there's many lost but

GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKER

GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKER

GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKER

Choices were something that Tara’s life seemed to lack. The choice to weaponise her body, to be thrown from agent to agent like a worn out toy, to chose how she wanted to live. How she wanted to die. She felt everyone deserved the choice to do what they pleased, no matter the consequences, no matter who it hurt. Would a soldier feel this way? Someone who had picked this life out for themselves? He’s standing here because he chose to. He chose to join the UNSC, he chose to open his mouth and speak to her. 

She could still remember Tallahassee’s first look. When their eyes met it had been like completing a circle. She knew she had been made for him, and he had told her much later that he often felt the same way. It had set a fire in her heart that had never quite extinguished, even through everything. It seemed to burn everyone she touched, it set flame to everything she tried to love. Cheyenne had burned them both, but something about Denver was soothing. He invoked a different feeling from her chest, warm instead of scorching. It was something much softer. Was this why Arcadia had been so pleasant? Why she seemed more like a porcelain doll than a war machine. 

For a moment, she wondered what effect she had on him. Would he have preferred for her to stay with him after the implantation? The idea of sitting by someone’s bedside was an odd one, of holding their hand or stroking their hair. She wasn’t sure she was capable of such a feat. 

Tara pulled some hair behind her ears and opened her mouth slightly as he continued on. Not so much dumbfounded as she was confused. It had been too long since someone had shown her this much kindness right off the bat. Helena was right, maybe they would be able to take care of each other. Or maybe the kindness was a front, maybe he was just too diplomatic to share how he was really feeling. Maybe she was being paranoid. Probably. 

"If you want to show me, then yeah, sure," she smiled at him and shrugged slightly. She felt like Tallahassee, so artfully noncommittal. Easy to read in any direction. Tara had spent most of her early days in Tallahassee’s room, it was as much hers as it was his. It was strange now, how empty it seemed. She would have liked to have more of his trinkets left behind for her. Her fingers slid across the chain around her neck, the tags attached to them hidden under a maroon tank-top. It was the only thing left of him. 

That was why the idea of touching anything that belonged to Arcadia seemed almost sacrilegious. If Denver had cared for his previous A.I. half as much as Tara had cared for Tallahassee, then she knew how important those little memories were. The things they had touched last, unmoved from where they put them. Tara could still see a shirt draped lazily over a chair, something she would have folded away in a heartbeat. She remembered running her fingers over it, feeling the fabric, the grit of sweat and defeat. She had never had the heart to move it, but it vanished along with the rest of his things. If Denver was able to keep those small moments, she wouldn’t be the one to tarnish them.

"But, uh, I keep most of my things in the armoury. So, I, uh," she exhaled and scrunched her face for a moment. "You don’t have to move her shit — her things, I mean. I’m not fussed.” 

Denver's hand went to the back of his neck, his fingers sliding across as he listened to her. He hadn't expected her to be so up front, but then, it was the same as back on Meridian; back when she had approached him with a beer in hand and that Ich mag du on her lips, and her straightforward words had taken him aback just as they did now.

But force? Was he? The fingers slipped from his neck completely, dropping to rest at his side. He didn't even know. He didn't know how to proceed with any of this; it just seemed like the first thing to do, perhaps to make up for her having to be in his mind without even knowing if she had wanted to be, to at least show that she had the rights now to use what was his as she pleased.

Then on the other hand, the wicked edged blade of paranoia told him that she was probably right- if one could see it so easily, she must be.

So he said "I'm sorry, I guess you're right," with a small smile, as it seemed like the most appropriate response to her laugh. Though he didn't add that he had had his time; he had it every day, waking in the early hours of the morning and starting his day by resting his eyes on the jumper still lying on the couch arm, and her books on his desk amidst the paper work, and the flowers and plants that sat in the pots all around his room, the shelves they were on littered with dead foliage that stood out against the bright stems and petals due to a mix of not bothering to turn on the careful constructed lights around them as often as he once did, and not having the heart to clean it all away. He had it when he sat down to do work, where Topeka's tags that Phoenix had given him hung from the desk lamp, twinkling in the light, and when he got dressed and saw that one love-heart embroidered sweater hanging in his closet amidst all the other more low-key wear.

And he wouldn't give any of that time up for the world, because that was his world, and it was a world which Tara was now inevitable becoming a part of, for better or worse.

"Still," he continued, waving his hand lightly, "I may as well. If you live in my 'fucking' brain, then you may as well get to know where I actually 'fucking' live." He smiled, then paused for a moment. "Or where we live," he added, an afterthought, though he narrowed his eyes slightly as it crossed his mind. Acadia had practically lived in the place more than he did, and typically, whenever he entered on his own agenda he'd often find her there, curled up on the couch or the bed either reading or knitting.

But then Tara was different. He had never really thought of it much before, what the other agents and their AI might be like with each other. Maybe she and Tallahassee, and she and Cheyenne had been different, and he was making himself out like an idiot to her.

Perhaps it'd just be better if he stopped talking so much, and then when he did, all those paranoid voices would come back to yammer to keep him company in the silence.

He cleared his throat, barely audible, and nodded to the hall forward. "It's, well, the men's rooms are on down a bit." She'd already know, you realise. "You don't have to stick around, you can just get you bearings if  you want."

