Chapter Text
A woman in a red satin dress carrying a clipboard stood in front of the mansion's landline phone that hadn't been replaced since the 1920's. A phone number written in small, neat handwriting was on the bottom of the notepad attached to said clipboard. She made no move to actually pick up the phone, though. She was too busy trying to think of what she might say to the person on the other end.
Behind her, one of the housekeeping staff (Katou Tsuna, one of the recent hires she helped interview and recruit) was doing a poor job at trying to eavesdrop. The woman considered asking the poor girl what she was doing, but didn't. She didn't care all that much if her conversation was overheard, and she'd be speaking in English anyway. Katou, to the best of her knowledge, only spoke Japanese (did English even exist here? She wasn't sure, since it's not like she was in modern Japan either).
With a short sigh, she finally picked up the phone and dialed the number. It rang once, twice, three times before the person on the other end of the line picked up.
"Hello?" The voice was male, and slightly uneasy. It was probably due to the unknown caller ID.
"Hello, Jack."
"Who is this?" Jack asked, now more confused than uneasy.
"This is Rose, your cousin."
There was a pause. "Oh." Another beat, then, "hi, Rose."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
Rose sat on the uncomfortable chair in the blindingly lit office, back straight and hands folded in her lap. The woman in the equally bright lab coat sat in a spin chair at her desk, scratching something or other down on a file before turning to Rose.
"Let's get started then, eh, Rose?"
She'd been coming to this clinic since her freshman year at college. After ten years, she and Dr. Hannah were on a first name basis. Not entirely close, but less distant than most. She'd even invited Rose to her daughter's giant Sixteenth Birthday Bash.
"Alright." Rose replied, not reacting as Dr. Hannah attached the blood pressure cuff to her arm. As the cuff did it's business, Dr. Hannah made small talk.
"It's been half a year. How have you been?"
"My boss continues to be sloppy and incompetent, my mother still hasn't called, my boyfriend is cheating on me, and my apartment building's air conditioning has been out for a month." Rose rattled off impassively. Her expression hadn't changed. Dr. Hanna, who had figured out a while back that Rose was just that blunt, merely whistled.
"Sorry to hear that."
"It's fine." Rose shrugged.
After the rest of the basic things the doctor needed were taken care of, Dr. Hannah asked, "Not that I don't like seeing you, Rose, but what brings you here? It's not time for your annual check up."
"I haven't been sleeping well recently, and wanted to get it checked out."
When she said this, Dr. Hannah tensed up noticeably, but Rose didn't comment on it.
"That's no good." She chuckled nervously. "Any other symptoms?"
"None out of the ordinary."
"Okay." The doctor stood up and took out a syringe. That made Rose do a double take.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing, nothing." Rose wasn't buying that for a minute. The doctor ignored the incredulous look and grabbed a vial. "Just gotta get some blood from you is all."
"Why?"
"Routine." Dr. Hannah's usually confident face seemed more like a mask she'd just put on than her actual expression. "Look, Rose, just go along with this, okay? It's probably nothing."
Rose didn't do anything but blink and nod slowly. Dr. Hannah drew the blood from her arm and disappeared into the back area of the clinic. Rose took out her phone and scrolled through her emails absently, before putting it down in favor of flipping through some tabloid on the small magazine rack.
She was halfway through the third one when Dr. Hannah finally came back, wearing a sour expression and noticeably lacking the coat that she'd worn every time Rose had been in previously. Rose furrowed her brow in confusion, but said nothing, waiting for the doctor to explain instead. Said woman flopped into her chair and ran her hand through her short blonde hair, exhaling.
"Look, Rose--" she began, then stopped and tried again. "You-- your family. Any genetic issues? Disorders?"
"None that I'm aware of, but I don't know my father's side of the family all that well."
This wasn't the answer the doctor was looking for, apparently. She leaned back and swore under her breath.
"Rose, I'm going to be really real right now, 'kay? We're friends, we can do that, right?"
"I suppose so."
"Yeah, I suppose so too. Which is why," she stood and handed a file to her, "I'm giving you this."
Rose glanced up at the older woman, then back down at the the file, which read "ROSE MENDEZ" in large letters. After a moment, she opened it and read a few jargon-filled sentences that she didn't understand. "What does this mean?"
