Pyat looked around, distraught. Luck for her, she and the doctor were alone. She hoisted the larger woman onto her shoulder somewhat effortlessly and pressed her index finger against the elevator button. "Come on, come on," she breathed. Iron and cinnamon filled her nose. 
"DNA not recognized," the elevator's female voice chirped back. Pyat cursed—the blood infusion wore off while she was running. Luckily, the doctor had beaten her here. She pressed the doctor's limp finger against the elevator button. The elevator opened and she dragged the doctor inside. She saw the young officer run past the apartment building. The doors closed and the elevator shifted unsettlingly. "Floor 73," the female voice stated in the same monotone as her cantrils. Pyat shifted the doctor to lean half against the corner of the elevator and half on Pyat's shoulder. She wrapped her arm around the doctor's waist and pulled her up higher. The elevator shuddered and creaked to a stop. "Floor 22.”
"Xìngjiāo," Pyat whispered, and pushed the doctor's head to fall on her shoulder. The elevator doors opened, and an old man appeared. He saw the couple and his eyes widened. 
"Is Doctor Jóhannsson OK?" He murmured, stepping into the elevator.
"Oh, she's fine. A little too drunk, I must admit," Pyat giggled, blushing and rubbing the fuzz on her head. "Don't worry about her!"
"Her nose is bleeding," the old man pointed out, his eyes wide. Pyat looked at the doctor's swollen face. 
"Oh, she fell," Pyat smiled at the old man. He reeked of a scent she could not exactly place, somewhat similar to the decaying smell of the Magisters, but much more pronounced. "I'm sorry, sir, but this elevator is going up." The old man nodded, clutched his arm and backed into the hall. Pyat bowed her head respectfully. The elevator doors crept close painfully slow.
Doctor Jóhannsson's apartment was small, but smelled good—like cinnamon, a scent that Pyat had not experienced in years and could not place where she first smelled it. Or if she ever had. The furniture was gray and old; the doctor appeared to own only one couch, a long metal table and desk with a metal chair. An orange rag rug contrasted against the rest of the gray room. There was a kitchenette to Pyat's left, a door next to the kitchenette she bet led to a bathroom, and a door to her right that probably was the entrance to a bedroom. She picked up the doctor in her arms and placed her gently on the couch. Pyat propped the woman up so her head was above her chest and she smoothed the blonde curls. 
"Wēng," she called to her cantrils as she searched the kitchen drawers for cloths. "Tell me about Doctor Jóhannsson." She grabbed a blue cloth and soaked it in warm water from the sink. 
"Doctor Eva Jóhannsson," the cantrils began. "Born in Icelandia. Father was Bragi Johannson. Mother is Nanna Jóhannsson. She went to medical school at the Academy of Young Scholars in Nuuk, Greenlandia. She graduated medical school in 2191 with Honors and fourth in her class. She was engaged to a Lee Arnolds in the Americas but the engagement ended when her father fell sick. She moved back to Icelandia and her father died within days. She moved to 76th Ást Street, Apartment 7367, Floor 73 after her father's death and has not communicated with her mother since. She works for the Icelandic Hospital as a general practitioner. She has no known companions. She is 77.1107 kilograms and 32.8 years old." 
Pyat cleaned the doctor's face with the warm cloth, trying to clear the blood from her sinuses and sweat from her brow. She placed one ice pack on the back of the woman’s head and another on her nose. Pyat stood up and held up her hands over the doctor's body. "Wēng, complete physical analysis." 
"From most serious to least, Doctor Eva Jóhannsson has: two broken ribs, one minor concussion in left temporal lobe, one broken nose, and one minor concussion in her frontal lobe." Pyat smoothed the doctor's blonde, sweaty curls around her ears. She looked so peaceful, her heart shaped mouth almost smiling. Pyat took a deep breath, put her hand on Eva's side, and pressed inwards. 
The doctor screamed in pain and smacked Pyat across the face. "What the fuck are you doing?" She cried, holding her side. Then she saw who Pyat was and tried to push herself further into the couch. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I have told you who I am," she said coldly. The doctor gaped at her. "You need these." Pyat held out four pills. Blue bone-healer and red anti-concussion pills that contrasted angrily against her palm and white cantrils. Eva tried to sit up but could not. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. 
"Did you steal this?" The doctor asked, but still swallowed them greedily. She chugged the nearby electrolyte water, letting out small whimpers of pain. 
"Yes," Pyat said, holding the ice pack to the back of her head. “Do you care?”
"No," Eva looked down at her hands, her eyelids starting to flutter. "I… I am very tired."
"You have two concussions." The doctor stared up at Pyat. 
"You gave me two concussions?" The woman laughed weakly. "You're like, 15 years old."
"I am 26 years old. I am a Captain and Aerial class," Pyat stated grimly. Eva ignored her, taking another large sip of electrolyte water. The doctor leaned back against the couch again and her eyes fluttered. "You can't sleep," Pyat said. “Hold this.” She took Eva’s hand and placed it on the ice pack. Pyat then went to the kitchen, getting her own electrolyte water and taking the blue and red pills. "Xìngjiāo, that's disgusting," Pyat groaned. 
"What was that language you just spoke in?" The doctor called out. 
"Zhōngguó de. Chinese."
"How do you know Chinese?" She sounded genuinely curious.
"Would you like food?" Pyat asked stiffly, ignoring her questions and searching through the fridge. She grabbed a plastic container holding small, yellow squares of food. "What is this?" She asked, holding up the food for the doctor to see. 
"Pineapple," the woman answered. "Would you like to have some?” Pyat nodded briskly. She grabbed two forks and sat down on the table next to the doctor. She opened the plastic container and a sweet, acidic smell wafted into the air. She stabbed one of the squares with the fork and handed it to the doctor. The doctor ate the whole thing at once and shivered with delight. Curious, Pyat pierced one square and slid it into her mouth slowly. Her tongue immediately stung, and sweet juice spread throughout her entire mouth when she bit into it. Her eyes widened at the delicious taste and sharp pain.
"What were you running from?" Eva asked abruptly, looking up at Pyat under thin, blonde eyelashes. 
"Nothing," Pyat barked, stabbing another piece of pineapple violently. They fell silent for a minute, chewing on the fruit with only their own thoughts scurrying through their heads like rats. When Pyat looked up, she saw that the doctor was asleep. "Eva, bù!" She grabbed the doctor's face, spilling the fruit on the gray ground. She pinched the woman’s arm until she awoke, moaning. "You can't go to sleep!" She shouted, pushing the blonde hair from the heart shaped face. The doctor stared up at her, eyes groggy and furious. 
Eva pushed her away. "Why do you even care?"
She could not think of an answer, so did not respond. She slowly picked the pineapple up from the ground and threw it in the disintegrator.
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