Besca stood below, watching Quinn try out her limbs, stretching her legs, rolling her shoulders. The analysts all carried tablets monitoring the Savior’s vitals, and Quinn’s. She took one without a fuss—another perk of being commander that she wasn’t quite used to. 

“[color=gray]Yep, now we wait,[/color]” she said. “[color=gray]Why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner tonight? I’m not the [i]best[/i] cook, but I bet between the three of us we can tackle just about anything.[/color]”

This was beginning to feel more familiar to her—saddening in its own right, but nonetheless. Helping pilots pass the time, helping them not think so much about what they were doing, about where they were. She remembered Safie’s phasing test, how nervous she’d been. They’d talked about doing gymnastics in middle school, how Besca could hardly do a split, how Safie had dropped out to focus on sims, but always regretted not keeping up with it as a hobby. They’d given her a challenge then, something to set her mind on—two weeks later [i]Jubilee[/i] was the first Savior Besca had ever seen do a handstand. 

She didn’t quite know where to go with Quinn, yet. The other pilots had all been so eager to jump in, but this was different. Quinn didn’t want this, and while she’d never encountered a situation like this in her career, Besca knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that making someone [i]want[/i] to pilot who didn’t, was not an easy task. 

The Modir’s face—Savior, now, though it strained her to say it—twitched, its flayed rictus hitching ever so slightly down, though the things could never emote much. 

“[color=FFE63D]Where's Deelie?[/color]”

Yeah. Where [i]was[/i] Dahlia? She’d sworn to be here, right after—

Besca whirled to Follen, muted herself on the comms. “[color=gray]Where’s Dahlia.[/color]”

He glanced at her, sniffed, said nothing. 

“[color=gray]Fuckface, I know she came to see you this morning. Where is she? Why isn’t she here?[/color]” She sucked in her lips, her teeth came together. “[color=gray]That’s a fucking [i]order[/i], Follen.[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]No need for any of that, commander. A simple mix up. Our new Savior here only finished regenerating at the top of the hour, we couldn’t be sure [i]when[/i] exactly it would be ready.[/color]” He continued looking up at the giant, waved happily to it. He must have muted himself as well. “[color=lightblue]I told her to go ahead and start on her sims.[/color]”

A pure and violent fury burst to life in Besca’s chest. She took a step towards him—he didn’t flinch—and stopped. The only thing keeping him off the floor, and her hands off his neck, was that Quinn was up there, watching. Through gritted teeth she took a breath, and pulled up the tablet. 

“[color=gray]I’m calling her in.[/color]”

“[color=lightblue]Don’t, Besca.[/color]” His voice took a turn for the sincere, and it nearly stopped her dead. “[color=lightblue]She needs this. These crutches you’re giving her, they won’t help. They’ll ruin her. You know I’m right.[/color]”

Their eyes met. Besca saw past them, past the shell of warmth and humanity, to something dark and else beneath. For a moment she mourned her friend, and feared the thing standing beside her. Then she frowned. 

“[color=gray][i]Fuck[/i] you, Aldous.[/color]” She sent an alert to Dahlia, then unmuted her comms. “[color=gray]Little mistake in the schedules, hun! She’ll be right on her way! You should ask her for some ideas when she gets here, she spent a lot of time cooking with Ghaust.[/color]”

Minutes passed, them more. As Quinn sat there, at first she only felt what she was. Strength, clarity, a dull and guarded comfort. Then, slowly, something else began to buzz within her. At first it was nothing more than a flicker, a flitting of shadows across the mind, but as the minutes went on, and then the seconds, it did change. A thrumming, a prickling like when her foot fell asleep, or she banged her elbow, only lesser, and not on any limb, but concentrated [i]within[/i]. 

It spread through her like an ink stain in clear water. Stark, sprawling. It still didn’t hurt, but she could feel it, [i]certainly.[/i] 

Static. Living static. It crackled in her mind, it breathed with her lungs. 

And it did not know her. 

We’re strangers, that dark and [color=black]I[/color]. Oh, [color=black]Quinnlash,[/color] but we’re here again. How the void calls, how the circuit creeps shut. To feel it, to forget your own skin and your own soul. 

[color=black]Hate it, Quinnlash.[/color]

Below, lights began to flash on the tablets. Brows shot up, murmurs abound. Besca could hardly believe her eyes—was she phasing? Already? If not, she was certainly close. 

“[color=lightblue]Wonderful, Quinn. Just wonderful,[/color]” Follen said, and she wanted to slap the comm piece from his ear. “[color=lightblue]Only a minute or two more.[/color]”

Close. She was close. Close to what? The thrumming grew stronger, the power with it. It was raw, and liberating, and as it slowly built, thoughts came to her like questions from a child. Thoughts of Hovvi, of home. How could anything have been so small? How could her whole life have been a single room? [i]Why[/i]?

[color=black]Why don’t you hate this, Quinnlash?[/color]