"It means that you have a genetic disorder. Fatal Familial Insomnia."
Rose's eyes widened slightly. "So what does that mean?"
"It means that I'm supposed to give that."she gestured to the file, "to my higher-ups and let them handle it. Let them corner you into some bogus treatment plan that's a cover up for some bullshit that they wouldn't tell me about."
Rose was incredibly confused. "But instead you gave the file to me."
"I did. I'm going to tell you the alternative. You destroy that file. Burn it, shred it, eat it for all I care. Get rid of it."
"And then what?"
"And then you go home. I'm," she halted here, her voice cracking. "Rose, it's terminal."
Rose shifted in her chair, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach. "What do you mean, terminal? I'm very confused, Dr. Hannah."
"I know you are!" The doctor's voice started to rise, though Rose was certain it wasn't directed at her. "Believe me, I know. This is crazy, and I'm supposed to tell a terminal patient that she has a chance and she should actually go with these fucking agent dicks that say they're with the CDC, but obviously fucking aren't! I'm destroying my own moral code for nothing!"
She stood and slammed her hand against the wall. "God damn it! Rose, the minute you walked through that door ten years back, I've been monitoring you. Your dad had the gene that caused FFI, and I guess that means something to whatever institute is funding this clinic. They've been monitoring your health for your whole life."
Rose blinked in shock. She had no idea what her doctor was saying, and focused on trying not to show the clearly distressed woman in front of her the panic she felt. The doctor went on, "My coat's been bugged. I couldn't say anything with it on. I still shouldn't be."
"Okay." Rose nodded one more time, not sure what else she should do.
"I'm going to tell them you had a clean bill of health. They probably won't believe me, but so long as you don't go in to any other doctor, they can't touch you."
The young woman didn't say anything.
"Your sleeping problems will get worse." The doctor had seemingly regained some of her composure. "You'll get headaches, lose focus easily, maybe hallucinate, and eventually you'll stop sleeping. And then you'll die."
"Alright." Rose blinked and stood up. "Is that all?"
The doctor looked crestfallen. "You don't believe me, do you?"
Rose shook her head. "I don't know what I think right now. I can destroy the file, at the very least, and if I'm really going to stop sleeping, then it'll be rather obvious if it's true or not."
She said nothing more, and left the clinic.
Back at her apartment, she burned the file in the concrete lot out back, and then went up to her home and took out the cheapest, strongest whiskey she could find among the numerous bottles she owned. After drinking half of it, she passed out drunk and woke up only four hours later.
A week later, she called the clinic to schedule a follow up with Dr. Hannah after having Googled FFI, wanted to double check the 12-18 month life expectancy. The receptionist told her, however, that Dr. Andrewson had been transferred to a location in the big city. In order to work more directly with the CDC, apparently. Rose had then tried her mobile instead, only to be met with a message saying the number was no longer in service.
Rose never heard from her again, and she hoped that the doctor was okay, wherever she was.
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
"It's been a while, I know. I'm sorry. I should've contacted before."
"It's no problem." A pause. "What have you been up to, Rose?"
"Oh, a lot. Started a new job. Moved locations. Got through some medical things that had started giving me some issues."
"That's good. How's your new job?"
"It's going well. Better than my old one, at least."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
One month after her questionable diagnosis, Rose was getting approximately five hours of sleep every two days, with the help of an over-the-counter sleep aid. It was getting to be such an issue that she figured there was no point in denying the problem, and instead decided to hunker down and work through the things that she needed to get done before she keeled over.
In that spirit, she sent a text to her boyfriend asking to break up with him. She knew he wasn't likely going to answer. He was probably with Christy right now. Christy was her associate from the business department at college. She, Rose, and her boyfriend were the only three people she knew of that had stayed in the small town nearby the campus post-graduation. They used to get lunch together every day, since their workplaces were right next to each other, and Rose had considered the three of them to be friends. A year ago, he had asked her out on a date and she had agreed. It was the first time she had had a significant other, and it had made her happy. Excited, even.
Of course, that didn't last. Christy wasn't a bad person. In fact, she was a great one. Rose and her hadn't been particularly close though, and she was not subtle in the least. Rose was not especially fast in regards to social norms, granted, but when your boyfriend holds another girl's hand under the table through the entire lunch, even she took the hint.
