Chapter Text
Fanny was tired. A regular occurrence, even before a certain algebrailian. Thanks, Freesmart. Something about going to bed late from chatter, and waking up early to Ruby having a sugar rush, giving her a daily struggle with insomnia. Air, how she hated insomnia. Even in Death PACT, a group who was mostly quieter, she struggled. Came in handy with One, at least.
She couldn't sleep, rest, eat, not yet. Not now. Not when there was a rift in the sky, when her soul was held by contract. She was used to it, anyway. If BH could work without rest, so could she. Even if she was exhausted, and oh Division Fanny was exhausted. (When did she start saying division? For Fan Factories sake she's spending too much time around numbers.)(She hates numbers.)
A voice in the back of her head screamed, “You're acting like a martyr, a hypocrite!!”
Fanny hated hypocrites. She hated herself by proxy.
So where did that leave her? Apparently, alone in the hotel at 3 am, not a sound to be heard. Sometimes she wondered if her isolation was part of One’s plan, something that would get to her slowly but surely, make her lash out and reveal weakness. She shook it off. As impulsive as she could be, she was just as logical. If she had nothing else, she had spite and logic to keep. That was her's, she would bite and scratch and swear but by Wind would she survive. If Fanny was anything she was a survivor. Maybe that's why she joined Death Pact.
Or maybe she just hated Iance. Either or.
Whatever. She had a number to figure out. Even if it meant her 3rd all nighter in a row. Even if her team was worried, enough for Black Hole to step away from his post, Marker to stop playing and check in on her. Tree dropped his token, once, upon seeing her stumble in.
She feels bad. Accidental neglect in favor of research, fuck she was beginning to sound like Golf Ball. There were marker stains on her legs, eye bags deep enough to be a cartoon bit. Her team was all asleep, like the rest of the hotel, without her. She missed them. She would never admit that out loud. Every so often she would imagine the idea of a full night's sleep, waking up to her team. Something soft and warm and not at all suited to the shell she built for herself, one she convinced everyone (including herself) was all she was. Someone who didn't care, was always mad, didn't know how to love. Though, the last two weren't totally inaccurate. What is she if not strong, spiteful? She's never known how to love in the right way.
Something about those thoughts leads her to doze off again. The floor brings a quick wake up call, Two doesn't flinch from their spot. She can't rest yet. She doesn't know how to, anyways. There's a lot she doesn't know. She'll pretend she does. The blue ink staring her down gave Fanny a headache. She'll ignore it.
Her balance waivers as she continues to connect theory upon theory, she's beginning to feel like a conspiracy theorist. Fanny hates conspiracy theorists. That doesn't stop her. Her shaky handwriting might. The idea of brewing coffee with energy drinks no longer sounded horrendous.
Any sane person would tell her to go to bed. Fanny hasn't felt sane since she lost her mouth.
She'll continue. It's all she has, anyways. The image of her teammates in the other room makes her throat tighten as she continues to run on stale coffee.
She's sure if Bubble saw her she'd be disappointed. The logical part of her brain supplies “worried” instead. The logical part of her brain also feels like mush. Fanny’s convinced she's permanently damaged something up there. At least now she shares something with that rift, irreparably damaged. She sees Black Hold in the corner of her eye. The rift opens and closes on time with her thoughts. If she wasn't so tired, maybe it'd mean something.
If she wasn't so broken maybe she'd mean something.
She'll continue to survive anyways, if only to spite One. To hold her teammates, and know she got through it. She got through the LOL on bread and anger. She'll get through this on coffee and hope. And spite. And approximately 2763 dry erase markers.
The blue ink was starting to get to her, and maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but it almost seemed like Black Hole moved closer to her window. Like he was peering through. Most likely to check on Two. Or her. Probably Two.
(She ignored the part of her that perked up at the chance of someone checking on her.)
Sleep deprivation slows your judgement, she knew. So if she shifted closer to the window to see, blame that instead of the creeping loneliness. If it wasn't for the darkness, she'd almost think he was taken aback. Fanny went back to her whiteboard just as quickly. Black Hole went to a different window. No words were said.
(She almost wished he did say something. Almost.)
The darkness was beginning to get to her. Maybe it already had. She pretended it didn't. It didn't work. Of course she could always turn on a light, maybe finally Two would be forced awake. They'd get up, finally see the danger they were all in, fix everything with the power of friendship or something. Naive. The light would stay off, she knew Two was awake and staring at the ceiling. She knew they wouldn't “wake up” for a long, long time. She knew they were fucked if they didn't snap out of it. She'd tell the others so. She'd pretend it was normal pessimism and not what could be true. For Fan Factories sake she was pretending a lot.
One was rubbing off on her.
She'll shove that thought away like everything else.
Hopefully the sun would come up soon.