Forward backward forward

Muriel's shift was an hour from ending, and a call just came in. This meant that, nearly without a doubt, Muriel was going to be working for at least 5 more hours...and her next shifted was slated to start in 7.

Dave was already hustling towards the ambulance. The call was a possible hit and run, a single victim left in the street. About 4 minutes away in a weird part of the city. Kind of an industrial area by the water that was being gentrified into a neighborhood. Not a lot of foot traffic, usually. Dave drove as Muriel prepped. "I see her, still in the street, unattended," Came Dave's clipped, deep voice as they pulled up. Muriel grabbed the bag and a backboard as she jumped out of the vehicle. She assessed before walking up.

A woman lay prone in the street. No evidence of crush injury from this far off and from the way she was sprawled across the street Muriel was guessing this was what the police always reported as an "up and over." Another woman stood at the corner, about 50 feet away, clutching a phone. Dave shouted out to her "did you call this in?" The woman nodded, but then sprinted away.

"Welp, that sucks."

Muriel moved in closer. Dave came in from the other side. This is something they'd done hundreds of times together. Dave's training as a combat medic and Vet. meant he always circled 'round, so that they never came in together from the same approach. Muriel thought it a little silly, but respected Dave enough to humor him.

As Muriel knelt beside the woman on the ground she gasped. Dave didn't seem to notice, and Muriel usually worked from a remove -- she was good at treating injured people as bodies, as something distant from what she knew she was too...fragile -- but this time she was immediately struck by how beautiful this woman was. Her skin was dark, and despite the cuts and bruises seemed to be radiant. She was also tall, probably over 6 feet. She appeared to be middle aged, with long, coarse hair, done up in a thick, disheveled plait.

She lay on her back, eyes closed, mouth open, her arms twisted at unnatural, but seemingly unbroken angles. Her legs were rigid, oddly straight from likely having rolled a long distance.

Dave shouted, "ma'am!?"

No response.

Muriel gently felt for a pulse as Dave opened their bag. "She's got a pulse, slow and irregular."

Dave nodded, "okay, check neck and spine and I'll prep to get her airway."

Muriel pulled on her nitrile gloves and looked the woman over again. No signs of external bleeding other than cuts and other minor lacerations. The woman was wearing an ankle length, long sleeved dress. It was green and heavily embroidered in geometric patterns. Mostly green on green. Incongruously, the woman was wearing enormous, likely 3 or 4 sizes too large combat boots. Leather. Laced tightly all the way up.

Gently, Muriel felt under the woman's neck. Not broken. Moving slowly, she slipped her hands under the neckline of the woman's dress, which was loose enough for her to easily fit her hands under. She walked her hands gently along the woman's spine -- the woman was wearing a thick, slick feeling sweater under her dress, so Muriel didn't have the access she'd hoped for, but was still confident that the woman's spine was unbroken. Dave checked her hips and pelvis.

Dave's tone was always curt and to the point, "safe to move her?"

"Yeah, neck and spine seem good. Lets get her onto the backboard and into the bus to get an airway." Dave agreed and they got to work, quickly rolling her on to the backboard so that they could move her into the ambulance. As they lifted her the woman gasped a little.

In the ambulance Dave checked the woman's eyes. Her pupils were symmetrical, but unresponsive to light. "Check out her eyes."

Muriel looked, and was shocked. Shocked by what she saw, but also by the fact that it visibly shocked Dave. the woman's eyes weren't brown. They were gold. Actually golden. "Never seen that before."

"Me neither."

Muriel checked her pulse again. Weaker, more erratic then before, "lets get that airway set up and get an EKG on her."

Dave moved to the woman's head to place a breathing tube, while Muriel grabbed the sheers to cut off the woman's dress. She couldn't see any obvious fastener, and felt badly cutting through it. She started at the hem and worked up to give Dave room to work.

The sheers cut through the hem, and it was easy to work up the side. Muriel noticed the oversized boots again. Once she got to about the knee of the dress Muriel found a rhythm to the cutting, and was able to rip the dress all the way up to its neckline in one fluid motion without the sheers.

Before realizing she was even doing it, Muriel screamed: "oh my god!? what the fuck!?" A beat later Dave joined in, "holy shit!"

The woman was completely naked under her dress. No undergarments whatsoever. Just the dress and the boots. The woman's breasts, chest, and belly were exposed with the same radiant skin as her hands and face, but what Muriel had taken for a sweater were feathers. Sprouting from the woman's ribs and sides, wrapping around her back, were thick, pitch-black feathers. The feathers ran down her hips, fading to skin at her knees.

"What the fuck is this? Is it a costume?"

Muriel ran her fingers with and against the feathers on the woman's thighs.

"They're...not a costume," after a second, "I've...I..." before she could finish Dave interrupted. "Lets stabilize her. We can figure this shit out later." They got back to work.

Dave secured the woman's airway, as Muriel placed the EKG electrodes on her chest and belly. She had to forgo placing a few because of the feathers. As Dave started to breathe for the woman the monitor's alarmed. Muriel shifted, "starting compressions." She shifted her weight to be directly over the prone woman, and interlaced her fingers -- she placed her palms on the woman's sternum and started compressions. She felt ribs break on the 2nd compression. The woman was thin, ropy with muscle, but her chest seemed so frail to Muriel.

After 30 compressions, Muriel sat back. The woman's chest was slightly sunken, and was heavily bruised. As Dave breathed for her, her breasts and rib cage rose noticeably. Her stomach was lax, and soft making a bowl of her ribs and feathered hips.

Muriel glanced at the monitor, "heart rate is still irregular and thready," she listened at the woman's left breast with her stethoscope. She could hear a heartbeat but was starting to second guess what normal was here. She checked the woman's neck for a pulse. Then reached for thigh to check her femoral pules. She couldn't feel anything amidst the feathers. "Lets get her shoes off to check her pulse. I can't find one in her legs." She moved to unlace the woman's boots, but instead Dave pulled out the knife he always carried and expertly cut the right boot off of the woman's foot -- he'd had a lot of practice cutting off combat boots. As he did so Muriel whispered to herself "what the fuck." Dave did the same, cutting off the woman's left boot, too. She didn't have feet. Or, well, she had feet, but she didn't have human feet. Her feet were yellow, scaled raptor feet. She had 4 toes, all with wicked looking talons -- 3 facing forward, 1 back.

