"Not sure how much use it'd be when facing guns," he says, flatly-- unnecessarily cynical, especially when he's just expressed that he found it impressive, but it's what he's used to and that's much easier than talking about something he doesn't know much about.
He takes a long drag of his cigarette, not meeting her eyes. "This happened to me before," he starts, vaguely.
She hasn't offered that on her own without prompting before, so the rejection stings more than it should before the slams the door on it. It doesn't matter. None of this means anything. She doesn't look hurt, but if he had been looking at her he'd have seen the way her eyes went just a little harder.
A wall is going up, brick by brick, and she feels uncomfortable standing there motionless so she looks away out towards the stars before she moves the end of her staff out of the way and just sits in one of the chairs. He's launching into this abruptly, so she just waits. Lets him say whatever he's going to say.
He can see it, and part of him aches for her, wants to pull her close and say I'm sorry I'm like this, forgive me. But that isn't him; this version of himself doesn't apologize, not for things like this.
"Last time, I didn't resolve it the way I should have. I want to do better." But the implication is clear in his voice: he doesn't know how to. The cigarette is pinched between his fingers, now, almost forgotten in his concentration.
She's thinking what he is, and she can tell he's struggling and she likes him, this version of him right here in front of him and not just the man from the breach, enough to try to make this a little easier.
"I know it wasn't real," she says, slowly, like she's measuring out the words to find the ones that are right. "I know that person wasn't me, I've never been like that and I never will be like that. I don't expect anything from you."
He lets out an audible sigh of relief at that: that's exactly what he'd been afraid of last time, and he's so glad that she's saying it for him. He nods, and finally looks back at her.
"Thank you. I'm not-- good, like he was. And I know that wasn't you, either."
Alright, that... went better than she expected. She's never had anyone thank her for being cold, sharp, and rude before, but perhaps there's a first time for anything after all. She would disagree with the idea that he were a bad person because a bad man would be taking advantage of the feelings she had had for him, would have gone about this a much meaner way, but she also knows the absence of good doesn't automatically make someone bad.
He's both, just like everyone in the world. Or worlds, as it were. So she nods, accepting of his thanks, and for a moment there's a desire to give him a little more, to tell him that his desire to do better has been fulfilled, that this went fine.
But that wall is still up, even if a few bricks have fallen out of it again. She's not ready to take any more risks yet.
"Nothing has to change. I intend to go on like none of that happened."
Not Tiffany being her sister, not finding a mother in T'Pol, and not falling in love with Tommy. None of it is real and it's better to let it die.
"Do you think," he starts, and then hunches down again before he finally makes himself sit down-- two beds removed from her, of course, because it won't do to be too close. He stubs out his cigarette, grinds it down underneath his booth before rubbing a hand over his mouth.
"Do you think there's a reason for these things? Why the breaches go the way they do?"
And now he's surprised her again by staying when he could have left and she would have understood. Maybe she was right after all, maybe things really won't change.
For all her insistence that she was going to pretend nothing had been between them, there's still an ache in her at all that distance between them. This is going to take longer than she thought to shake.
"I don't know," she answers honestly, and she stands up again once he's sitting because she just- she can't be still. The staff comes off and she picks up the form she had abandoned, going through the motions of it as she thinks. "Maybe the Admiral thinks forcing people to experience things like this will change the inmates in some way that will make them better."
He thinks of Lua, sitting here last time, and her saying maybe telling a stranger is better. And Rey doesn't feel like a stranger, feels quite like the opposite right now, but perhaps there was some truth in that. Perhaps telling someone, telling more people, is better.
So he takes a deep breath, watches her as she goes through those motions. "Have you ever had someone like that, Rey?"
She glances at him a little too sharply, but the rest of her stays fluid. On anyone else that would be an insult, but she can see he's being genuine and more importantly, that this is a question that's meant to lead into him saying something else.
"No," she says it simply, easily, because it's the truth. "I've never had anyone."
"I did," he says, frankly honest. The pain is very, very clear in his voice, however, making him look tightly wound up.
"It ended badly, right before I came here." Which makes this perhaps just as painful as it has been for her, but in a very different way. This was a reminder for Tommy how badly things had ended with Grace, instead of a list of taken firsts.
The staff stops its movement through the air, comes to rest on the surface of the deck as she stops to look over at him properly. Things are sliding into place now, she's putting together why this is hard for him now, why it would have been worse the first time and why it made such an impression then that he'd go out of his way to keep things from going badly again.
It had been clear that she wasn't the only one struggling, and she hadn't ever thought of it in terms of who had been hurt worse, but now she realizes she had assumed he had taken it a little better than her.
But they really are on the same page, and thanks to Luke and Han she's reached a place where seeing someone she likes in pain has developed the urge to try to help. She's still not very good at being a form of support, but she'd done well enough in the past that they had been thankful after the fact.
Or maybe they had just accepted she was horrible at being nice and were giving her a pass for trying. Either way, against her better judgement she crosses the deck and puts her hand, delicately, on Tommy's shoulder. It's a big risk and she hates herself a little for making it after he'd already rejected the staff lessons, she should know better, but it's who she is now and not her memories of him during the breach that make it impossible to just let him sit there suffering.