The woman hadn't broken it off though, because she, despite everything, still--
Rose frowned. That train of thought was not productive.
He still hadn't texted her back. She sighed and pulled up Christy's number instead, sending her this:
Something came up at home that I need to attend to. Tell him that I don't want to go long distance and I would like to break up.
All of that was a lie, and they would probably figure that out. She hadn't spoken to her mother in years, she didn't mind long distance, and she didn't even really, truly want to--
Christy replied.
He says ok.
Rose didn't respond to that message, and that was the last time Christy or that guy ever contacted her.
She drank the other half of the open whiskey bottle that night. Somehow, before she passed out, she washed and placed the bottle with the rest of the ever-growing collection of bottles she had. It was her sole hobby, and even piss drunk, she would never lose or break a bottle. She loved alcohol. If she could've gone into brewing, she would've in a heartbeat.
When she finally passed out, she managed two hours of sleep.
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
"How about you, Jack? You just graduated high school, right?"
"Yeah. I'm doing alright."
"Any plans for after school?"
"My girlfriend's parents offered to give me a job at their gas station, actually. Haven't decided if I'll take it yet."
"I see. It's good you're not rushing into anything. Are you still at your house, then?"
"Yeah. My foster brother just moved out, so it's just me now."
"I see. So, are you managing the bills and things now?"
"Yup." He paused. "Your, uh. Your money's been helpful with that."
"Good. I'm glad."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
Three months after her diagnosis, Rose put together her will.
It wasn't like she had much to put into it, mind you, but it was still something that needed to be done. She left all of her physical possessions to her neighbor, Peggy. That was the largest chunk of work done. The only thing left to sort out was the matter of her savings. She had a modest amount of money saved up, and she didn't want to just leave it in the bank. She definitely didn't plan to leave it to her mother, either.
The only other family she knew of was her cousin. More specifically, her father's sister's kid. His name was Jack. They'd only met once, at the behest of her mother's therapist. He had said it'd be "healing" for her mother to face someone from Rose's father's family. So, they did. Jack was ten years old at the time, and Rose had just turned twenty. It hadn't helped, of course, and her mother went to a different therapist soon after, but Jack was a decent kid. Rose made sure to send him a birthday card every year.
She chuckled to herself as she remembered the mellow boy who didn't know what to say to his aunt as she half screamed, half cried at him. Poor kid.
She left the entirety of her savings to Jack Townsend.
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
"It sounds like you're doing well, Jack."
"I guess."
"You mentioned your foster brother. How's your foster family doing?"
"Alright. Most of them moved out when my foster parents retired to Florida. Now that James is at college, it's just me here."
"I see. You're not lonely?"
"No, no, not at all." He softly laughed. "I've got her. Y'know. My girlfriend."
"That's true."
"And, well, I guess you, too."
"Thank you for that."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
Half a year after her diagnosis, Rose was down to an hour of sleep every two days, and she decided to tell her neighbor Peggy about her condition.
Peggy was a fifty-something hairdresser with two divorces and four kids under her belt, and the personality to still be friends with all parties involved. Her apartment always smelled of tobacco and vanilla, and was filled to the brim with knick-knacks. Millions of pictures hung on the walls and were shoved into albums on the many, many bookcases. When Rose had first moved in, a baby freshman with no idea what to do, Peggy had made some cookies and waltzed right into her apartment, helped her unpack, and gave Rose someone to rely on. Peggy had basically adopted her into her brood, and that was that.
Now, as Rose stood in front of the familiar door to Peggy's place, holding an expensive wine bottle, she felt lost.
She hadn't told Peggy yet. She wanted to make sure it was real. At least, that was what she told herself. As the weeks wore on, though, Rose found that the real reason was that she just couldn't figure out a way to tell her that she was dying.
The door opened, ripping Rose out of her daze.
"Rose!" Peggy immediately wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, honey, it's been too long!" The woman released Rose and held her at arm's length. "Look at you, you look like a ghost! Haven't been sleepin' well, eh?" Rose shook her head. "Ah, well, who cares, come in and have some dinner, sweetie."
Rose did so, and presented the wine bottle. "Here. For you."
