Work Text:
Gloria Alves wakes up. Her neck is stiff. Moving it too quickly causes terrible pain to shoot through it. Getting dressed is a careful affair. She walks to her current office, nestled in the deepest corner of records, and reviews the files upon her desk. Some requests from members of records for more classified information, some reports that she needs to review, and a scheduled annual performance review to fill out. Strange, how mundane a day can be while deep in the bowels of SCP-6320.
Alves gets through the day, fills out what she needs to, and reads the rest. Goes for a quick lunch break when her stomach starts to growl, and the same for dinner. The stack on her desk is about a quarter done as the day ends, and achievement sparks a fire in her gut. She allows herself a small smile before tidying the few papers she'd scattered, and heads to her room to sleep.
Gloria Alves wakes up and her neck is stiff. Exactly like the day before. She's less careful getting dressed, and when she gets to her office the stack of papers that lay upon it are the same. Quickly scanning the files, Alves confirms that they are the same as those she completed yesterday, now blank.
If Alves were a lesser woman, perhaps she would panic. Try in vain to convince herself that what was happening was not in fact the reality. Alas, Gloria Alves has worked for the foundation for far too long and recognizes a time loop when she sees one. Even if it's her first time as a participant in such a tightly closed one. She sits in her office and does her work. She notes that the people she saw walking down the hall were seen in roughly the same order as yesterday and greet her in roughly the same way. Alves will have to go through a few more loops to be certain, but her working theory is that she, alone, is stuck in this particular time loop.
Alves goes to lunch early today, to beat out the rush that had greeted her yesterday. If the timeline of the entire site's loop had changed, perhaps the cafeteria would once again be crowded as others decide to beat the rush too. Instead, Alves is the first in the cafeteria. As Alves leaves she notes that it is the same time as when she arrived for lunch yesterday. The line is about the same length, minus herself. However, she remembers Klein already being sat at a table when she'd come in, and the woman is nowhere to be seen. Alves expands her hypothesis of who is in the loop to include Klein. Skipping over the portions of reading she had completed yesterday, Alves finds she has completed slightly more than a quarter of the work on her desk. She allows herself another small smile of satisfaction, and goes to sleep.
Gloria Alves wakes up, her neck is stiff, and she ignores it to get dressed. If she is going to be in a time loop, she might as well make the most of it. Her steps down the hall are quicker, and she confirms with ninety eight percent certainty that the same people are saying the same things to her and she is alone (with the possible exception of Beatrix Klein) in this loop. She skips reading over reports she's already seen entirely, only signing what and where she needs to. She edits her wording on certain documents to be more concise, clear, and professional. When her stomach starts to rumble, she skips the cafeteria, and rummages through her desk for some simple nutrient paste. As the clock above the door strikes 7:38 and she allows herself to leave once more, almost half the work on her desk is done.
The next day, she increases her efficiency by consuming the paste two minutes before she knows she will be hungry. Comfortably, she sets the idea of 11:16 and 4:28 as lunch and dinner respectively. Over the radio, she hears the communications officer request security keep on eye on Klein. Apparently, she's gone crazy, shaking people down for simple questions like "what's the day, today?" and "is this a prank?".
Alves feels lucky that she skipped that phase. After all, any day could be their last in this loop. Her work needs doing and her reputation needs maintaining. She's even making excellent progress on her rate of efficiency.
By the fifth day, Alves has her timing and wording down to a t. No moment passes her by. She keeps an ear on the radio to monitor how Klein is doing.
Certainly, Klein is making it hard for Alves to work. Frequently, whatever madness this loop has brought upon her causes the site to shake or panic.
Alarms will go off, and Alves will have to instruct her people on the relevant safety protocols before she can get back to work. Her neat handwriting will shake and shutter with the earth. It's absolutely devastating to her efficiency, but she can't do anything about it.
On the eighteenth day in the loop, Klein bursts into her office to interrupt her work directly.
"Gloria, I need your help." Alves chooses to ignore her, deciding that this is not an efficient use of her time should the loop decide to break after today. "I'm stuck in a time loop, and I can't get out. I know it's hard to believe, but I promise it's true."
After several more seconds of pleading, Klein asks if Alves can hear her. She quickly nods, and keeps working on autopilot. At that point, Klein leaves. She scoffs about Gloria clearly not believing her, and vowing to prove it. For a moment, Alves wishes she'd looked up to see her while she was still there.
