cactusy | IC contact for lastvoyages

[Ah. That. Shaw shifts awkwardly, crossing her arms over her chest.]

I remember. Wasn't really us, though, right?

[Oh.]

[For some reason, that disappoints her. But it shouldn't because, well, it hadn't been real, had it? Though it felt very real. And the urge to push back Shaw's hair, giving her comfort when she was feeling ill - all so suddenly coming to mind - that felt very real, too.]

Right, I...right. I should...

[She thumbs over her shoulder, straightening up and clearing her throat.]

[The worst part from Shaw's perspective is that she isn't exactly immune to this, either. She knows analytically that the alien thoughts in her brain aren't hers and that she doesn't want to act on them - but knowing that doesn't get rid of them, and that? Really fucking sucks. Her mouth thins into a line and her hands ball into fists.]

It's not you.

[She says, because she knows that this isn't exactly the ideal response for her to have.]

I'm not pissed at you.

[Which draws a small, rueful chuckle - she's been so lost in her own thoughts she didn't even read any verbal or other cues to suggest she was pissed at all. That's a failure on her part, her brain just...not being itself.]

[Too many thoughts, too many memories of that other Franky to sort out.]

[But she'd been through breaches before - they'd never bothered her like this, never lingered. She'd taken a deep breath, and moved on and...why not this time?]

Then what are you pissed at?

The Admiral. Whoever designed this simulation. Take your pick.

[Shaw knows from experience that Franky doesn't stand for her "this isn't real" talk, which is actually completely fine with her; she prefers a straight-forward Stop being ridiculous to a lot of other approaches. But the words come out anyway, and she exhales sharply, redirecting.]

There's someone at home.

[Or there was. There will be. Whatever. It's not something she likes telling people, for the most part, but she's made the odd exception here and there and she supposes that this should be one of them.]

So, you know. My head getting messed with like this kinda sucks.

Oh. Right.

[Again, so obvious she should have known. Without even thinking, she ends up sitting down next to Shaw. In her mind, unexpected sand castle begin to collapse, and she doesn't know what to make of that, either.]

It would, I suppose. I don't.

[A slight pause]

Have anyone, back home. Would be much worse if I did. Granted, this all came out of left bloody field, too - lot of new things there.

What, no dashing army man?

[The joke is delivered without any real life to it, as she stares at Franky's knee.]

[That much draws a bitter laugh.]

In 1939, I'm considered what they call a difficult woman. Besides, so few even slightly measure up.

[Shaw can't really argue there, she supposes. It's easier to not care about people measuring up in the long-term when you're main focus has primarily been on casual hook-ups and one-night stands.]

I-- she--

[Stymied by the pronouns for a moment, she sighs, annoyed.]

In the breach, the... person I was really wanted to give you a good evening, before, you know. Did it work?

It worked every time.

[It's out before she can stop it, and more follows.]

Her life was...even more alone than mine is. Death around every corner, nothing but losses. Every time was...special. Memorable.

Satisfying.

[Shit.

In theory, that should be good. She'd asked because she'd been hoping to hear that her plan had gone as intended; that she'd left that other Franky with something solid and worth remembering. But what she says is--]

I'm sorry.

[That provokes a bit of a look.]

Sorry for what?

Uh-- being that important, and then just... going back to being the real me? The situation kinda sucks.

You're selling yourself sh-

[She stops, shaking her head, rubbing the back of her neck.]

What sucks is...the mixing up. The breaches all faded before, you know? Back to my usual self, tickety-boo as they say. I could tell what was there, what was here.

And here, well, it's usually a lot simpler. Alone, like being that way and...and, well. Hadn't found myself drawn to...[she clears her throat.]

To women before. Or...or a woman.

That doesn't make it worse?

[She asks, mildly baffled.]

[She half-laughs, and the next statement is out before she even thinks about it.]

Makes it bloody confusing but sex that satisfying doesn't make anything worse.

[And then her face realizes she's said it.]

Shit, my turn to say sorry, I think. A bit gauche of me, as they say.

I'm good at what I do.

[It's meant to be a quip, even if she's too worn out to sound properly lighthearted. Either way, she certainly isn't offended.]

[She sighs, what little is left of her pretense falling away.]

Clearly.

[She swallows, thickly.]

Enough so that the thoughts have...lingered. They're...not going away, like the other breaches did.

Want me to help you find a rebound?

[It's another joke, though honestly, if Franky takes it as a serious offer she'll absolutely do it.]

[And she does, in return, look mildly affronted at the suggestion.]

What? No! God, no. Look, I'm a big girl, I can sort out the suddenly new things, I don't need some half-assed letdown to follow y...

[She waves that away.]

All my standards are uncompromising. Not many have ever measured up. Or delivered...adequately.

[Translation: she is a vigorous, energetic lady and very, very few are worth her time, and fewer still have made her body sing.]

Your, uh, gal in port. She's lucky.

[She's dead. She isn't anything anymore. Shaw's face is still and blank, her mouth dry.]

Thanks.

[Because really, what else does one say here?]

[And she, in turn, nods slowly, and then stands with a sigh, hands thumping against her thighs.]

I...really should be going. I've used up enough of your time blabbering away like...like a besotted schoolgirl or something.

[It might be a useful line, but the flush in her cheeks...]

Sure.

[Probably a good idea, because Shaw wants to fucking sleep for a week.]

Wanna patrol together later?

[She nods.]

Works for me. And there's plenty of soup in those meals. Good, hearty stuff. Get you back on your feet.

[And she heads for the door, nodding.]

See you around.

[Shaw nods wearily, and flops back, burying her face in her pillow. She'll head back to Steve's soon, but right now? No moving.]

Thanks.

[She mutters again, just barely loud enough to hear.]

IC contact for lastvoyages

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