Might. It's probably best not to get ahead of ourselves. The more invested I am in a plan the harder it's gonna be to come up with something new if it's a wash.
[Not the same thing, she knows, but she can't help thinking of the demon. It had been inside her body and had access to all her memories, and it had done a lot of damage before anybody figured out Christo. Trying to think of ways to beat a threat before they know what the threat is takes more energy than she has right now. Just focus on what you know, Heather.
Or what you don't. A very obvious question that should have occurred to her right away filters through the fog and makes her tense up, stiffening against him.]
[Well he'd rather have a plan rather than no plan (along with quite a few backup plans), and he's about to say as much when she asks the same thing he did. He didn't get a very detailed answer and didn't think to push it at the time, though, and now that she's the one asking he feels dumb for letting it sit there.]
Autopilot. Shoulda asked more questions, but, uh. Was talkin' about the department.
[Always been the can't see the forest for the trees type. Whoops.]
[Of course he was. Sigh. Well, she probably should have asked more questions to start with instead of reacting like a dog chasing its tail, and plans are easier with more facts.]
What do you know? Where's the information coming from? Is anybody doing anything about it?
[She punctuates by sticking a spoonful of soup in her mouth, which isn't a conscious encouragement to get him to play along so much as an indication that it's His Turn to talk.
Don't know much more. Tyke took her dogs to meet Ward, found him missing, sent a message to the rest of us. Asked if it was autopilot or we were driftin' - Kirk told me. Most of the conversations were - [shrug. You know.] - guessing.
[Of course, there's also Where's the Information Coming From Pt. II, but that answer is easier to show than tell. He digs his comms out of his pocket and spends a few minutes bringing this up. Shows her, even if he doesn't let go of the thing, just waits to see if she sees what he sees there.]
[The explanation gets a frown, the file a deeper one.]
I never actually read this. I just assumed it was gonna be really condescending.
[And she's... not wrong. After the first two questions - the second of which she really wishes she'd read the first time the thing went out - it seems to degenerate pretty quickly. But if there's something hidden there, some big clue, she's way too worn-out to see it.]
Is this the same as the first one? Do we know how long those two got away with lying to us about where we're going?
[A grunt as she reads, agreeing - he never bothered much with it either, until after the mask shit. Didn't bother with the network as a whole nearly as much for that matter.]
Dunno. Only started checkin' it a couple jumps ago.
[The more annoying thing to him:]
Don't remember an announcement. Ever.
[Why the hell is it in the FAQ if no one else seems to know it? He glances over at her with a frown, wondering if it happened and blew over before he started paying attention or maybe when he was out of it or - something.]
[She sets her jaw, clenches her teeth so hard it actually clicks. Keeping what may be a temporary situation under wraps for the safety of the ship is one thing, but this seems so calculatedly underhanded. Never making an announcement, just putting the information somewhere where new faces won't think to question it and the people who've been around a while generally won't have reason to look.]
[Jesus Christ, his intention in coming down wasn't to give her a stroke, even if her angry is so much better than her moping and he can't blame her for it one bit. Maybe he'd be just as pissed, should be just as pissed, except that they have no idea where the information's coming from.]
Might be.
[Pointing it out lightly, but he's not talking about what she means.]
Don't know if it's true.
[That so called "fact" could actually be a load of crap, except that they have no idea.]
That's just as bad! Either we've got someone who's getting information the rest of us aren't party to and sneaking it out, or we've got someone deliberately spreading lies. It might be a big ship, but it's a small community.
[The food is forgotten again; she's anxiously bouncing the bowl of the spoon off her knee and not aware she's doing it.]
If we're lucky it's just some self-important psycho playing some kind of game to amuse themselves. But if we're not? I would really like to know where this is coming from and why.
[Which is not what she wants to hear, he's sure, but what is he supposed to say?
Or maybe he's not. Maybe she's venting in all of the circles he's already gone around and he's just someone to bounce it off of. Which is fine by him. She's a lot more articulate and a lot more entertaining, so rather than attempt to contribute anything else he reaches for the spoon and attempts to pluck it away before she chucks it at something.]