The next cycle, Klein clearly gets someone to believe her. Radio chatter that day is focused on brainstorming ways to escape a time loop.
Time continues on and Alves keeps careful mental track of the days. Any day could be her last, after all. Every twenty cycles she rereads the reports so that when she gets out there is no forgetting what they say. Klein keeps bursting into her office, but she seems to do that to everyone. Alves ignores her, maintaining her perfectly efficient day.
Beatrix Klein is so fucking done with this day. Again and again she tries to get out to no avail. She is sick of the people in the hallway greeting her as she walks by. She is sick of Harley believing her time and time again, offering her a drink. She knows too much about his moms at this point. She is tired of trying to get Alves' attention, because if anyone can get out of a time loop it's her. She is so fucking tired of falling asleep and waking up. So, maybe she shouldn't wake up. It's taken cycle after cycle of trying to get past medical, Lancaster trying to talk her out of it, of Harley commiserating with her, but finally she's managed to steal enough pills from medical to go down.
Klein chokes down a handful with a glass of water, and mentally apologizes to whoever she's taking them from. She hopes for no more waking up.
Alves hears Klein's name on the radio, again. She's halfway through writing the annual review. As she has for the last three hundred and twenty one days, Alves starts to pay attention. Then, she freezes. It shouldn't be possible. Writing anything is muscle memory to her now, barely even words.
But, Klein needs emergency transport to medical. Immediately. It's ridiculous, but somehow Alves thinks this shouldn't be happening. She knows that Klein is in the time loop with her, has been aware that she's the only thing that ever changes, Klein has even been hurt before. But never enough to need emergency medical attention.
Getting back to her work is harder than Alves would like to admit. Half her attention is on the radio incase anything more is said. Then, at noon, there is more. A site wide announcement is made, saying that Doctor Beatrix Klein has passed of an overdose, and there is no suspected foul play.
Alves feels tears running down her face before she even realizes she's sad. She remembers a night, long before either of the loops she's stuck in now, talking Klein down from the same thing. Remembers a lot of times before the day could reset where she was so scared of losing Beatrix forever.
Alves' hands glide across the page, but they're shaking. Her elegant words look like nothing more than the scribbles of a wayward child. The page is dotted with wet spots. Alves is intimately aware of the possibility she will lose Beatrix forever. She is terrified of waking up tomorrow and her neck not being stiff. She is terrified she'll wake up and Bea will be really, truly, honestly, gone.
Today could be the last today. She has to get it all done. Besides, she cannot allow the site to see her weak. She falls asleep at her desk, work completely unfinished.
Then, Alves wakes up again, and her neck is stiff. It wasn't the last day in the loop. She drags herself through the hallways to her office. She works efficiently, and she waits for whatever Klein does next to filter through on the radio. She ignores the ways her hands still shake and how each breath is taken carefully.
When her handwriting is near illegible for the days it takes to hear Klein's name again, alive and safe, Alves chalks it up to the fact she hasn't been sleeping well. It doesn't matter that each day she wakes up feeling the same, and it doesn't matter why she's been sleeping poorly.
Days go by, and Alves feels unmoored. She's still getting her work done, but not as quickly as she was with every detail of her day fully pinned down. Nothing's changed, but her mind keeps wandering to Klein. She wants to touch her, to feel the warm skin underneath her hands and really know she's alive. She wants to hear her voice. Not crackling imitations over the intercom or news about her from too loud gossips, but her voice.
Gloria wants Beatrix Klein, but Alves has work to do, and any day could be the last day. She can't skip one just to calm herself down, there are people relying on her. Besides, there's no efficiency in not getting things done.
Alves doesn't have to think while she's writing. She just waits. One day, she thinks, Klein will come back through her door. Alves doesn't have to leave her office and she doesn't have to change. She just has to wait to make sure Bea is really back.
Klein bursts in randomly, almost a month after she died. If she's being honest, Alves would admit she doesn't really know what Klein is saying. She's simply taking in Klein's voice and reassuring herself in a way that has been far too hard recently.
Klein laser focuses in on the way Alves' shoulders drop as she speaks. Her heart stutters. It's the most reaction she's got from Alves since she's been in this damn loop. She didn't even realize they were so tense. She wishes, briefly, that she could wipe all of Alves' tension away. It's not like she can really waste time here.