"I'm going to resume compressions..." Muriel sat back up and began to work on the woman again. Dave continued to manually breath for her. The monitor alarmed. "V-Fib."

Muriel sat back and moved out of the way as Dave brought the paddles to the woman's still frame. He placed one above her left breast, the other at her side right where her skin stopped and her feather's started. Muriel, "her feathers?" Dave shrugged as the defibrillator scanned. When it toned Dave said "stay clear" and delivered the shock. The woman convulsed, and the monitor screamed. The air immediately smelled of burning feathers. Dave said, "again" and shocked her again. This time the chirping of a steady heartbeat returned. He put the paddles away, Muriel took over breathing for her.

They both sat back, very quiet. As Muriel squeezed the bag the woman's rib cage expanded, her lungs filling with air.

Hannah felt sorry for herself. Massively, and completely sorry for herself. She was, to use one of her mom's oft-used turns of phrase, a "sad sack." Feeling pitiable, unloved, and generally exhausted Hannah did what she always did when she got home from work; she peeled herself out of an icky ass, grime covered outfit.

…it wasn't actually dirty, she knew, but spending all day in a school surrounded by so many bodies she usually came home feeling gross, crawling with ick. So, she pulled off "the outfit." Everyday she wore a variation on the same exact outfit, regardless of weather, time of year, or really anything. She imagined her students and coworkers thought this a quirk of her being blind…when, in reality, this was a quirk of her being cheap as hell and liking to sleep in to the last possible second.

First, standing in the doorway of the apartment that she shared with 2 other teachers -- Jenny a Spanish teacher, and Chloe an ed. tech. -- Hannah pulled off her sneakers and left them to the left of the door, behind the bit where, if the door opened, it'd hide the shoes. She always put her shoes here because no one else put their shoes their, but it also meant that every once in a while someone opened the door into her head while she was getting her shoes.

Shoes off, she walked through the shared living space and kitchen to her room. In her room, she took off her sunglasses and put them on the shelf that she thought of as "THE SHELF." It is where she put all her capital T things. Wallet. Phone. ID. And these glasses. The glasses were kind of a cliche, but she personally appreciated the signifier they applied to her face for the outside world. They felt like a mask. She loved the idea of wearing a mask.

Then she pulled off her pants. She liked to wear thick-ish canvas work pants. They lasted her a long time, and she could buy them in men's sizes which she found to be an order of magnitude more sane than women's sizing. They also had good pockets. Using her feet, she pushed her pants out of the way. Leaving them in a heap on the floor with another pair…or two.

Then she pulled off her sweater. Regardless of weather, temperature, or really anything, she always wore a pull over cotton sweater. This season she'd opted for 3 identical, but differently colored things from Nike. Never hoodies. She'd been scolded on her first full day of work as a teacher over a decade ago for wearing a hoodie…and then a kid left something gooey in her hood and it'd taken her hours to get it out of her hair. She'd never worn a hoodie to work again. She also left that on the floor. Then she pulled off the cheap t-shirt underneath.

…and now…in just her panties (she never wore a bra, she had no boobs to speak of and finding one that actually fit and wasn't for children was, Hannah had decided, literally impossible), Hannah flopped face-first on to her bed. The bed was unmade, but felt cool on her bare skin…then she felt gross about being on her bed still covered in school-ick, so she grabbed her towel and took a short, cold shower.

Thoroughly clean, chilly, and still feeling sorry for herself Hannah checked her phone. She had thousands of emails, and 3 texts. Two she knew were from this girl named Ruth who'd she'd grown up with and gone to an all girls school with. Ruth was also blind, was very confident, very successful and an all around model citizen, and Hannah had no desire whatsoever to reconnect with the only other blind girl from her endless years of Jewish day school.

When Hannah felt REALLY really sorry for herself, which she was starting to suspect she was, there were 2 things Hannah loved to do.

She loved to do drugs…kinda regardless of what they were.

She loved to get tattoos.

She was pushing mid 30s now, and the drugs thing didn't pair up so nice with being a teacher, and the last time she'd really gone crazy a few years ago, in a different school district…and state…she'd ended up in the hospital and her dad flew out for a week which had been intensely awkward because he'd cried a lot and she'd briefly thought that she was totally rumbled and was going to die, which she didn't really actually want to do, but what she thought was her heart exploding ended up being, as the doctors put it, "just a mild panic attack."

The tattoos thing, though, was very very cliche, and also, in all honestly, way more expensive than the drugs thing minus the whole hospital add on…but…she was feeling REALLY REALLY really sorry for herself. So, Hannah called K.K.; Hannah had no clue what either K stood for, if they stood for anything, but when K.K. answered the phone she said "I can get you in anytime after 7, girl!"

K.K. referred to nearly literally everyone as "girl," and hearing that made Hannah want to cry like her dad because she knew that K.K.'s shop closed at 6.

So, slathering herself in sunscreen, and pulling her hair back, Hannah got dressed. This time, not in "the outfit," but instead, just in "an outfit." This outfit consisted of a longish sleeveless dress that her phone said was "dark blue," but that last week her phone had said was "black," and a button-up shirt that she tied up in the front so that it didn't flap around her sides and smack at her arms while she walked around. She grabbed her capital T stuff, and put her sunglasses on.

As she stepped out of her room Jenny shouted out from her room, "don't forget rent! It is due tomorrow!" Hannah had only forgotten rent the one time.

"I'll Venmo you right now!"

"You know you can just pay the building?"

Hannah did know this, but the online web thing to pay through just said "button button button button button button button button button button button" over and over again when she tried from her laptop or her phone, so she just sent Jenny her portion of the rent every single month…Jenny would be totally fine and understanding if Hannah ever told her the reason, but, Hannah never ever told her the reason, "button button button button button button button button button button button button button button button button."

Ignoring the rest of Jenny's speechifying, Hannah slid into her shoes and went out the door. K.K.'s wasn't so far away, but it was a miserable walk, so, either bus or uber. Hannah was feeling so very really sorry for herself, so an expensive uber sounded lavishly decadent, but she'd been falling asleep to a true crime thing every night for about 6 weeks and couldn't disassociate ubers from the thought of getting raped, murdered, and dismembered…and maybe a little bit eaten.

