope, but to a normal person probably looked more like abstract watercolor art. She even has a cute pair of lavender heels on that make her an inch or two taller than me, which I'm not ashamed to admit makes my heart pump faster. A lesbian mechanic and engineer brings to mind a certain stereotype, but Emily has always been very feminine off the clock.

"These are literally my nicest clothes. Also, that is a gorgeous dress. Genuinely, I'm jealous."

"We'll have to get you one today, then. Because today is shopping at the mall. Nothing else. I don't care if a school bus crashes through the goddamn front gate of the clinic. Okay?"

"Yeah... okay." I take her hand, and squeeze it through the environmental suit.

We left out of the back way of the clinic, through the fake apartment that was set up for me to claim I lived at during civilian life. Up until now, it's just been an address to deliver packages to.

The elevator in the apartment building is a little sketchy, I think as we descend from the third floor, but Emily assured me that it was completely normal sounding. If anyone would be right, it'd be her. Still, I won't lie and say I didn't clutch one of the three potions I was able to fit into my purse, disguised in empty lipstick containers. Maybe not the perfect disguise, considering I wasn't exactly in a position to use lipstick, but I could always claim they were Emily's.

Emily swatted my hand when she saw me clutching something. "Nope. None of that. If we die, we die. Human stuff."

I can't help but laugh. Emily is the most tactless woman I've ever met, and it just makes me love her more.

She climbs into her dark blue or black pickup, which has an entirely spotless cabin and the worlds dirtiest truck bed. I take the passenger seat. It's not that I don't know how to drive, its more because of glare off my visor, or any other visual distortion the suit can cause.

It's weird, driving to the mall for the sake of its intended purpose: shopping. My mind jumps immediately to 'This is Bleeding Heart territory, they sell drugs out of the leather goods store, one of the mall security is an enforcer.' As we park in the sea of cars, I wonder how many of them know that the mall-

No, don't think like that. This is Vivian time, not Beaker time.

I step out of the car, Emily following suit, taking my hand and walking surprisingly quickly for someone in heels.

I realize this is our first date outside. Ever. Suddenly, her dressing up makes more sense, and I feel like an idiot because I don't even own a dress. I wasn't lying when I said I was wearing my nicest clothes. And to cap it off, now I'm self-conscious about it.

The mall is an enigma in the modern era. It's not dead, its actually a fairly popular spot and growing in popularity, despite malls nationwide slowly dying out. My only explanation is that its the only thing to do in the entire city. I tear my eyes away from a new, clean memorial in honor of the bombing victims. Don't think about it, Vivian.

As always, people stare when we enter. I almost feel bad for Emily, until I remember that she gives less of a shit about what other people think than I do, and I really don't care what non-patients think of me. I allow myself that line of thought, since I've always had patients.

"Sooo... where first?" I ask, looking around at the two story mall's skylight filtering the sun onto the dozen stores in view.

"First, we're getting you nicer clothes. From a nice store. You can afford to dress like a person and not like a surgeon."

"Wow, surgeons aren't people, huh?"

She looks a little smug. "I've worked with surgeons when I was designing the suit. Maybe half of them are people and not just egos filling a human-shaped disguise."

"That's... true. I mean, I have a pretty big ego."

"Yeah. You do. Which is why our first objective on the now weekly 'make Viv not a serial killer' date days is to humble you at something. In particular, dressing like a person."

I give her a short hug. I love her so much it hurts sometimes. It's always been true that she's the back end half of Beaker, but honestly, she's become half of Vivian, too.

I need to stop thinking of myself as two people. I'm Vivian, Beaker is a character.

She takes me into a clothing store that seems to be targeting a younger demographic than 'just turned 31.' Still, its very nice, as I start looking at dresses until Emily directs me to the dresses I'll actually look good in. None of them are black, fortunately. I've had my fill of the monochrome color scheme.

"Excuse me."

I turn my head to see a store attendant looking at me with disgust. God damn it. Of course this is going to happen more when I'm out with my girlfriend.

"I know what you're going to say, and it isn't like that. I have-"

"There are children in this mall. Take your kinks elsewhere."

"Hang on..." I feel around in my purse, finding one of a few laminated cards that explain my condition. I started carrying them in the hospital for people who thought there was an infectious disease, but they work equally well for busybodies. Much more efficient, and it'll keep Emily from strangling anyone.

She finishes reading the card, flipping it over once to see my name before handing it back. "Vivian Amsel?"

"Doctor Vivian Amsel, thank you." I almost instinctively bow when introducing myself. My mental state is much worse than I though.

"Yeah... whatever." She goes back to folding a pile of clothes someone didn't bother to put back.