Klein keeps coming back to Alves. She tries to remember the exact turn of phrase that had made her unclench. Instead, she's met again with the wall of silence she has come to know as wearing the face of one Gloria Alves.
Alves thinks the universe may be laughing at her. Klein keeps coming back, again and again. She's really alive and she's as much a distraction as always. More, even. Alves thought hearing Klein's voice would soothe the part of her that worried over Klein's death. Instead, it's left her wanting for more.
Alves, for the first time in a long time, cannot stop up her want. She wants to feel Klein's warm skin under her hands. She wants to press her fingers up to Klein's pulse and feel it thump thump thump. She wants to kiss Klein and feel the breath in her lungs. Perhaps, if Klein left her alone she could ignore it all. Instead, Alves forces herself to have eyes only for the paperwork in front of her. She is barely getting more than a fourth done.
The worst part, Alves thinks, is that she keeps saying the same things. Over and over, like she's gotten out of the loop. Alves knows she hasn't, notes where she stops and stumbles one day and sails through clear the next, tracks the little changes in her speech.
Every time Klein goes back to Alves' office she notices something new. It weighs on her. Alves looks halfway to insanity. She's been here before, she should've noticed or done something. Instead, Alves has a grip on her pen like she is trying to strangle it. Her hair is a mess. She's flinching at nothing. Klein wants to coax her out of this office, away from whatever has her so stressed. For the first time in a long line of todays, Klein is glad to be alone in this loop.
Alves can feel her will slipping and cracking. Everytime Klein comes in she wants to abandon her work. Wants to look at every single loop as proof that this next one will not be the last. It could be, though, and Alves has to get her work done. She cannot be weak. Klein is making her weak, she ate her paste at 11:20 yesterday for God's sake.
Perhaps, then, for the sake of efficiency, Alves may allow herself some time to rid herself of Klein. Surely, it will take only a few seconds, and then she can go back to completing half of the work on her desk, instead of the measly fourth. Alves nods slightly to herself. Perfectly reasonable.
The next time Klein bursts into her office, Alves scowls, turning towards her to tell her to shut up. Then, she stops. Suddenly, she realizes she has not seen Klein's face in ages, not since the loop started. In the same moment, Alves realizes that she's stood up, and has launched herself halfway across her office. Then, she realizes that she's holding Klein's face and their lips are crashing into eachother. Klein is so warm Alves is suddenly unsure how she has survived three hundred and sixty two days in her chilly office. And Klein is alive. Her breath in Gloria's mouth tastes like salvation.
Then Klein steps back. Alves uses all the willpower she has reigned back in not to bury her face in Klein's neck. She considers, briefly, that grief may have driven her insane.
Klein's voice sounds as dazed as Alves feels, "That's not supposed to happen." Alves' face lights a small fire. She clears her throat.
"Ah. Yes, my apologies. That was," Alves pauses, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, "inappropriate of me. I'll just get back to my work, now." Her eyes dart away from Klein's as quickly as she can will them not to linger. It takes an embarrassing amount of time.
Alves takes her own step back. Klein's voice sounds much further away, now, "no, that not what I-" she lets out a shaky breath- "every time I come in here, you ignore me. Today, I didn't even speak."
The room feels too warm, now, with Klein's eyes on her. Alves clears her throat again. "Well," she starts, "it is statistically unlikely that this is our last day in this... day. A little work can be ignored." Not true, of course, but better than admitting she lost control of herself. She turns back to her desk. It feels like a trap.
"How many days?" Klein's voice is soft, confused. Then something harsh strikes it, "how many days have you been in here with me?"
The silence is heavy. Sitting in it feels suffocating, but Alves doesn't know what to say. She glances at Klein. It's a mistake. "The start."
Klein leaves. It's exactly what Alves wanted. Gloria's breath shakes. She gets back to work. It's all muscle memory, and when she leaves half of it is done.
When Alves wakes up again, her neck is stiff. For the first time in a long time, she avoids moving in ways that will make it hurt. She responds to greetings in the hallways. Her work is done on muscle memory while she imagines apologizing to Klein. If only she could figure out which apology to give.
Klein doesn't show up at Gloria's office for a week. Alves completes her work diligently each day. This time when Klein comes in, Alves keeps her eyes trained on her desk.
"I think you're lying," Klein says, "because every time I've been here for however long this day has been, you never change. Until yesterday. I've been here far longer than two fucking days."