Bus.

…granted, she knew also that the bus wasn't magically shielded from uber-like atrocities, having had to sit next to a myriad of unsavory strangers in her life, but, generally, the bus was good especially if you sat way close to the front near to the driver, and especially if she sat and held her cane like a past student once described as a knight Templar instead of folding it up like made sense to do.

The air was muggy, and smelled of dumpster near to the bus stop closest to her building…which she presumed was near to some dumpsters. She liked to find the sign for the bus stop and then stand a cane's length away from it so that folks could walk between her and it, but that also usually, 9 times out of 10, the bus would come to a stop directly in front of her and the sign. She did venmo Jenny the rent money while waiting for the bus.

The walk from where the bus let her out to K.K.'s wasn't short, and was all up hill. Hannah was thrumming though. Her skin felt electric. Despite her feeling so sorry for herself, she was excited to be getting a tattoo. She loved the tactile feeling of it. As a kid she'd always been scolded for rocking. Even Ruth had done joined in on the scolding. No one liked her to sway, which she still caught herself doing from time to time. Especially while at work. Hannah had always loved feeling intense, pointillist, sensations. She'd spent a decade or more cutting herself to feel it before she discovered getting tattoos. They hadn't really been on her radar as a visual art, but one day, also when she was feeling really super duper sorry for herself, it just sorta happened.

The first artists she'd gone to was fine, but not nearly as nice as K.K., but had mentioned that working on her blank white skin was like line drawing on paper. She'd gotten a ladybird on her forearm that first time. She had dozens of tattoos now. She'd been seeing K.K. for about 7 years, ever since they'd met at a party. K.K. had first given her a sleeve that started at the center of her back, and then traced around her right shoulder-blade and down her arm all the way down to her hand. It was a collection of delicate vines and flowers and bugs of all kinds.

Then, about a year latter, K.K. had given her another sleeve. This one started right under her sternum, and went up between her boobs, over her heart, but beneath her clavicle until it snaked to her shoulder, and then down her arm all the way to her other hand. It was also of delicate vines and flowers and bugs of all kinds. Also 1 bird.

Now she was in the middle of getting a mirror-set of vines, one starting from the small of her back, and looping around her hip and down her leg. The other starting at her belt line, looping around her other hip and down her other leg.

She also had a small set of bees tattooed behind her ears, but she let her hair cover those up now. Her head had been totally shorn bald when she got those…which was a bold, and chilly look that landed her with far more sunburn than she'd really anticipated.

When she got to K.K.'s shop she found the buzzer and rang it in what she hoped was a jaunty little tune, but really just sounded like a blender and a robot lawnmower smashing into one another. K.K.'s tiny voice came through the little intercom as the door clu-chunked unlocked, "hey hey hey girl!"

Hannah walked up the 28 steps (a weird number of steps) and right into a big hug from K.K.

K.K. was bigger than Hannah, always smelled a little bit like sweat, and a lot like patchouli. Today Hannah could feel that she was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and had a sweater or shirt tied around her middle. Her hair was long, and thick, and down.

"Belly or back today?"

"Belly unless that messes up any plans?" answered Hannah.

"Sounds good!"

They made lazy, but friendly chitchat while K.K. got everything thing ready. Hannah lay back while K.K. clinked and arranged all the bits and bibs and bobs she'd need on a cymbal-sounding tray. K.K. told Hannah about her kids. She had 2 boys. One was in college and the other was in HS…maybe even at the school Hannah taught at, but she never asked, scared to breach some kinda bubble. Her's her K.K.'s she was never really sure.

"Okay, you ready?"

Hannah nodded, untying her shirt, and pulling up her dress to the middle of her belly. K.K.'d already started the tattoo at her belt line, right a little bit lower than at the place where her pants usually rested. Now she was extending what she'd already started up Hannah's belly and around her hip, so that it could snake back down her leg.

"Here we go."

The sound of the tattoo gun was always softer than Hannah remembered it at first, that is until it touched her and then the sound seemed to fill her up inside and bounce louder and louder. As K.K. made the first long, feathery line up her belly Hannah felt herself break into an idiot grin. K.K. followed the sharpness of the tattoo gun with her fingers, gently wiping as she went. The sensation of K.K. wiping up behind the staccato thrum-zhum-thrum-zhum was like jumping into the snow after being in a sauna.

The other tattoo artist Hannah had gone to once upon a time made strong, firm lines. Lines that felt thick and deep. K.K. made gentle, delicate lines. Sometimes Hannah could swear that the tip of the tattoo gun wasn't even touching her they were so fine. People often told Hannah that her tattoos were beautiful, painterly and delicate, while being full of detail. Students sometimes asked to see them whenever they noticed them on her hands, and then she'd pull up her sleeves, but just a little, never even past her elbows. Her tattoos were something she usually kept to herself.

After a while, as was her habit, K.K. turned on music. K.K. had dramatically different taste in music than Hannah. K.K. liked this ethereal, voicey stuff, but it always crescendoed to screaming and big operatic booms and wails and it filled the space pretty wildly.

After a bit K.K. stopped and said, "wanna call it, or do a little more?"

Hannah very much wanted to do a little more. "I'd keep going if you have the time."

"I wanna start on your hip next," Hannah was a little nervous about this bit. Her hips where both covered in a myriad of little oblong scars from where she'd cut herself for years. Even though she didn't do that any more, she often times fell asleep running her fingers along the edges of the scars. "I know you know you've got a lot of old scars there, how would you feel about my turning them into leaves?" This caught Hannah totally off guard. Usually they didn't actually talk about the tattoos more than where they'd go. Hannah trusted K.K. and liked the theme they'd settled on with the vines, and bugs. She taught biology and it seemed like a good match for one of her genuine interests.

"Sure," Hannah said with a shrug, kind of still caught and lost for how to respond, "if you think that'll work well."

"These scars are yours, and I want them to be a part of you, not hidden in your foliage," K.K. said with an obvious smile…and after a second, "sorry, that was cheesy as shit. I think it'd work very well, though."

Jodi came to with a start and a long, loud gasp, someone was trying to pry her eyelid open. She batted at them, but her arms were numb, and weak. She felt another hand, two fingers pushing on her groin, she opened her mouth to scream, bare her teeth and fight, but a voice and hands on her shoulders pushed her back down, "hold hold hold still."

