Work Text:
“I’m ready to go back to work,” Lucrecia said.
Hojo looked up from the table in the corner of the ward, where he had been reading her clinical notes. She had started recording her observations after the first infusion of Jenova cells, and her final notes had been written at 3am, at that very table, after Hojo had taken Sephiroth away.
“I have no postpartum symptoms of concern,” Lucrecia said. “The stitches are healing, my temperature is within range, no chest pain and no headache. I will return to the lab tomorrow.”
“No.” Hojo flipped to the next page of her notebook. “We have too many uncontrolled variables.”
“I am not an uncontrolled variable,” Lucrecia said. “I am a leading researcher on this project.” And his mother. But that would carry no weight with Hojo. She was more incubator than mother; her body a beautifully calibrated biological system, optimised for gestation.
“I’m concerned about your mental status.”
“My mental status? I’m not the one prone to impulsive decisions.”
He turned her notebook towards her.
“I know what my notes show. I had nightmares during pregnancy, explained by hormonal fluctuations—”
“Read this entry, Lucrecia.” Her name thick on his tongue. He had whispered it in her ear, once. My Lucrecia.
She looked at the entry. It was the one she had written at 3am. Carefully dated, handwriting neat.
“You see my concern,” Hojo said.
“Yes. I see.”
“…” Hojo pushed his glasses up his nose. Recategorising her from researcher—from wife—to research subject. “We’ll need to hold you for observation.”
“The Jenova cells—”
“You knew the risks.”
“Yes.” Her hand closed into a fist. “Yes, I knew the risks.”
“I’m sorry.” Hojo reached out, brushed a thumb across her knuckles.
Her nails dug into her palm, drawing blood. “I’m sorry, too.”