I start sifting through the dresses, until one catches both mine and Emily's attention at the same time. It's white with a few thin blue stripes that terminate at the bottom into a soft floral pattern. It looks a little like a bedsheet, but it's nice enough I doubt anyone will care.

After picking out and trying on a few more, I pay for them with a debit card that has more money on it than I even remember. Emily takes me to a nearly identical clothing store next, the main difference I can see is that this one is moodily lit. I pick out a few nice tops, of which Emily puts back half and comes back with an equal amount of objectively nicer ones. Thank God she's here.

After adding the tops, my wardrobe had literally doubled. Tripled if you don't count my clothes with at least one hole that isn't meant to be there.

As we walk, hand in hand like teenagers, I notice her eyes lingering on something off to the side, but not mention it. She's trying to be subtle, but subtlety isn't a strong point for her.

"You know I'm not going to be upset if you get a pretzel," I say, stopping and leaning against the railing.

"No, no, I just thought I recognized the guy at the counter."

I look for myself. "You recognize a... what, seventeen year old guy? Just get the pretzel, dork."

She sighs, but smiles appreciatively. "Thanks. I'll be right back." She walks over and quickly joins the short line. I'm not jealous of it, even subconsciously. I'm genuinely happy she can enjoy normal food, and that I noticed how she was trying to hold herself back on my account.

"An astronaut!" A different teenager says, walking past me and laughing with friends. "I bet she wishes she can ride on my rocket ship."

As they walk away, I push them from my mind. I've faced death threats and a lot more humiliation than a dick joke.

"Hoooooly Jesus, Vivian Amsel!"

I turn around, seeing a former coworker and who I assume to be his wife.

"Jasper!" I share a handshake with the foot surgeon, still refusing to shave his goatee despite how much of a headache it is to keep in a hospital setting. I share one with his wife as well, though I'm blanking on the name.

"I was wondering where you were. Ever since Director Kickme fired you, I was worried."

I smile at the juvenile name coming from the forty-something year old man. He's a rare breed, and I appreciate other people who aren't afraid to be themselves, even if they're goofy.

"I'm fine, better than fine, even. I'm sorry, Mrs. Jasper's last name, what's your name?"

"Mary, and to fill you in, its Bell," she says with a grin.

"God damn it. I had a mnemonic and everything. Jasper's name rings a bell." The three of us share a light laugh.

"So," Mary asks, "are you one of those cosplayers or something?"

Jasper looks at me for direction, I just smile and hand her a laminated card.

Emily comes back while eating, introducing herself to the pair while Mary reads the card, her face getting progressively more embarrassed until she hands it back.

"I'm so sorry, I remember Jasper telling me about you, I just didn't put the pieces together."

"Guess it didn't ring a bell."

The three of us share a brief chuckle again as Emily tries to figure out the joke.

"Hope you're keeping out of trouble, Amsel. And its a shame you were let go. We could have really used you after the bombing. Instead, we were directing people to this shady underground place I'd never even heard of. Apparently the guy who runs it is some miracle healer, but I'll believe that when I see it. I've already met one, I probably won't meet a second." He smiles broadly at me, and I can't tell if he suspects anything or not. Hopefully not.

"It's good seeing you again, Jasper. And don't worry, the private sector is far too lucrative for me to start working for a guy like that."

With a few parting words, we go in opposite directions.

"Damn." Emily says, taking a sip of lemonade. "I guess one of the perks to the suit is everyone who knows you recognizes you instantly."

I'm glad she's not afraid to talk about it. It's more uncomfortable when people dance around it or refuse to address it. I wish I could shake them and say that I'm not going to be offended for them pointing out the thing I'm wearing.

"One of? Name another." I joke, lightly elbowing her. I know how much she likes bragging about her work.

"The fact it has built in speakers?"

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that!"

"The tactile grip?"

"That's true, it is nice, haven't dropped anything... ever."

"It filters out the faint smell of piss."

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull myself into her side, as she awkwardly tries to do so as well while holding the pretzel and lemonade. "I love you, Emily."

"I love you too."

Once home, it was phase two of 'keep me from becoming a serial killer'.

A nice, relaxing movie on the couch, sharing popcorn with my girlfriend. Absolutely excellent plan, all things considered. I was just about asleep laying on her chest when I hear someone ring the 'doorbell' to the house, basically just a red button labelled 'DO NOT TOUCH'

With a sad sigh, and waiting for Emily to allow it, I got up and checked the security feed.

Kingfisher?

"Motherf- Kingfisher, I know you can hear me," I say out loud.

He nods at the security camera.