A beat.

The other hand left her groin, "you were in an accident. You were on a bus and it crashed. You were up towards the front, do you remember?"

Jodi's whole body sang with pain, she could feel her heart racing, and her breathing was sharp and fast.

"We're trying to help. I'm Cindy, we just got you out of the bus, I need to check you out," the hand to her face, and eyes again.

Jodi's voice was distant sounding, and ragged, "can't see."

"You had a pretty good knock, you can't see?"

"No, blind."

A long long pause, and then Cindy came back, "oh, okay. What's your name? Do you remember what day it is?"

"Jodi, Tuesday."

"That's good. Hi Jodi. I'm a firefighter."

Jodi's heart was hammering in her chest and her legs were cold. She was only wearing one shoe, and it felt like her pants were coming off, or in tatters.

"Jodi, you're going into shock. I need you to keep still, and try to steady your breathing, okay?"

Jodi could only respond with just a low "mmmmmm" sound. There were a lot of other sounds coming into focus very quickly. Traffic. Sirens. Footsteps. Everything smelled of an acrid, sharp chemical-something.

"Can you squeeze my fingers Jodi?"

Cindy put her nitrile gloved hand into Jodi's. She squeezed. She squeezed. She squeezed, and she felt her heart go all fuzzy feeling as she stopped being able to concentrate so hard on breathing and everything seemed like that squeeze.

"Oh, uh oh, Jodi, big deep breath, Jodi! Jodi!"

Cindy's voice turned away, "I need a bag! I need a bag!"

Jodi's senses were all going fuzzy, and her relationship with time got real stretchy. Voices came, and there was a lot of movement, the sound of people moving, of people moving her. Her stomach and chest were cold. She felt the cool evening air on her bare chest. People touching her. People touching her all over.

Something sealed over her nose and mouth as someone moved her head. She heard a "woosh," and a squeak and felt the air fill her up. It filled her up again and again. The sound reminded her of the rolling waves at the shore. When they were gentle and light, when things were still and quietest right around high tide. The air filled her up again and again...and then it stopped.

Her chest screamed. Hands on her. She wanted to turn her head but she couldn't move. She felt her head lulling back and forth as the hands met her chest, as the hands touched her all over. Her head lulled like when she was little and had made her sisters take her on the tea cup ride at the carnival over and over again. She'd cried and begged to ride the cups again. She couldn't stop her head from lulling, bouncing with the hands on her chest.

And then, just like that, there were her sisters. Not little. She could hear them talking. She could hear beeping, and clicks, and her body didnt' scream in pain, but was dull and distant. She was wearing something course that was bunched up near her chest to make room for all the cool, thin wires draped across her belly, and up across her sternum and breasts. She felt like she was covered in the little wires, like the littlest branches on a tree before they bud.

Her voice was horse and her speech felt slow slow slow, "guys?"

Her parents were, at first, super nervous about her being around the water. They worried that their young, blind daughter was more likely to fall in and drown, but after a few years, after joining a swim team, after their meeting other blind folks, they came around to her hobby. She'd spent her entire youth building her life around swimming. She was on her way to the Paralympics when her mom died, which threw things askew. But she'd never stopped swimming.

Now, Ruth lived across the country in a building a tad outside of her monthly budget all because it had an always open pool. In the 3 years she'd lived in the building she'd gone swimming probably every single day, sometimes twice.

To cover the cost of living in a building a tad outside of her monthly budget she'd gotten a second job teaching what the Department of Veteran's Affairs called "navigation classes" for newly blinded Veterans. She did this 3 or 4 times a week in the evenings.

She taught her class in a PT room because it was large, mostly empty, but with a few innocuous obstacles for folks to practice navigating around. It was at this job that she'd met Sydney. Sydney was probably 10, maybe 11 years older than Ruth. She was a retired Army something or another, and now worked as a physical therapist at the VA. Sydney had said "you live in the same building as me" by ways of their first greeting, and, ever since, they'd been friends.

They were fast friends. Friends who shared the odd meal together, joked together at work, and once had gotten very drunk and slept with each other at Ruth's apartment...which was the only time Sydney had ever been to Ruth's apartment, despite their living in the same building. Sydney had said that was a one time thing and had apologized a lot. She'd said that she "wasn't even gay," but since then, Ruth wasn't so sure. She, at least, was smitten.

A few months into their friendship they'd started to swim together. Sydney wasn't very good at it, but liked to start her day with exercise. So, most mornings, Ruth put on sweats and a hoodie over her favorite no-nonsense one piece (she had like 9 identical suits) and plodded over to the pool, usually taking the stairs instead of the elevators because those always smelled weird and there was a very creepy mouth breathing guy who always talked to her so much and she hadn't figured out, yet, how to navigate that little social hell.

The water was always cold, and always smelled a little too strongly of chlorine. From spending so much time in and around pools, Ruth had a feeling that this specific pool wasn't being maintained super carefully, but, it hadn't killed her yet, and it was always open to her.

This morning, she got to the pool first. As she opened the door to the room she felt the muggy, stifling air hit her. Everything was quiet save for the gentle "splip splip splip" of the still pool sloshing gently in itself. A circulation fan was slowly "zhoom zhoom zhooming" away in a corner.

She always swam in the same lane, if she could. 1 over from the left-most edge. She preferred to have a lane on either side of her, but liked being nearish to a long edge because it made it easier for her to tell where in the pool she was if the sound was asymmetrical.

She pulled off her hoodie and sweats, and left them in a heap by the door with her towel and white cane. Then she walked over to her lane, and stepped right into the pool. She knew that this was kinda dangerous, but she'd only done it successfully like 800 some odd times at this point, so, she figured it was fine.

The room erupted with splashing sounds as she got into the water. Everything went from still to crackling. After dunking her head under water and pulling her hair back she kicked off the wall and started to swim laps. Freestyle at first. She usually did 20 or so laps freestyle before moving to butterfly.

After 3 back-and-forth laps of the pool she heard the door opening, and stopped mid-lap. Standing on the bottom and straightening her hair back over her head. Sydney's curt greeting: "it is weird as hell that you do this in the pitch black." Ruth made a high pitched squeaking sound in return, holding her hands up to the sides of her head like big floppy bat ears. This was their usual morning conversation. Ruth knew where the light switch was, but liked the routine of Sydney's gentle mocking.