"Oh, Rose, you shouldn't have!" She took the wine and looked at the label. "Oh boy, must be serious. This is expensive stuff!"
"Yeah."
The two sat down to a warm chili dinner. Rose listened quietly as Peggy told her all about her youngest daughter's new boyfriend who's just the best guy, and how he's in "the NASA engineering program, you know the one" (she didn't), and that Rose should meet a nice boy, or girl, or anyone really, Peggy wasn't picky and Rose needed more adventure in her life, and her last boyfriend was an idiot--
A twinge of guilt shot through Rose and she brought her hand to her face, rubbing her eyes, only to find them misting over. Peggy noticed this and put her silverware down. "Rose? What's the matter?"
"Peggy, I--" Rose started, but stopped. She couldn't force the words out, and the mist in her eyes turned into tears that streamed down her cheeks and onto her empty plate.
Rose hadn't cried since she was a toddler. Rose hadn't cried when she fell down the stairs; hadn't cried when her own mother kicked her out for pursuing education outside of her hometown; hadn't cried when she was told she would die, or when she broke up with her cheating bastard of a boyfriend.
But she cried now.
"Peggy, I'm going to die."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
"Do you have friends, Rose? You asked me, now I get to ask you."
"Fair enough. Yes, I suppose I do. A lot of coworkers. But that's not important."
"Why?"
"I need to focus on my work. My social life takes a backseat to that."
"I see."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
Seven months after Rose's diagnosis, Rose quit her job. Or, more accurately, Peggy did, with her consent.
Peggy had all but transformed into her personal hospice nurse. Rose had dropped to an hour of sleep a week, and it was hard for her to focus on her job now. So, before she was fired, she had Peggy call in and schedule a meeting outside of hours. Peggy explained that Rose had stage four cancer of the heart and couldn't work anymore (lying over text was one thing, but it was always hard for Rose to lie in person, and she didn't want her actual condition to be revealed). Her boss gave her a severance package and, rather tastelessly, wished her a good rest of her life.
After that was taken care of, Peggy had also offered to reach out to Rose's mother, an action Rose had been opposed to. They hadn't been in contact for over a decade, she obviously wouldn't care. But Peggy had insisted on at least trying, so Rose gave her the number she had in her cell phone for Vera Mendez.
Turns out, she had changed her number.
Peggy didn't bring it up again, and Rose was grateful.
Peggy's exes and kids all came by to visit, and while Rose was unused to the attention, found it surprisingly easy to talk with them. The only noticeable symptoms of her illness were her gaunt appearance and the times she seemed to drift off into her own thoughts, until someone shook her and she snapped back.
Rose had taken to reading through the long night, and once she'd read all of the books that she and Peggy owned, Peggy would go down to the library and pick up more.
During one of these trips, Rose was startled by the voice of Christy calling out to her from the kitchen. This obviously couldn't be the case, and when she went to investigate, it was predictably empty.
When she told Peggy about it, she had her daughter move in to the apartment with Rose. Said woman tried to pay her, but she kindly told her to shove her money and cared for her during the five months she had left, free of charge.
Rose appreciated it more than she could say.
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
A girl with frizzy brown hair and clothes from the 80's, who looked like she could fight a lion and win, waled over to Rose as she chatted on the phone.
"Hey, Rose, Lady Zeg needs to talk with you. Something about an Old One being 'raised once more.'" She made a flourish with her hands and smiled. "Spooky stuff. The usual."
"Alright." Rose turned back to the wall with the phone. "Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"I have to go now. Work stuff."
"Oh. Okay." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Should I save this number? Are you going to call again, or is this a one time thing?"
Rose smiled to herself. "I'll call again. Alright?"
"Alright. Later, Rose."
"Goodbye, Jack."
/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/
A year after her diagnosis, Rose Mendez died in her bed.
Her funeral was small, emotionless, and quick, exactly like she wanted. The only attendees were Peggy and her family.
In some shithole little town down south, a highschool graduate received a letter in the mail from his cousin's address, but not from her. It contained an obituary and a check for a little over ten thousand dollars. He cried as he read the obituary. The next day, he pinned it to his wall next, alongside the latest handwritten letter from his cousin Rose that had come half a year ago, for his last birthday.
Jack Townsend didn't leave his house for a week; nobody had the heart to make him.