"I'm sorry, Tommy." Her voice is even and soft, but not overcome with sympathy or too much emotion. There's sincerity, and that comes with a very gentle squeeze, but she's keeping this from getting too sentimental very much on purpose.
He hadn't expected that- not because he thinks she's unkind, but because she's particularly closed-off, and because most people react to this confession with at least a little contempt. People tend to be disappointed in him, or at least that's how he feels they react.
So he hadn't expected this kind of sincere sentiment. It doesn't mean he doesn't flinch a little, hunch over so he can look at his folded hands, but it's not... bad. He isn't sure how to react to it, so he just lets the silence linger for a little while as he thinks on it.
"So now you understand a little more," he settles on, finally.
Her hand doesn't stay there long, at least. She takes it away to sit down across from him instead, but she isn't sure what should come next. She doesn't want to pry into what happened with the person he was in love with before his heart was broken, but she feels like she should say something.
"I do," she agrees, just to be sure they're on the same page and he knows he can maybe relax with this a little more. "I can... if you need space, I can do that."
As much as she doesn't want to lose one of the very few friends she's made on the barge, he's become important enough to her that she's okay with letting him take that decision out of her hands if it's going to help him process things better.
He clears his throat and shakes his head, without looking up from his hands. "No. It's been months." Which means more I shouldn't still be upset about this than I'm no longer upset about this.
She does kind of get that feeling, so Rey nods and just like that it's something filed away, something she can remember to give her perspective on him but something that she'll never bring up on her own. Something he can choose to speak to her about, if he ever feels a need to.
And... the level of relief she feels when he says no is a little disturbing for her. She doesn't quite like this, becoming this attached to anyone at all, but it's inescapable and she has no idea what to do about it. Let it happen? She doesn't want to fight it, so that's really the only option.
"How often do things like that happen?" She asks instead of lingering on a topic that clearly causes him pain. "I didn't know it was possible for the entire ship to become somewhere else like that."
There's a lot there, information and things that only cause more questions, but there's one word that he's said that Rey can't hope to parse, so she picks it to focus on in the hopes that she can distract him from what's bothering him.
"Beasts makes them sound dangerous," Rey points out, intrigued because it's interesting and less because her distraction technique might have actually worked. "Were the just... loose, everywhere?"
"They were. They'd built a compound of sorts, to keep them out- it was the world of the dinosaurs, and we were intruding. They quite disagreed with that."
As much as that sounds very dangerous and probably quite scary, there's still something about it that makes Rey just a little sorry she didn't get to see these dinosaurs.
He nods, rubs his mouth a little again in an obvious nervous gesture- there's still tension in his body.
"Plenty of people were hurt. Furiosa threw herself in front of one of the animals to save me, even though we didn't know each other in the dream. I had to do some very inventive things to keep her from bleeding out."
Immediately Rey feels angry at herself for the question, because the last thing she'd wanted to do was make Tommy think of even more things he'd rather not. She's making this worse, doesn't know how to make it better, and that means her immediate impulse is to run away from it.
What is Tommy to her, anyway? Not a lover, maybe a friend, and she can't even say they know nothing about each other anymore when he's told her about Grace, his family, his childhood. When he knows about her abandonment, about her abilities, about her loneliness. Even when she's trying to tell herself there's nothing there she can't and that makes it worse, in a way.
She can't run from what's already started, not when he's put his trust in her. It makes her uncomfortable, but there's nothing she can do about it except try to find a way to make it hurt less. Add to that the fact that she'd given him the chance to walk away and he had said no so plainly...
"I haven't met Furiosa," she says, a little stiffly, trying to draw the conversation away from danger and death. She's so bad a this it's impossible to hide it, but she's trying. For him. "Tell me about her?"
The breach is distant by now: it's been months, and those memories fade easily. He doesn't mind the question, but he can't say he minds the change of topic, either.
But he does notice it. That she's changing it because of him, for him. And he isn't quite sure whether it's a kindness or pity he doesn't need.
"You'd like her," he says, finally, looking up and conjuring up a smile. "She's the toughest woman I have ever met- and I've met some. She's from a dead world, but she didn't lose her heart there. She fights, and she drives trucks that aren't even possible in my world yet."
Honestly, she's one of the best friends he's ever had. There's no one like her anywhere, he's sure of it.
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He takes a long drag of his cigarette, not meeting her eyes. "This happened to me before," he starts, vaguely.
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A wall is going up, brick by brick, and she feels uncomfortable standing there motionless so she looks away out towards the stars before she moves the end of her staff out of the way and just sits in one of the chairs. He's launching into this abruptly, so she just waits. Lets him say whatever he's going to say.
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"Last time, I didn't resolve it the way I should have. I want to do better." But the implication is clear in his voice: he doesn't know how to. The cigarette is pinched between his fingers, now, almost forgotten in his concentration.
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"I know it wasn't real," she says, slowly, like she's measuring out the words to find the ones that are right. "I know that person wasn't me, I've never been like that and I never will be like that. I don't expect anything from you."
