He snorts. Nothing's that easy. So his answer is a flippant affirmative.
"Yeah, I'll go tell her to get a clone of my natal sleeve, and have Ryker put back on ice. That'd only set you back... eighty thousand UN dollars? Give or take if you skimped out on the neurochem."
Bitter non-believers. Tess smiles despite herself, though she stifles it with a swig of her fruit cup. Thumbs away the juice from her mouth after, leans into the table.
"I'm sure she'll figure something out if she's got any brains rattling around in her head," she tells him. "And we make port next month. Knowing this place, it might be some old-ass city that doesn't even have plumbing, but no matter what she'll get cash. Worst case scenario, you have a great time on her dime."
"I was," she replies. "You never know with people."
Here or anywhere, wardens or inmates, men or women. Any maybe it's uglier: the resentment just under her skin whenever she thinks about becoming collateral to someone else's dead wife. Dead boyfriend. Whatever.
Tess hesitates, opens her mouth to tell someone else's story –– there are enough of them that it doesn't really matter who anything happened to. Thinks twice about it anyway. This situation is fucked up. It's not a world away from her own.
"I was dating a warden for a bit," she replies. Skims the surface. "We were together in a breach, and we just sort of... carried on. And it was fine, for a while." Her gaze dips to the table for a moment, and she shrugs. A trace of bitterness in her voice. "But then I found out he had this wife, and I confronted him about it. The way he reacted, you'd think I was the one who fucked up."
"Nope," she replies. She shifts the fruit cup between her hands, favours her words: "He made a big deal out of being on good terms again, promised me a house when I get out of here, but then his inmate graduated. He stuck around just long enough to give me a parting gift, and showed me the door the minute I didn't let him touch me."
She doesn't mean to, but a scoff slips out anyway.
Tess nods. Being dignified about the surge of satisfaction that gives her feels like a choice, but no matter how much she'd like to play it cool, there's relief there. Resolve.
"Thanks, Takeshi," she replies. "And any time you need me, I'm here."
"Takeshi," he murmurs under his breath. He hasn't been called that in a while, outside of Ortega's bed. Even there, it had shocked him. It always does.
It makes him smile, though it's a small, ugly thing on a broad, ugly face. He raises his almost empty fruit cup. "Kanpai," and drinks the dregs.
Tess, eyebrows furrowed but smiling, just raises hers in turn. She hates last name basis. It feels like a weapon sometimes — a forced unfamiliarity, a family name for people who don’t have one. It’s a careful line to step around.
“I’m good, if she jumps me I’ll just get her demoted,” Tess replies, breezily. “You gonna be okay alone?”
"She wouldn't kill you," he says, half defensive, half bored. People think Ortega's much worse than she is, and honestly, it's almost funny, if everything in this place wasn't so fucking sad. "What, you worried I'll get lonely?"
It’s always guys like this, all wounded differently, but always profoundly alone. Tess feels it under her skin. Admitting you worry about anyone is like giving up some measure of safety, and it has seldom been rewarding, but she’ll try again and again. It makes her feel stupid.
She gets to her feet, looms over him for a second.
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"Yeah, I'll go tell her to get a clone of my natal sleeve, and have Ryker put back on ice. That'd only set you back... eighty thousand UN dollars? Give or take if you skimped out on the neurochem."
He shakes his head.
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"I'm sure she'll figure something out if she's got any brains rattling around in her head," she tells him. "And we make port next month. Knowing this place, it might be some old-ass city that doesn't even have plumbing, but no matter what she'll get cash. Worst case scenario, you have a great time on her dime."
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He shakes his head. "You okay? Looked like you were ready to go for the eyes, out there."
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Here or anywhere, wardens or inmates, men or women. Any maybe it's uglier: the resentment just under her skin whenever she thinks about becoming collateral to someone else's dead wife. Dead boyfriend. Whatever.
"I've seen wardens take advantage, that's all."
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His voice is smooth with hushed concern. What happened to her?
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"I was dating a warden for a bit," she replies. Skims the surface. "We were together in a breach, and we just sort of... carried on. And it was fine, for a while." Her gaze dips to the table for a moment, and she shrugs. A trace of bitterness in her voice. "But then I found out he had this wife, and I confronted him about it. The way he reacted, you'd think I was the one who fucked up."
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"Is he still here?"
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She doesn't mean to, but a scoff slips out anyway.
"Didn't go back for his wife, either."
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"We haven't known each other for a while," he says carefully. "But I know you have my back. Consider it mutual."
If that ever happens again...
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"Thanks, Takeshi," she replies. "And any time you need me, I'm here."
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It makes him smile, though it's a small, ugly thing on a broad, ugly face. He raises his almost empty fruit cup. "Kanpai," and drinks the dregs.
"Need a walk back to your cabin?"
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“I’m good, if she jumps me I’ll just get her demoted,” Tess replies, breezily. “You gonna be okay alone?”
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She gets to her feet, looms over him for a second.
“708, if you do. Any time, okay?”
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She dips down to squeeze his shoulder briefly and leaves.