Ruth walked to the edge of the pool and hung off the edge while Sydney got ready. They chitchatted about work gossip, and idle nothings. Ruth was happy. Before long they were both in the pool swimming. Sydney's strokes were precise, but maybe a bit too forceful. It always sounded to Ruth like Sydney was trying to chop the water, as if she didn't hit it hard enough it wouldn't let her arms and legs under.

As Ruth zoned in and did her first quick twist into butterfly she could hear Sydney's strokes slow a bit, her kicking stop. Ruth swam on. As she twisted for the next turn she couldn't hear Sydney at all. She swam to the other side of the pool, and, instead of twisting to do another lap came to a stop. Sydney was at the end of her lane, next to Ruth's, breathing hard. Sydney whispered through gasping breaths, "really winded." Her voice was strained, and less calm than usual. Ruth asked, "you okay, Syd?"

She repeated, "really winded."

Then Ruth didn't know what to say. So, she said nothing. But before it felt truly, and painfully awkward Sydney took a sharp, quick, whistling inhale of air through her teeth, moved quickly, and gasped "oh my god," and then, more confusingly, "Ruth, help."

Ruth immediately dropped under the water to come up next to Sydney in her lane. She misjudged the distance between them, though, so she kind of slow motion body checked Sydney on her way over and up. She brought her arms around Sydney to hug her in place to make sure she didn't knock her over. As she hugged Sydney she could feel that Sydney was clutching at her chest with both of her hands pinned between her own and Ruth's bodies.

"Syd, what is wrong, what can I do?"

Sydney's voice was tight, and airy, she was struggling to breath, "I think I'm having a heart attack or something."

"Oh my god, what!?" Ruth wasn't proud of how quickly she went from 0 to panic. But after her initial outburst got herself under control. "Lets get you out of the water, okay?"

Sydney nodded, but right as she did so she started to shiver all over and her body got real tense. Ruth could feel Sydney's hands clenching around her own boobs as the shivering became more and more pronounced. Ruth released Sydney from the hug and pulled herself out of the pool, she reached back and grabbed Sydney under the armpits right as her face hit the water. She hauled her back up, out of the water. She was heavier than Ruth, and not helping to get out of the pool like Ruth had expected her to. Instead Sydney was hugging herself tightly, shivering all over, making spluttering sounds, so Ruth hauled, hard, with all her weight and strength, lifting from her legs, while also letting herself fall backwards so that gravity did some of the work, too.

This move got Sydney's shaking body about half way out of the water. Grunting, Ruth got her the rest of the way out of the pool, knowing she'd scrapped up Sydney's back along the edge of the pool as she cantilevered the other woman's body over the concrete curb. Sydney now lay next to the pool, with her shins and feet dangling into the water.

Ruth was breathless, "Sydney, I need to get help. Where's your phone?" Ruth never brought her phone to the pool, she mostly left the thing un or barely charged in her fanny pack hung by her front door with her wallet. Sydney didn't say anything, she was just making spluttering sounds.

"Sydney, you still with me?"

Spluttering sounds.

Ruth turned and ran to the door into the pool, she hauled it all the way open so that it'd stay, letting in a rush of cold air, and she screamed as loud as she could. She was surprised at how loud and how shrill her voice sounded. "HELP" and after a beat, "SOMEONE HELP! I NEED HELP!"

That done, she went back to Sydney. Ruth's hands were shaking as she reached out to touch Sydney, first her cheek, accidentally catching her lip, and then sliding to her neck. Sydney wasn't shivering anymore, but also wasn't spluttering.

"ohmygodohmygodohmygod."

Sydney wasn't breathing at all, her hands were still folded over her chest, clutching at her suit and chest, but Ruth was easily able to pull them aside. Syd's pulse was fast, like a thrumming rodent's heart, not like a strong person's heart.

In theory she knew how to do CPR, but, in practice she...was a full time professional computer person who had taken a single CPR class when she was 16 like 18 years ago. She shouted Sydney's name one more time to confirm she wasn't alert, and then tilted the woman's head back, feeling her short, cold, wet curls fall across her face. She pinched Sydney's nose tightly shut, pulled her mouth open and sealed her lips over Sydney's and blew as hard and fast as she absolutely could.

In return, she got a mouthful of hot pool water and who knows what else. Gagging and spluttering, Ruth turned Sydney's head away, realizing that she must have aspirated water or worse while being hauled out of the pool.

Sydney was larger than Ruth. Barrel chested with large breasts, and powerfully built hips and legs. Making sure Sydney's head was turned to the side, Ruth straddled her hips, and pushed upwards into the other's stomach with the heals of her palms, running along the clingy suit from Sydney's belly button up to her sternum. Ruth pushed hard a few times and could hear the water thickly splurting and glugging out of Sydney's mouth on to the pool deck. She repeated this move a few times until she didn't hear or feel any more water leaving Sydney's mouth. As she did it one last time she took a moment to scream, "HELP!" and again "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP!"

She moved Sydney's head again, and breathed into her, sealing her lips over Sydney's very cold, wet mouth again. This time when she breathed into Sydney she felt the air going into her, down into her body, past her mouth. She breathed into her again, and again, checking to feel for the rise of the other woman's chest. With each breath Sydney's chest inflated, her diaphragm remaining relaxed, though, meaning her belly was sunken and soft.

Ruth, breathlessly, "I NEED HELP!"

Ruth pushed her index and middle fingers hard into the side of Sydney's neck, she could still feel that fast, rabbit pulse. Unsure if she should keep breathing for Sydney or not, Ruth hesitated for a moment, but then she shifted herself over a few scoots and reached out, walking her hands across Sydney's right breast, and over to the center of her chest, sliding her hands to the other woman's still, cool, sternum. She put the heal of her palm flat against the hard, flat space between her breasts and then placed her other hand on top, interlacing her fingers. She sat up straighter, her hair coming down over her own face, hearing it dripping on to the pool deck and on to Sydney's still body. She started chest compressions. She pushed hard, and fast, exhaling with each compression.

