"I just don't think she'd want people to know, that's all."
Being forced into unconsciousness is a vulnerability, even if it's happening in a place that's somewhat more secure than the rest of the ship.
"I keep thinking maybe there's a part of her brain that's still aware of what's happening. She's unconscious, not brain dead. So I'm visiting and paying attention to that subconscious part of her right now."
"No, she won't remember. And no, it probably won't actually do shit. But it's worth a try anyway, just in case. It's not like I can do anything else for her right now."
She curls her fingers around the edge of her cushion.
"I'm Tiffany, by the way. I work in the infirmary."
She's been seeing some of Jacobi's handiwork firsthand!
"Tiffany in the infirmary," he repeats. "Who likes to keep a little control when shit gets out of control. I can respect that."
He doesn't think she appreciates his fine art, so he doesn't address it.
"Well, I'll be out of here eventually and you can go back to being by yourself in here with her. And you don't have to pretend to be nice to me anymore."
"I'm not pretending shit," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I ain't even being that nice right now, I'm just being normal. Nice would be asking if you need anything I can get for you, but I don't wanna leave right now, so--"
"Hey, I just caused a lot of chaos and murder and shit. My bar for nice from other people is like...way underground. I'm just kind of expecting hostility right out of the gate. The fact that you're not giving me that?" He shrugs. "And there isn't anything you can get me even if you asked. So you don't even need to worry about that. I have my pen. I have my notebook. I'm set."
"Rita did," he confirms. "Gave her a bullshit answer first. Then I told her the truth. Then a couple of people I hurt decided to ask. I figure those are the ones who aren't going to stab me any time soon. So I told them the truth, too."
Good. Callisto's situation still has her looking disquieted, but there's some relief mixed in there now, too; relief that this man hasn't been left to rot.
"I'm curious," she says. "And you didn't hurt me, but you hurt and killed some people I care about. That earn me the truth, a bullshit answer, or no answer at all?"
He hesitates a moment. "You can have the truth, I guess. It's not really a secret. But, here's the usual disclaimer: the reasons are probably not ones that you're going to like." He puts down the pen and closes the notebook.
"Long story short?" he starts here and snickers at a bit of a private joke, "Everything got fucked real fast and it just felt better to let it all blow up. That's what I do. I destroy things. I blow them up. It was my job, my life, for a really long time."
"Well, I've said it so many times that I've stopped getting it, I think," he mutters. "It just sounds like bullshit in my head. It's not like I'm some emotionally stunted gargoyle. I usually know what I'm feeling. The problem is that the person who usually listened to me died and no one else gives a shit."
"Died at home," he says. "I mean, I know there's people who do care here. But it's one thing to know that and another thing to know it. Make sense?" he wonders, leaning back.
"Makes a lot of sense," she agrees. "And you probably knew the person at home better than you know any of us. There's knowing and knowing, and there's also caring and caring. The second kind takes time, usually, and you're still pretty new, right?"
"I have Kepler. He's from home, too. It was - the three of us for a very long time," he explains. "But he was my CO. Getting used to him as being someone I can talk to is an adjustment, yeah." He takes the pen from the notebook so he can tap it a bit.
"But yeah, I'm new. And caring about people isn't something that comes easy to me. Even with time," he admits.
"There's people who'll never forgive you for doing what you did," she says - sounding matter-of-fact about this, not apologetic. "But I hope there'll be people who'll listen to you, too. You're being calm and polite right now; that'll help. People like that."
It is, of course, rarely quite that simple, but never let it be said that Tiffany's own biases don't come into play.
He gives her a long look, considering. "I'm not really used to privacy," he explains. "I have two trackers in me that let my bosses know where I am at all times. I have a file on me that has everything I've ever done. Not the Admiral's file, but a real file, back home. But I don't like strangers knowing things about me that would make them pity me. Or sympathize with me. That kind of dirty laundry. So yeah, the shit I said? That's dirty laundry. I'll tell people almost whatever they want to know."
"I don't pity you," she says - quickly, easily, truthfully. "But I do sympathize, and even empathize a little bit. Not pity, though; I hate that shit, too."
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Being forced into unconsciousness is a vulnerability, even if it's happening in a place that's somewhat more secure than the rest of the ship.
"I keep thinking maybe there's a part of her brain that's still aware of what's happening. She's unconscious, not brain dead. So I'm visiting and paying attention to that subconscious part of her right now."
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"Huh. Does that....help? Does she even remember?"
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She curls her fingers around the edge of her cushion.
"I'm Tiffany, by the way. I work in the infirmary."
She's been seeing some of Jacobi's handiwork firsthand!
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He doesn't think she appreciates his fine art, so he doesn't address it.
"Well, I'll be out of here eventually and you can go back to being by yourself in here with her. And you don't have to pretend to be nice to me anymore."
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"I'm curious," she says. "And you didn't hurt me, but you hurt and killed some people I care about. That earn me the truth, a bullshit answer, or no answer at all?"
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"Long story short?" he starts here and snickers at a bit of a private joke, "Everything got fucked real fast and it just felt better to let it all blow up. That's what I do. I destroy things. I blow them up. It was my job, my life, for a really long time."
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The latter, she figures, but she doesn't want to all-out assume.
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"But yeah, I'm new. And caring about people isn't something that comes easy to me. Even with time," he admits.
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It is, of course, rarely quite that simple, but never let it be said that Tiffany's own biases don't come into play.
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He shrugs. "Not like I could stop you anyway."
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She mirrors his shrug, leaning back against the hard wall and closing her eyes.
"If you didn't wanna hear it, I'd respect that."
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