There is a drink in her hand. How did it get there? What is it? It feels cold. The glass is wet. She puts her lips around the straw, and sips. It's sweet. Ahhhh, it's so sweet. It's sweet, but she could drink this forever. How odd. Normally, sweet makes her tongue curl and her mouth feel covered in fuzz. Not unpleasant, but overwhelming. Small tastes only. But this? More than half gone already. She wants more. What a pity it would be gone soon. The sound of dry sucking at the bottom of the glass is a melancholy song, indeed.

Her body is soaked in sweat. Her fur is sticking to her body suit. She is not in her cockpit anymore. There are voices all around her. Her arm is trembling as she pulls the zipper down to cool off. Where did her drink go? She would like another one, please. She pulls the zipper down halfway down her stomach. She tugs on one side of the split to let the air hit her body. That feels better.

Slate is speaking. Slate is staring at her. What is she? Oh. Oh, of course.

"Failure," says Mirror, cutting across her chief mechanic, "Of imagination. Mine, I mean. Not your fault. Simply not."

"I'm really sorry, Boss. I shoulda known better than to press your buttons right before a match. I was, honestly I was so scared to come back and find you still there that I didn't come back until way too late to do anything. Not that I didn't have eyes on her the whole time, but I mean, man. I'm just so sorry. I don't get what adds up to wins and losses in that head of yours but I've been working with you long enough to know that wasn't the fight you were looking for. I'm sorry Boss. Really am. But we're a team, yeah? You gotta let me take a little bit of the blame here."

Is she touched? Is that moving? Is she simply too tired to stay standing? What is moving her body right now? Mirror's mind races in circles, but her body moves deliberately to just where it wants to be. She wraps her arms around Slate, and hunches down to bury her face in their neck.

And for a moment there are no words between them, nor need for any. Their bodies are soft and warm, too warm in fact, against each other. Their hands seek nothing except to hold on. A million apologies pass between them in the space of three shared breaths, and then just before it gets too be too much Mirror pulls away again.

"I'm..." she says.

The thought splinters against the memory of her drink. Maybe she should ask about it. It really would be nice to have another.

"I am..."

Around and around it goes. The entire thought is in front of her, and some unseen force is making it feel unclean. She can't touch it. She can't. It isn't right. But maybe, it is. Maybe it's just upsetting and she's just a coward who can't own up and say it. She wipes a hand across her face, which is how she notices she's chewing on the tips of her hair. She frowns.

"Considering retirement."

"What?! Boss, what? No!"

"Why not? I very clearly can't keep up. Solarel reduced her own battle power to near zero to forcibly ascend her own vision and personal capabilities. She was already ahead of me and the only thing my work accomplished was catapulting her even further ahead. She plucked no fewer than four secrets from me and all I could do in return was shatter that piece of shit relic she was riding. And have you [I]seen[/I] what the Humans are doing here?"

"Boss, come on. This is a bad joke. It's not like you."

"I've run it over and over again. How would I handle a fight without the Whip? It's a dead end. Sensory overload would kick in after ten minutes and then I would lose, irrevocably. It's a farce, Slate. I am a farce. Unwelcome in engineering, unfit to be a researcher, and as a pilot I only expose new facets of my ugliness. They must surely be mocking me by now. Nine Drive is exposed before it's even finished. So why doesn't quitting suit me best?"

"You didn't sleep last night, did you? What was the last thing you ate?"

"Irrelevant. I was sharp. My apm was near personal best. Fatigue and hunger did not affect my performance to any meaningful degree. If anything, I should--"

Slate had to know she'll die for clamping a hand over Mirror's mouth. Professionally, that is. But she does it anyway, because it's worth the price. Mirror can't follow the thought any farther if she can't express it. There are benefits to sticking around the eccentric types so long, aren't there?

"Boss I am telling you, if you're about to say that sleeping and eating are bad for your performance then they've already hit you a lot harder than you know. Not saying that pretty little Human girl wasn't worth it, mind, but goddess just rest already damn you! How's it feel for me, having to hear this? What do I do if you up and vanish? Nobody needs a mechanic who can't work on neural systems, you... dummy! Look just, we'll, uh, order something, ok? I'll get it sent up here. You want another drink? Something bitter this time, the way you like it. And while we're waiting just... just let the team take care of things, how about? Dunno what we've got around here that's soft enough to sleep on, but we'll, uh, I mean. Uh."

Mirror's eyes flow so freely that it's difficult to read her, especially with her mouth hidden like this. Her breaths through Slate's fingers are sharp, but slow. Her hand isn't shaking anymore when she grabs Slate's and pulls it away. She doesn't speak, even when she frees herself. All she does is push on her mechanic's shoulders until they drop to kneeling. And then she lies down, resting her head on their thighs. She smirks at the sudden blush, but dutifully closes her eyes, as instructed. Proper maintenance was not just about the repairs you could do with a wrench, no matter how good you were with one.

"...How did it look? The fight. From the, from the outside. How did it look? When it's her, I... When it's her I can't see anything else. So, how? How was it, actually?"