Alves can't help a small chuckle, "I'm aware, and on our third day, you held a knife to a man's throat to, and I quote, 'get to the bottom of things'".
"So what," the scowl on Klein's face is almost audible, "you thought it would be fun to just work on whatever little project you've built up in here without telling me? Getting further and further each day, laughing at silly old Klein for wasting my time trying to get us out."
Alves shakes her head, "there's no project. Just work that needs doing. Time loops like this are famously unpredictable in when they will end, and I will not finish today without completing my work to the highest level of satisfaction. It would be irresponsible."
Silence. Then, "you've really been in here the whole time," Klein sounds shocked. As if Alves has not been telling her this. It's ridiculous. Alves hums in acknowledgement. Suddenly, Klein's arm is on her shoulder, pulling her up. "I'm getting you out of this office."
Klein thinks she's gone crazy in this loop, like seventy percent sure. She is also sure it is not half as crazy as Gloria must have gone working on the same thing in the same cramped space for the whole time.
Lancaster has talked enough about his efforts in Klein's presence that she knows she should probably get Gloria some food, water, take her through botany. Instead, she grabs as many mugs, vases, and assorted ceramics as she can, and drags Gloria to an empty room.
Klein smashing one such mug against the wall with all the force she can muster seems to drop Alves out of whatever stupor she had launched into when Klein grabbed her. Her eyes are fixed on the smashed pieces at the ground. Klein has never seen her look so unsure. She passes her a bowl.
Alves thinks she's wearing her glasses. She's not sure, really, but she usually is. Still, she cannot believe she's seeing things right. The smooth feeling under her hand is strange. For a second, she wonders what it would be like to eat it. Alves feels it in her bones, "I'm supposed to be writing about access regulations right now." In the middle of it, too. Even on days where she has to re-read reports, she starts with her response to the higher level access request near the top.
Klein laughs, half bent over and loud. She's beautiful. "And I thought I'd gone crazy," she gasps between bouts of angel's song. Then, Klein's hand is on hers, drawing it back, pushing it forward, and letting it go. The bowl sails cleanly through the air and lands at the foot of the wall. It leaves a small dent and shatters into pieces. Alves had forgotten things could change as quick as that.
The next thing Alves grabs is a vase. She assumes it's one of Botany's. Instead of throwing it against the wall, she drops it. It shatters. "There is something to be admired in how long you lasted before killing yourself, especially considering," Alves glances at Beatrix, at her arms, before simply humming.
Slowly, Klein's laughter had tapered out with the dropping vase. Abruptly, it stops. Seemingly, she doesn't want to look at Alves while they speak of this. Alves understands. She wouldn't either. Alves watches as Beatrix fiddles with her ponytail.
Bea's voice is quiet, "two weeks isn't much."
And Gloria's world stops. She recounts the days in her head. She looks back on every memory of clocking out, and the time on the clock. They're all right, as far as she can tell. What Klein is saying doesn't make sense.
Gloria is shaking again, "Two weeks?" She is lucky that Klein is not looking at her.
"Oh yeah," Beatrix's laugh is weak this time, grating, "I was still counting back then. I thought, maybe-" she cuts herself off- "doesn't matter what I thought, didn't work. Woke up again, right after."
Alves knows Klein. Gloria knows Beatrix. Gloria Alves is certain that Beatrix Klein would not have counted the days wrong, especially to the degree of difference that Gloria is running up against. So, she missed something.
Alves is just now realizing she has held some particularly ridiculous romantic notions around Klein. For example, she'd convinced herself that when Klein died, she would simply know. No one would have to come, knock on her door, and tell her the news. She would feel her heart break in half, forever separated from Beatrix, and that would be that. It is rather shocking to realize, never having disavowed herself of the notion, that Klein had died without her noticing at all. She had been stuck, in a room, doing paperwork, while Klein fled the mortal coil.
Alves might be sick. The world is certainly tilting on it's axis. She is vaguely aware of Klein trying to get her attention, but Gloria is too busy trying to explain that Klein wasn't supposed to have died that soon, that it isn't right. She keeps tripping over it. Her words slip and slide in some combinations of what she is trying to say, but they're barely intelligible sentences and never hold the sum of the message.
