Author: Kiki (Hey-Diddle-Diddle)

Genre: Drama

Rating: PG

Summary: Pre-game, small spoilers for Jade's past. Jade-Nebilim, very vague Jade/Nephry.

Another replica died during the night, spitting blood from its mouth. He turns it over with the edge of a scalpel, lies the edge of the blade against the throat, then down the stomach. The rat's body splits open smoothly, and he holds back skin with the dull edge of the scalpel, pulls the cut further open with a thumb and forefinger. The organs slip, feel slimy through his gloves, and he finds the heart.

It's still intact. It should be beating. A touch of the scalpel has the heart cut free, and he lifts it out, smaller than his thumbnail. He holds it cupped in his hand, and when he opens it wide, the valves are clear, and what blood was left in it is clean, a rich red that pearls on his hand.

It should be beating.

He'll try again tomorrow.

x

The next time, both the replica and the original die, blood in the replica's mouth and whiskers, a rattle and sigh from the original. Their hearts aren't broken, nor are their stomachs, their lungs, their liver and brain and intestines. Kidneys, gallbladders, everything is clean. He opens them all, takes notes and draws sketches, quick slashes of ink on the paper. There's no reason for a rattle and blood in whiskers, and he wonders if it'd be the same with humans. If Professor Nebilim will have blood on her mouth.

There's something missing, something he can't think of, on the haze of his mind, and he doesn't know what it is, what could be missing that leads to a rattle of blood. He turns over the bodies, cuts them open with tiny movements, bodies the length of his hand, and deaths the size of his thumb. He empties the rats, then fills them back up, and wonders why they die.

"You should stop," Nephry says, and she lays her hands on his shoulders, rests her chin on the top of his head. He would reach and touch her, pat the back of her hands, but his gloves are slick and wet. He hums instead, flips the scalpel in his hand, and pushes a liver, looks for something he can't find.

"There's something missing," he says, and Nephry's hands are loose. He wonders if she'll step back, if she'll step closer. He wants to touch her hand, but she hates it when he touches her with bloody gloves. She hates it when he touches her.

The hearts should be beating.

"What is it?" she asks, and he frowns, leans closer, trying to find something in the way the blood is smeared across the tray. Words, maybe, or a picture. Some kind of hint of what he's missing, what Professor Nebilim tried to teach him. Tries to teach him.

"They should be beating," he says, and he cuts open a heart, shows it to her. Her face is pale, but she looks at the valves, at the clean blood, watches him smear it between thumb and finger. When he catches her wrist, she shudders, but she doesn't step away. She doesn't step closer.

"Don't work too hard." She kisses the top of his head, like their mother used to, and then she walks away swiftly, sensible heels on a sensible floor, where the blood is easy to wipe up. Where the ashes don't stay for long. He wonders why her heart was beating so hard, blood heavy in her wrist.

x

The original is lying in the bottom of the cage, listless and faint-breathed, but the replica's still alive. Three days, the longest so far. It's throwing itself at the cage, baring its teeth at him, but it's alive. Its heart, lungs, brain are all beating, quick and strong, and he reaches in the cage, grabs the base of its tail. It twists as he pulls it out of the cage, trying to bite him, and he jostles it.

He pins the rat to the tray, thumb and forefinger pressing at the base of the neck, and the rat's limbs scrabble at the smooth metal, nails scrittering. He flips his scalpel with his other hand, lies the edge against the side of the rat, and when the rat lies still, chest heaving for breath, he cuts. It's smooth, clean, deep, and the thrashing smears blood, like words spelled out in the dregs of tea.

It's easy to flip the rat over, its jaws weak and flimsy when it tries to bite him, and he presses his thumb inside, finds the heart, pitter-patter-fast like Nephry's footsteps, sensible shoes on sensible floors when she runs away, face pale and eyes wet. He wonders if Professor Nebilim will wear sensible shoes again, if her mouth will be bloody.

The heart's beating against the underside of his thumb, faster than his heart, and he presses his other thumb against the rat's head, the underside of its jaw, turning it up. He can see the throat move, shallow breathing, and he wonders if Professor Nebilim will be able talk. If her lungs will be clean, her brain and kidney and liver. Her heart.

The heart's not beating.

He wonders what he's missing.