[... good plan, even though it earns him a narrow sort of a look. There aren't a lot of ways she could be more stressed right now, but getting kicked out of medbay would do the trick. WIth the spoon confiscated she taps her thumb in its place.]
Like everything else in this place, then. Questions and questions and never a goddamn answer. Christ, for all we know it's Ward and Resnik making these posts.
[Unfuckinglikely, and her tone says as much, but in a way it would be comforting not to have to add any new names to the list of people who've proved they can't be trusted.]
[She gets an annoyed look right back for her trouble, but he's reaching out to scoot the tray toward him, out of her way, in case she has an outburst that isn't as minor as tapping her thumb. One that might end up with soup and splattered potato everywhere. Why he's so calm and quiet, he has no idea, and in the face of her upset he feels like he's doing something wrong for not being more aggravated.
But it's just a sigh and a quiet reply, less admission than statement of fact.]
[Really with the tray? But she can't get aggravated about it, not with the way he sounds. She's already up to her eyeballs in - problems, questions, whatever you want to call them. What's one more, if it helps? So she asks, nods towards him, and the edge in her voice is gone.]
[Easier to move the tray than to clean up brown bean soup, and she was edging toward pissed anyway.]
Everything else I told ya about, before that. People. Garden shit.
[Her, but he doesn't go so far as to mention her exclusively. Simply pauses, and, since she seems less likely to clock someone now than she was a minute ago, presses the spoon back into her hand and lets his join.]
[And back to the start, still with no answers. Chasing their tails. It's a relief, though, that there's nothing else big to add to the pile, and she laughs a little grimly as she gives her the silverware. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nederland.]
I've been ignoring the network, but I'll answer if you call me.
[It sounds weird without the rest of the sentiment attached - just let me know if I can help - but she'd have to qualify it with from here. There's not much she can think of right now that would get her away, and even as she's thinking it her eyes flick to the open door, across to Alex's room.]
[While he doesn't come anywhere near a smile, there's something a little lighter in his response.]
Might. Boring down here.
[Calling would let him check up and keep her from going crazy with worry, so he puts that into the mental schedule along with "think of a story to tell" - or maybe a poem, something distracting at least. After coming down here and giving her ten more things to worry about he feels like he owes her that much.
But he sees that her attention's already moving across the hall and he's got shit to do. He scoops up Lodewijk, sticks him in the basket, and hovers for a second before leaning back in to kiss her.]
wasn't really her point but he's not wrong. There's really nothing to do except listen to the quiet ping and beep of machines, the muffed whoosh of the equipment that's breathing for Alex, and if she listens to that for too long she starts to convince herself that he'll never be able to go without it, or that she's back in her room in Alchemilla hospital. His voice will be a welcome relief, even if he's just bitching at her about the state of the Gardens.
She leans up into the kiss, reaches up to cup his jaw as she does. The gesture's on of gratitude rather than heat or need, reflected in the softness of the touch.]
Thanks.
[And a little grateful ear-scritch for Lodewijk, too. Thanks for coming, little guy.]
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[Not the same thing, she knows, but she can't help thinking of the demon. It had been inside her body and had access to all her memories, and it had done a lot of damage before anybody figured out Christo. Trying to think of ways to beat a threat before they know what the threat is takes more energy than she has right now. Just focus on what you know, Heather.
Or what you don't. A very obvious question that should have occurred to her right away filters through the fog and makes her tense up, stiffening against him.]
Who's flying the ship?
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Autopilot. Shoulda asked more questions, but, uh. Was talkin' about the department.
[Always been the can't see the forest for the trees type. Whoops.]
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What do you know? Where's the information coming from? Is anybody doing anything about it?
[She punctuates by sticking a spoonful of soup in her mouth, which isn't a conscious encouragement to get him to play along so much as an indication that it's His Turn to talk.