After a few compressions Sydney made a long, wheezing sound, but didn't wake up. It sounded like air escaping from a wet bag. With each compression Ruth heard Sydney's mid back hit the concrete floor with a sucking sound, and her limp legs dangling in the water. Before doing another round of rescue breaths Ruth ran to the open door and screamed into the hallway, at first just a scream, and then a scream for help, this time even louder and more frantically.

Back at Sydney again she breathed into her. This time it was harder to get the air to go in. The last time it went in smoothly, this time it was like trying to inflate a blocked up beach ball or something. Sydney's cheeks started to inflate after a moment, and her chest remained in place. Unsure, Ruth returned to chest compressions, this time kneeling more directly over Sydney's body so that she had better leverage. Ruth didn't hear the footsteps. She started to cry, pushing as hard as she could on Sydney's chest. Ruth felt her self begin to sob, the shuttering breaths of tears starting to creep in as panic, or shock, was settling over her when she heard the foot steps of someone at the door, and a man's voice say "hello?"

The thing about mutants is that we don't all get to be superheros. A lot of mutations are mundane to the point of uselessness. Some go unnoticed. Some are easily hidden. Some are weird. Some turn you into a fucking lighthouse for all the world to gawk at.

I'm more lighthouse than not. I was born on Genosha, but don't remember it. It'd all fallen to shit before I was even 7, taking my parents with it. So, I'd spent my young life as a typical, visibly mutant orphan girl...which is to say very much on the run.

7' 7" while slouching isn't even the worst of it. I'm blue. Why are so many of us blue!?

But I'm not just freakishly tall and willowy and the color of a smurf, I've also got a power. Mind you, it is not a kick ass, "hold up, I'm gonna vaporize that robot while zooting around in the sky and tossing my hair" power. I've got the power to see inside of people. Well, kinda. I don't do it with my eyeballs. Those are just mostly normal eyeballs. Averagely short-sighted. If I touch a person I can understand their whole insides, which is weird and squidgy to be totally honest, but also useful...or at least Hank new it could be useful with the right education.

So, here I am, a grown adult mutant living at a school for mutant kids with 4 medical degrees to my name working as, ostensibly, the school's nurse...and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I owe this place everything.

The grim bit, the not so flashy, the not so "we just saved the world...again..." and "I call that Tuesday" bit, that doesn't ever seem to be publicized is that most mutations kill you, eventually. Nothing on this planet was ever meant to spontaneously evolve in a single generation. It is even worse for the kids who's mutations lay dormant until puberty. I've seen so many kids die. I do what I can, but there just isn't always something to do.

---

I was lurking in my usual corner of the big courtyard, while reading something boring. I prefer being outside whenever I can because every ceiling in seemingly the entire world is too goddamn low. As I was starting to think about leaving, and returning to the clinic a kid, feathery, sometimes a little shrill, screamed around the corner with his huge clicky feet tearing up the ground as he ran to me -- he shouted "come quick!"

...and so, quickly I came, following him back around the corner he'd come from and up the stairs, back inside towards the classrooms. "What's up?" I shouted after him, he was quick as shit.

"She just collapsed in the middle of class," he panted back at me.

"Who?"

...but he didn't really need to answer, we'd just got to a classroom.

I folded myself through the door and froze. Which was a chickenshit move, especially in front of a classroom of kids, but I hadn't expected a teacher to be down. She was sprawled on the floor, her head had hit the desk on the way down, there was blood. There was a lot of blood.

Composing myself, I dropped to my knees and crab walked the last few steps towards her, while turning back to the running bird-kid. "Get someone to help me move her to the clinic." I reached out and lay both my hands on her -- my palms outstretched and fingers wide. I lay one hand on her hip, the other on her back. She was face down.

I called out, "okay, she's breathing." And then, "what happened, can anyone tell me what happened?"

A kid, Lex...maybe Bennett? I'm shit with names, but I'd been helping them manage a heart issue for a few years now. Their heart and lungs struggled to keep up with their metabolic needs...they answered, though, "she...she was like right in the middle of a sentence and kinda spluttered before she passed out."

"She hit her head when she fell?"

"Kinda, she tried to catch herself at first. She leaned against the wall, but then fell backwards."

I'd assumed she'd fallen straight on to the desk, looking up now, though, I saw the place on the whiteboard where she'd leaned before falling over backwards. I could feel her heart beating, her brain function wasn't right, and her diaphragm was seizing, she was struggling to breath...she also had an ovarian cyst but that didn't seem heaps relevant at the moment. Her neck, nerves and skeletal structure seemed totally fine, intact, safe to move, so I rolled her on to her back and straightened her legs.

The blood was coming from above her ear. The gash was grizzly and would probably welcome a couple staples, but was superficial. I focused a little harder, kinda scrunching up to concentrate and re-evaluate what was happening, as I did that I felt her heart just stop. Go time.

"Clear out and get help" I shouted at a very not-so-teacher-like volume. The room emptied as I started CPR.

Despite my height I'm light...very very frustratingly light. I put all of my weight and upper body strength into the first chest compression, and new it was just barely enough, but I kept going. I'd done this before...more times than I liked to dwell on, but I knew a few tricks. Namely how to monitor the electrical and physical activity of a body under resuscitation; I felt the blood moving, and as I pumped her chest, I could sense as the blood started to lose oxygen. Rescue breaths. I gave her more than normal, her brain was already starved for oxygen for some reason, there was something awry up there, but I didn't have the time to take a closer look, yet.

I wanted to hyperventilate her to see if that helped. The room had a first aid kit someplace mounted on a wall. I shoulda asked a kid for that.

I sealed my lips over her lips and blew into her. Her chest rose, suddenly inflating with air. After breathing into her, I returned to chest compressions, right as I preformed the first one Yvette came in.

...Yvette was, likely, my favorite person in the world. Mostly silent, massively strong, likes very loud, shouty music in Russian, and is the school's lunch lady.

She grabbed the first aid kit from by the door, and dropped to her knees while ripping it open. This was a dramatic flourish when the zipper was perfectly functional. I knew. I checked those zippers all the time.

"No heartbeat, not breathing. No clue what's happened."

Yvette nodded as if to say "what can I do?"

"Take over compressions?"