"Can this wait until tomorrow? I'm trying very hard to have a singular day off with my girlfriend, since I'm on the verge of going completely insane."

He pauses for a moment, and nods again.

"Thanks. Genuinely."

And just like that, he leaves.

I sit back down on the couch with Emily, settling myself into the exact position I was in before, as she gently scratches my head. What a perfect day.

The next day, I feel better. Significantly better. Refreshed, and ready, eager to get back to work. But first, I know Kingfisher will be here early. He texted me as much.

I watch through the cameras as the muscular, dark-skinned man with cornrows and intense, judging eyes stands in my decontamination chamber. He's gotten a new suit recently. Black, but with a green vine pattern accenting the cuffs, with a similar tie. It's a little uncanny having him in my house, knowing that he's the bridge between people who know me and people who know the character I pretend to be.

Soon enough, it opens, as I lounge around in sweatpants and a t-shirt. "Hey, Kingfisher. Thanks again for last night."

"We all need time like that. Especially me, since I'm just Kingfisher."

"Just Kingfisher?"

"First name is Darius."

"Huh. Figured it was a cape thing."

"Most people do, and I'm not planning on correcting it. I need to know something that you don't talk about." He sits down on a chair.

That's a strangely upfront request. It puts me on edge immediately. Kingfisher's not the type of person to make information requests. He takes them, and gets paid for them.

"Alright. What's up?"

His eyes glance at the door to the decontamination chamber. "Myself and a certain strong and silent type figured something out. Same time EDR did, too."

"Which is what, exactly? Don't make me drag this out of you. You came here, not the other way around."

He stands up, brushing off his pants despite being in the single most dust-free location in the city, if not the world. "That's all I needed to know. Thanks, Vivian." He leaves the same way he entered, hand suspiciously held at his waist. Out of curiosity, I check the cameras to the clinic. Gil, Crocodile Guy whose name I forgot, that one cape who has the nausea power, and a solid ten of his goons are in the clinic. They all leave at the same time, other than Gil. Solvent and Catalyst share a conversation, unbothered by the dozen gang members around them. Catalyst is repeating himself pretty often. Must be tough, since he's not using the visor system and is instead relying on sign.

It's inventory order day, which is why Gil stayed behind. Vera and I work together: me with my lab, her with the medical supplies, comparing lists. Catalyst and Gil go over who can get what, and Solvent watches over the door to the room. It's an efficient team, and honestly, fun people to hang out with. Conversations with them have the constant sidetracking from work that's actually fun.

I start checking my stock, which is generally pretty good so far. I have plenty of all the garbage I usually use. "Gil, Vera needs a costume and name."

He smiles widely. "Great. I made Solvent's and Catalyst's costumes, you know."

"Huh. I assumed you outsourced them." It's strange to think that Kingfisher has his own version of Catalyst: the one who does all the important secondary work just outside of the limelight.

"Nope, all me. First, though, Catalyst had a request that comes to... twelve thousand dollars."

I glance over at him, and even through the large surgical mask, I can tell he's embarrassed. He clears his throat before speaking. "It's nothing crazy. Just a different mask. This one isn't very breathable."

Well, now I have to know. "Go on. Elaborate."

He sighs. "Okay, so, I'm thinking a black screen over my entire face, but a simplified pixelated one on top. It can move around to march the expressions I'm making, and I figure it could put clients at ease if they know what I'm thinking."

Yeah, that's the reason. If that's what he wants, though. "Yeah. We'll have Back of House make it. That way, it can translate 'clients' who use ASL when you're looking away."

"I... Okay, look, Solvent is the person I spend the most time with chatting, and its awkward having a language barrier, and I think its rude if I don't at least try to-"

A distorted voice echoes through the hallway. "Request received. Allow 24 hours for completion."

Catalyst groans, while Gil looks at my beaked mask for any hints as to what I'm thinking. I move my head up diagonally, followed by a circular movement. For no reason other than to mess with him.

"Okay..." Vera checks through the list she made, actually getting us back on topic. "We're good on saline, which is like half of what gets used around here, and we have about five hundred syringes left. We're getting low on doxycycline."

"It's fine, antibiotics are usually an easy recipe. Usually I can just use some Red 40 and an acorn."

"Morphine?"

"We need that. It's been asking me for fresh rainwater for painkillers lately, which is obviously unreliable."

"How about... we really need wound dressings. We both use them."

"Okay. And I need another length of fiber optic cable, chicken bones, blonde hair, and black sand."

Vera shakes her head. "This is by far the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"They get weirder. Ask Catalyst about the pigeon milk."

"What the fuck is pigeon milk?"