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"Thank you. I'm not-- good, like he was. And I know that wasn't you, either."
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He's both, just like everyone in the world. Or worlds, as it were. So she nods, accepting of his thanks, and for a moment there's a desire to give him a little more, to tell him that his desire to do better has been fulfilled, that this went fine.
But that wall is still up, even if a few bricks have fallen out of it again. She's not ready to take any more risks yet.
"Nothing has to change. I intend to go on like none of that happened."
Not Tiffany being her sister, not finding a mother in T'Pol, and not falling in love with Tommy. None of it is real and it's better to let it die.
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"Do you think there's a reason for these things? Why the breaches go the way they do?"
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For all her insistence that she was going to pretend nothing had been between them, there's still an ache in her at all that distance between them. This is going to take longer than she thought to shake.
"I don't know," she answers honestly, and she stands up again once he's sitting because she just- she can't be still. The staff comes off and she picks up the form she had abandoned, going through the motions of it as she thinks. "Maybe the Admiral thinks forcing people to experience things like this will change the inmates in some way that will make them better."
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So he takes a deep breath, watches her as she goes through those motions. "Have you ever had someone like that, Rey?"
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"No," she says it simply, easily, because it's the truth. "I've never had anyone."
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"It ended badly, right before I came here." Which makes this perhaps just as painful as it has been for her, but in a very different way. This was a reminder for Tommy how badly things had ended with Grace, instead of a list of taken firsts.
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It had been clear that she wasn't the only one struggling, and she hadn't ever thought of it in terms of who had been hurt worse, but now she realizes she had assumed he had taken it a little better than her.
But they really are on the same page, and thanks to Luke and Han she's reached a place where seeing someone she likes in pain has developed the urge to try to help. She's still not very good at being a form of support, but she'd done well enough in the past that they had been thankful after the fact.
Or maybe they had just accepted she was horrible at being nice and were giving her a pass for trying. Either way, against her better judgement she crosses the deck and puts her hand, delicately, on Tommy's shoulder. It's a big risk and she hates herself a little for making it after he'd already rejected the staff lessons, she should know better, but it's who she is now and not her memories of him during the breach that make it impossible to just let him sit there suffering.
"I'm sorry, Tommy." Her voice is even and soft, but not overcome with sympathy or too much emotion. There's sincerity, and that comes with a very gentle squeeze, but she's keeping this from getting too sentimental very much on purpose.
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So he hadn't expected this kind of sincere sentiment. It doesn't mean he doesn't flinch a little, hunch over so he can look at his folded hands, but it's not... bad. He isn't sure how to react to it, so he just lets the silence linger for a little while as he thinks on it.
"So now you understand a little more," he settles on, finally.
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"I do," she agrees, just to be sure they're on the same page and he knows he can maybe relax with this a little more. "I can... if you need space, I can do that."
As much as she doesn't want to lose one of the very few friends she's made on the barge, he's become important enough to her that she's okay with letting him take that decision out of her hands if it's going to help him process things better.
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And... the level of relief she feels when he says no is a little disturbing for her. She doesn't quite like this, becoming this attached to anyone at all, but it's inescapable and she has no idea what to do about it. Let it happen? She doesn't want to fight it, so that's really the only option.
"How often do things like that happen?" She asks instead of lingering on a topic that clearly causes him pain. "I didn't know it was possible for the entire ship to become somewhere else like that."
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"Every couple of months. This was my third one- first time around there were dinosaurs, last time it was the fucking Wild West."
And each time he's a crook. He swallows against that thought- at least this time he came closer to good than bad.
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"What are dinosaurs?"
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"Prehistoric beasts. Extinct long before humanity came around."
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"Was anyone hurt?"
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"Plenty of people were hurt. Furiosa threw herself in front of one of the animals to save me, even though we didn't know each other in the dream. I had to do some very inventive things to keep her from bleeding out."
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What is Tommy to her, anyway? Not a lover, maybe a friend, and she can't even say they know nothing about each other anymore when he's told her about Grace, his family, his childhood. When he knows about her abandonment, about her abilities, about her loneliness. Even when she's trying to tell herself there's nothing there she can't and that makes it worse, in a way.
She can't run from what's already started, not when he's put his trust in her. It makes her uncomfortable, but there's nothing she can do about it except try to find a way to make it hurt less. Add to that the fact that she'd given him the chance to walk away and he had said no so plainly...
"I haven't met Furiosa," she says, a little stiffly, trying to draw the conversation away from danger and death. She's so bad a this it's impossible to hide it, but she's trying. For him. "Tell me about her?"
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But he does notice it. That she's changing it because of him, for him. And he isn't quite sure whether it's a kindness or pity he doesn't need.
"You'd like her," he says, finally, looking up and conjuring up a smile. "She's the toughest woman I have ever met- and I've met some. She's from a dead world, but she didn't lose her heart there. She fights, and she drives trucks that aren't even possible in my world yet."
Honestly, she's one of the best friends he's ever had. There's no one like her anywhere, he's sure of it.
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