Yvette slid in and didn't miss a beat, picking up chest compressions where I'd left off. While mine had been working, Yvette's were more impactful. I could feel how much more she was able to force blood to circulate. I also felt her immediately break at least 3 ribs by her fifth compression, leaving the teacher's chest sunken. I grabbed the sheers from the first aid kit and started to cut the shirt off. This teacher was one of the ass-kicking, beautiful superheros that folks like to ogle at. Her cut belly lay languid, undulating beneath the force of Yvette's compressions. I cut off her shirt and bra, working the sheers up the side of her body, away from Yvette.

Her bare chest and breasts were pockmarked with tiny scars, even those seemed like beautiful stippling on her, though. The scars, I knew, were a result of her having hugged a hand grenade as a kid which was the moment she'd discovered her powers 20 or so years earlier when she was 16.

As Yvette kept pumping her chest, I placed my hands on either side of her head, one of my hands immediately slick with blood. Her heart was still, her breathing aborted, her other organs in a cascade of failure. I focused on her brain. Brains are hard, because brains are complicated, you can kinda always go deeper with a brain, so, I started from the outside and worked my way in.

Structurally her brain was fine. The blood vessels were all intact. The issue seemed electrical, but the electrical patterns of her brain were weird, wild, all over the place. I pulled my hands away and breathed for her again. Each breath forced her breasts to rise, and left her ribs more distended, visibly separate from her sunken, relaxed stomach and abdomen.

As I breathed for her I kept on looking into her brain...and, just like that, I got it. What I was seeing wasn't chaotic brain activity. It was a brain under attack. Someone, from the outside, was attacking her brain, and it was killing her. Immediately I stood up and hit the alarm.

When Kirby made a sharp, hissing gasp Daphne didn't think much of it. It was another one of those little sounds that comes with living alongside someone else. Daphne had headphones on, and barely even heard the gasp; thought nothing of it until Cody, Daphne's 4 year old service dog left her side on the couch and started to bark. A lot.

Pretty much immediately, Daphne new something was wrong. Cody never barked, both out of training and by quirk; even as an alert he tended to yip the most tiny bark. These were loud, frantic barks. Throwing off her headphones and standing, expecting to hear an alarm or something, Daphne shouted, "Kirb? Kirby!?" She started to make her way towards Cody, all while repeating "Kirby? Kirby?"

Her foot ran into what she instantly knew to be Kirby's prone form. Cody was standing over her barking, but he sat and calmed right as Daphne arrived.

Squatting down Daphne reached out, one hand coming to Kirby's face, the other landing to rest on the other woman's chest. Daphne could hear that Kirby was making a soft, low, gasping sound and her chest was shuttering with quick, shallow breaths. "Oh my god," Daphne grabbed Kirby's shoulders and shook her. "Kirby, can you hear me babe?" Kirby didn't move or respond in any way. Daphne moved her hand's to Kirby's neck, she searched for a pulse -- she found one, but it was weird, erratic and uneven. Moving to Kirby's face, she held a hand over her nose and mouth -- despite what she'd felt a moment ago, now her breathing was still. Nothing. Kirby's mouth was open, and dry. Daphne couldn't feel any sign of her breathing, not at her face, not when she rested her hands on her belly and sternum between her breasts.

Without moving her hand away from Kirby's nose, she pinched it shut, tilted her head back, and leaned over, sealing her mouth over Kirby's, blowing 3 breath's into Kirby. At first, Daphne's reaching hand didn't feel Kirby's chest move at all, but after adjusting Kirby's head and breathing into her again, more deeply and forcefully this time, Daphne felt Kirby's ribs rise, her stomach and diaphragm sinking soft. Afterwards she felt for Cody and said "Phone Cody. Phone." He jumped away. Kirby's lips were dry, and chapped, her mouth was wet but cool.

Daphne gave Kirby 3 more breath's, feeling her own heart rate start to rise, but trying to stay steady. Cody came back and dropped an iPhone into Daphne's lap. She picked it up and it started to speak in a fast paced voice. "Good boy, Cody. Good boy." He'd brought Daphne her own phone, not Kirby's.

She mashed the emergency button, triggering it to call emergency services; after what felt like forever an operator picked up. Daphne was surprised to find that her voice was strong, clear, not frantic. She felt panic in her limbs.

The exchange was quick. The operator's tone turned serious. "An ambulance is on the way."

With the operator still on the line Daphne continued rescue breathing. Kirby's pulse remained erratic and seemed to be slowing. Daphne reached out, leaving a hand at the apex of Kirby's sternum as she kept rescue breathing; she felt Kirby's chest rise again. Kirby's shirt was soft, tattered, and threadbare on top of her. Daphne was struck by how separate Kirby's body seemed from her clothes.

"It'll be okay Kirby."

After many rounds of breathing Daphne was starting to feel dizzy, but was too scared to stop breathing for Kirby, who's skin was starting to feel cold. After a few cycles of rescue breathing Daphne adjusted the tilt of Kirby's head and neck again. After that point Kirby's chest filled significantly more with each breath. Daphne felt Kirby's entire chest rising, dropping off to the soft bowl of Kirby's lax stomach. Her ribs standing out a little more with each breath. Cody stood and nuzzled at Daphne's shoulder just as the ambulance pulled in front of the building. "Find them Cody, go get them."

…Daphne knew that wasn't really in Cody's repertoire, but he was clever and he bolted away. Moments latter Daphne heard two people come in, Cody at their heals.

A man with a buttery voice said "hello?" and a woman's voice followed, "over here," before Daphne could respond.

Hand's on Daphne's back -- "we'll take it from here, ma'am."

The "ma'am" felt grating and caustic to Daphne, but she stepped away, kneeling on the floor, leaning into Cody a few feet back. She could hear them working, moving, moving Kirby.

The man turned to Daphne and, in a voice multiple decibels too loud asked "has she taken anything? does she use drugs?"

"No, not ever. Not since college. That was years ago, and just a bump of coke sometimes at a party…that was always my fault."

Still too loud, "how long has she been like this?"

"Maybe 10 minutes, I called the ambulance, I called you right away and started breathing for her."

"Are you sure she wasn't like this before you found her?"

…he was still too loud. Before Daphne could answer, the other voice -- "Dave, take over."

Daphne heard a grunt and then movement. The other paramedic crawled the few feet over to Daphne. She whispered, "sorry," and after a beat, "I'm Muriel, you're Daphne?"