Then, Alves wakes up. Her neck is stiff. She does not know where Klein is, and she needs to find her. The time loop has killed her, more times than Alves could know. She could be dead now. Alves doesn't bother getting ready.
Gloria launches herself from her room like a man on a mission. She notes the startled look on people's faces when they spot her loose fitting pajamas. She also notices their concern as she shakes them down for Klein's whereabouts. She doesn't bother past being told that she's probably in her room.
Alves runs down the familiar path until she's out of breath and panting. She keeps running until she collides directly with Bea.
"We need to get out of this." Alves states, as soon as she confirms it is truly Beatrix in front of her. Bea's face is screwed tight in concern, and quickly her hands are reaching out to hold Gloria. Alves takes a step back.
Klein forces her expression into a mask of calm and nods. She clears her throat. "Okay, yeah. Yeah we do. Let's brainstorm here. What are you thinking?"
Gloria isn't sure she has been doing that, exactly. She takes a moment to breathe as Klein looks at her, expectantly. Then, she puzzles out the situation she's in: She is in a well established day-long time loop a little over a year in length. The day begins when she wakes at 6:55 and ends when she falls asleep at 9:34. Both Alves and Klein are in the loop and have been since the beginning. It is the sixteenth day of the cycle. Alves stills, humming. The cycle.
Klein wishes Alves would think faster.
It was easy to forget, in the haze of the same day, that the wider site was resetting too, simply at a slower rate. Alves hasn't had to deal with a reset in more than a year. Yet, there's precedence for the rules and norms of the cycles changing. Specifically, changes coinciding with increased or larger dash one instances. Additionally, there is every possibility that the cycle is longer than her initial presumption, and simply encompasses some of the time she is sleeping, leaving them within their own thirty two hour cycle.
"I suppose we should go hunting," Gloria says. Beatrix raises her eyebrows. Gloria scoffs, "not people, dash ones".
Klein nods, slowly, “right, I've tried that before. What makes this time different?”
Gloria's smile is small, barely there at all, “well, two people can cover more ground. Besides, I’m faster than you.”
“Like hell you are,” in comparison, Klein’s smile is beaming. Like she’s been waiting for Alves to acknowledge they are in this together. Like she’s been alone for as long as Alves has.
It takes about half an hour for them to coordinate on how to communicate during the expedition, decide on means for finding dash ones, and actually find the supplies they need. They split up so that they are each covering approximately half of the site, with each found and eliminated dash one being reported to each other via walkie. Gloria’s voice is dry and smug with each report, providing exact information about where each dash one is and its approximate measurements. Bea’s is quick and competitive, marking how many ‘points’ she has gotten and where.
Klein tries to not let herself hope. There’s no reason this should work, and it is an exercise only in accustoming Alves to trying to actually get out. Still, she notices some dash ones she’s never caught before. She hears Alves rattle off locations that she is not sure she has ever even checked. There is no creeping sense of dread or uselessness, with Alves in her ears completing her own quest for freedom. The day cycle ends with Klein hopped up from the constant movement of the day and wanting.
Klein knows it’s a risky move, but like Alves said, it is statistically unlikely that today is the last today, and now she has Alves around to say things like that. She doesn’t want to be alone now that being together is really seeming like an option.
Beatrix does not try to obfuscate her wants. She doesn't beg. It's been a long day, and even when she can't hope to see tomorrow, she survived years of holding out hope for Gloria. She can do it again. “Come to my room.”
Gloria's voice is staticky through the walkie talkie, “okay.”
Beatrix doesn't bother turning on the lights when she lands in her room. She simply lays back on her bed and waits. It doesn't take too long for the door to slowly crack open. Gloria is on the other side. Neither of them say anything.
Gloria is careful as she approaches the bed. She keeps looking up like she expects Klein to chase her away. Maybe Bea should. This has never ended well before. Still, Beatrix needs that warmth.
Gloria slips into the sheets beside Bea, gently pulling her into her arms. Bea focuses in on the sound of their intertwined breaths. Let's herself hope, and imagines how nice it will be to wake up besides Gloria for the first time. They slip, together, into a dreamless sleep.
Gloria Alves wakes up. Her neck stretched ever so slightly to rest her head upon the top of Bea's. She removes her hands from where they rest on Bea's hips, placing them upon her own chest as she breathes in and out. She should leave and get her day started. Instead, she sits, waiting for Beatrix Klein to wake up and realize exactly what she has.