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[Of course, there's also Where's the Information Coming From Pt. II, but that answer is easier to show than tell. He digs his comms out of his pocket and spends a few minutes bringing this up. Shows her, even if he doesn't let go of the thing, just waits to see if she sees what he sees there.]
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I never actually read this. I just assumed it was gonna be really condescending.
[And she's... not wrong. After the first two questions - the second of which she really wishes she'd read the first time the thing went out - it seems to degenerate pretty quickly. But if there's something hidden there, some big clue, she's way too worn-out to see it.]
Is this the same as the first one? Do we know how long those two got away with lying to us about where we're going?
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Dunno. Only started checkin' it a couple jumps ago.
[The more annoying thing to him:]
Don't remember an announcement. Ever.
[Why the hell is it in the FAQ if no one else seems to know it? He glances over at her with a frown, wondering if it happened and blew over before he started paying attention or maybe when he was out of it or - something.]
fffff
[She sets her jaw, clenches her teeth so hard it actually clicks. Keeping what may be a temporary situation under wraps for the safety of the ship is one thing, but this seems so calculatedly underhanded. Never making an announcement, just putting the information somewhere where new faces won't think to question it and the people who've been around a while generally won't have reason to look.]
This is bullshit.
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Might be.
[Pointing it out lightly, but he's not talking about what she means.]
Don't know if it's true.
[That so called "fact" could actually be a load of crap, except that they have no idea.]
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[The food is forgotten again; she's anxiously bouncing the bowl of the spoon off her knee and not aware she's doing it.]
If we're lucky it's just some self-important psycho playing some kind of game to amuse themselves. But if we're not? I would really like to know where this is coming from and why.
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[Which is not what she wants to hear, he's sure, but what is he supposed to say?
Or maybe he's not. Maybe she's venting in all of the circles he's already gone around and he's just someone to bounce it off of. Which is fine by him. She's a lot more articulate and a lot more entertaining, so rather than attempt to contribute anything else he reaches for the spoon and attempts to pluck it away before she chucks it at something.]
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Like everything else in this place, then. Questions and questions and never a goddamn answer. Christ, for all we know it's Ward and Resnik making these posts.
[Unfuckinglikely, and her tone says as much, but in a way it would be comforting not to have to add any new names to the list of people who've proved they can't be trusted.]
You have any theories?
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But it's just a sigh and a quiet reply, less admission than statement of fact.]
Been more worried about other shit.
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Other shit like what?
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Everything else I told ya about, before that. People. Garden shit.
[Her, but he doesn't go so far as to mention her exclusively. Simply pauses, and, since she seems less likely to clock someone now than she was a minute ago, presses the spoon back into her hand and lets his join.]
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I've been ignoring the network, but I'll answer if you call me.
[It sounds weird without the rest of the sentiment attached - just let me know if I can help - but she'd have to qualify it with from here. There's not much she can think of right now that would get her away, and even as she's thinking it her eyes flick to the open door, across to Alex's room.]
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Might. Boring down here.
[Calling would let him check up and keep her from going crazy with worry, so he puts that into the mental schedule along with "think of a story to tell" - or maybe a poem, something distracting at least. After coming down here and giving her ten more things to worry about he feels like he owes her that much.
But he sees that her attention's already moving across the hall and he's got shit to do. He scoops up Lodewijk, sticks him in the basket, and hovers for a second before leaning back in to kiss her.]
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wasn't really her point but he's not wrong. There's really nothing to do except listen to the quiet ping and beep of machines, the muffed whoosh of the equipment that's breathing for Alex, and if she listens to that for too long she starts to convince herself that he'll never be able to go without it, or that she's back in her room in Alchemilla hospital. His voice will be a welcome relief, even if he's just bitching at her about the state of the Gardens.
She leans up into the kiss, reaches up to cup his jaw as she does. The gesture's on of gratitude rather than heat or need, reflected in the softness of the touch.]
Thanks.
[And a little grateful ear-scritch for Lodewijk, too. Thanks for coming, little guy.]