Daphne nodded.

"What's your friend's name? How old is she?"

"She's my wife. We're married. Kirby. She's Kirby. Or, her first name is Kyu-Ri but she's always just Kirby…sorry…she's 36."

"It's okay, thank you -- does your wife have any medical history that you know of? Has anything like this happened before? Or in her family?"

"No, never; what is happening? But we don't really talk to her family. I've only met. her sisters once."

The man's voice, Dave's voice, "Muriel."

Daphne could hear Muriel turn away from her, looking back at Kirby.

"Daphne, I need to help Dave. I'm going to keep talking, okay."

The sounds of fabric being cut, ripped. Cody tensed. Daphne rested a hand on his head, "down down."

"Daphne, Kirby's not breathing. We're hooking her up to a monitor, and we're going to need to place a tube to keep breathing for her. We're going to stabilize her so we can go to hospital. Right now we're concerned about how erratic her heartbeat has become."

Daphne nodded, bringing her hands to her face, covering her own mouth and nose -- they smelled of Kirby.

"Why, why isn't she breathing?"

"We don't know, not yet. You did good to breath for her for so long."

Dave's voice; "we need to start compressions."

"Her…her heart's not beating?"

"Daphne, it is going to be okay." Muriel's voice was quiet, firm, but intensely distracted because she was so focused on Kirby.

Daphne's hands smelled of Kirby…just that morning, hours ago, they'd lay in bed together. They'd had plans to go to the grocery store, and Daphne was going to go swimming at the gym, but they blew all that off. Instead, they'd lounged in bed. Eventually, Daphne'd run her hand's through Kirby's hair and kissed her. First on her cheeks and eyes, then her nose, and lips.

The kiss was deep, slow, and long. She'd left kisses down Kirby's neck and clavicles before slowly running her hands up Kirby's sides, and feeling her ribs, and the smooth edges of her small breasts as she lifted off that same, soft, tattered shirt. She'd kissed and licked Kirby, tracing a path down her sternum, tasting a bead of sweat, around her breast, and down until she reached the soft smooth plane of Kirby's belly, rubbing her thumbs along Kirby's hips, flirting with that place where Kirby's hair started.

"Daphne, please stand back, and make sure the dog is clear. We're going to shock her."

Daphne stood, lifting Cody in her arms. Cody was 40 lbs, but was always happy to be held. Daphne clutched Cody to her chest as she heard Muriel, "clear." There was a sound like "ssst" and then the sound of what Daphne knew was chest compressions starting. She held Cody more tightly as she heard a muffled, wet sounding crack. Ribs.

"What's happening? What's wrong?"

Daphne knew the question was stupid, but it just came out.

"We're going to move her. We need to get to hospital," After a pause, "you can ride with us."

Before Muriel was done speaking, Dave, "that isn't allowed."

"I'll deal with it."

Daphne's hands smelled of Kirby. She'd planned to pull off her pants and go down on her, but, before she could, Kirby wrapped her legs around her and flipped Daphne over onto her back, kissing her and pulling her own shirt off…

"There's a seat to the left, it folds out of the wall. You got it?"

Daphne found it. It was harder to fold down than she'd guessed, but it came down with a "snap" and clicked into place.

Muriel's voice came in beat's, she was next to Kirby preforming strong, rhythmic chest compressions. Daphne's hand was on Kirby's bare belly. It was sunken and cold to the touch, jostling with each strong, rib snapping compression.

"Daphne, I'm going to ask you to hold something; I need you to squeeze it, count to 3, and then squeeze it again. Don't stop. You're breathing for her."

Daphne nodded as Muriel moved her hand from Kirby's belly. "Squeeze."

"Good, don't stop unless I say so, okay?"

Cody rustled by Daphne's feet; he wedged himself under the little seat. Daphne realized she'd left her white cane behind. She'd left her shoes behind. She'd left Cody's harness and leash.

Muriel banged on the wall, maybe the floor, and shouted "go!"

Once, when Daphne was in college she'd sat in the front seat of Kirby's roommate's car. They'd borrowed it to go to a concert together. They were coming home, with an hour or more left in the drive. "You wanna go fast, Daphne?" she could hear the smile in her voice. Daphne couldn't remember how she'd answered, a shrug, a "sure" or something more enthusiastic, but with that Kirby had said "okay" and then started to call out their speed, "70, 75" a shutter, "81, 88, 90" -- Kirby's voice was calm, but gleeful. Instead of calling out when they'd broken 100, she'd screamed, and so had Daphne and they'd flown and drove and drove…

The ambulance didn't feel like it was moving so fast, but it was loud. Daphne heard a lot of noises, but the one she was focused on where the sounds of Muriel performing chest compressions…she didn't realize when she'd started but she was counting them. They were in the 200s.

"Lean back, I'm going to shock her again."

Muriel's voice was thin, tired. Trying to stay calm, wanting to sob, Daphne leaned back and held her hands high over her head, cartoonishly out of the way, while pushing back on Cody under the seat, making sure he was well out of the way. Muriel didn't say "clear" before Daphne heard the "ssst" again -- louder than before. She heard the fleshy sound of Kirby's body convulsing on the bed and there was a smell like ozone. Muriel, "and again," the sound came again, and again Daphne heard Kirby's body seize, but immediately a monitor chirped; "she's back. I'll take over breathing, Daphne. She's back."

…after a beat, "can, can I touch her."

"Yes."

Daphne lowered her hands and found the space between Kirby's clavicles, below her neck. Her skin was cool, she felt the edge of an adhesive pad, and then found another and another, she was covered in them. She slid her hands to Kirby's shoulder and squeezed it gently, then harder.

At the hospital a lot happened very quickly. Daphne and Cody sat in the ambulance, away from the rush, listening to the sounds of Muriel shouting over the sounds of traffic and the machinery of the hospital.

11 hours later Daphne sat in a sterile, chirping room, Cody underneath her chair. The doctor's resuscitated Kirby again before they discovered a bleed in her brain. The surgeon explained how they'd been able to stop the bleed by going through Kirby's femoral artery, but that they wouldn't know the extent of the damage done by the bleed until Kirby woke up.

Daphne tried not to think "if."

Kirby was breathing on her own, which the nurses said was a good sign.