Tara could hear his footsteps, she had never paid him much attention before. Now she was part of him. He was part of her. Would it last? It had to. She wouldn’t lose another agent, besides, Helena had told her that they would be able to take care of each other. Helena had told her that she would be able to help him. If anything, she would be able to be cooperative based solely on the fact that she assumed Austin might want her to. Austin was her friend, she owed him so much. If helping Denver meant helping him, then she would do it regardless of how the man reacted to her. 

"I apologise; I have a feeling I was dead to the world for longer than anticipated."

There was a moment as Tara turned to look at him where she wasn’t sure what she expected. His face wasn’t unfamiliar, nor was his voice. But something seemed different now. Was that just her imagination? He wasn’t Tallahassee, he wasn’t Cheyenne. He was Denver, and now — for better or for worse — he was her agent. 

"It’s different for everyone. It’s not a comfortable process for either of us, so it’s okay. There wasn’t any rush."

She can’t quite look at him, and there’s no telling why. Tara can feel the discomfort radiating off of him, the doubts. For a moment, she thinks she can almost hear an echo of it, but he hasn’t let her in. She can’t hear what he doesn’t want her to. But the run offs of whatever it is running through his head hit her like a flood. The A.I. half considers running away from him, going into the opposite direction until they’re separated by miles and miles of ship. But she doesn’t. She decided hours ago that she would stand her ground, she was determined to make this work.

But the words that hit her next didn’t help her resolve any. She doubted it was intentional, maybe it was just the freshness of their implantation. But she was certain she could hear it inside her head, maybe she was just imagining it. Maybe she was being paranoid. 

She’s not Arcadia. 

Strangely, it’s then that she’s able to look him in the eye. Tara studied his face, the creases from years she couldn’t imagine, the blue that seemed so much more alive than hers. His eyes looked like the blue-green ocean of Meridian, while hers looked like nothing more than a winter’s day. She wondered if that meant anything, if it mattered at all. 

He had always wondered what had made him so special to have the first. In all honesty there was nothing, probably. It just made him the first to know just how uncomfortable the procedure was.

And the first to realise just how much a blessing in disguise an AI was.

But he and Acadia- they had instantly connected to one another. He couldn't remember a period of hostility towards each other, or awkwardness, or anything else to put a kink in things before 'things' had even properly begun. She had just simply slipped into his life, as if she had been there from the start; almost like a daughter, though he knew others would find the notion ridiculous.

And so his smile subdued itself when she didn't turn her eyes to meet with his own, and though the shine in his eyes didn't extinguish it faded, much more temperate now. That natural connection wasn't there. There wasn't some sort of instantaneous bonding. No new revelations without words even being necessary between each other. Perhaps that connection hadn't been there for Cheyenne, either- only Tallahassee, which could be a symptom as to why it never worked out for her, and why it could very well not work out for him.

The first time he had met Acadia, she became akin to a daughter to him. The first time he had met Tara, she became an acquaintance.

But that meant nothing. He had to persevere. And the first step to persevering would be at least making some semblance of an effort to get comfortable with her and tone down the awkwardness that threatened to hang stagnant in the air if he didn't say something. But what could he say? He didn't even know how to begin to make small talk with her, to do anything more than just nod and agree with the comment she made, and then moments later he didn't need to, as her eyes finally looked up at him and he could feel himself being studied by them.

I'm really not. 

He was looking at her, and her lips didn't move. But he heard her voice, hardly clear as day within his mind- more a murmur, and seconds passed by as he took his own opportunity to study her, her synthetic skin flawless. He didn't ask her: 'I'm really not what?', though he had no idea what she meant by those words, even if his subconscious, the only thing that had pointed out who she wasn't, did.

His heart thumped in his chest, though by all appearances he seemed nothing more than normal. It was safest to reason that he was imagining it, or maybe she hadn't meant for him to hear her. He didn't know. Probably over thinking it. Stop over thinking it. Keep talking.

"All the same, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I would've thought you'd of been back there," he gestured with a hand behind him, in the vague direction of where he had just emerged from implantation, "instead of out here." Another hand gesture, encompassing the empty area around them. Nothing much of interest was around, really; it was just the two of them.

"So did you want to go somewhere, or did you have somewhere else to be, or someone else to see, or..." He trailed off, shifting on his feet. Still not knowing what to say- seemed like he was getting like this an awful lot since he had woken up with Acadia dead beside him.

"... Or I can show you my room, if you'd like." That sounded weird. "I mean, just so you know where it is; you're free to come and go now as you please. Some of Aquarius' things are still lying around in there, but if you want you can just..."

For a moment, he lost contact with her eyes, his own pair flicking away for barely a millisecond. "You can just move them, if you need the space for anything."

She wanted to leave. She wanted to escape all these people, and let her feet sit in the fountain. If these were the last hours she was allowed to act human, then why was she being forced to waste them here? This was supposed to be her time, but if that were true, she’d be given some freedom as to where she would spend the rest of her night. 

Tara peaked back over her shoulder, she wondered if he felt the same. 

She sighed, and took a seat at the bar. Resting her chin on her hand, it had only been a few hours since they had ‘honoured’ Scorpio, Arcadia, Sacramento, Boston, and Gem. The latter pair she had been close to, she kept the stuffed rabbit that Boston had once given her in the armoury, behind the boxes that cluttered the table Tallahassee and Topeka had once played poker at. The only death that had stung her deeper than Boston’s had been Gem’s. She would have liked to have seen him here, at this horrible sort of affair. Perhaps he would have felt just as displaced as she did, maybe watching him grump around would have made her feel better. 

Maybe, they would have locked eyes by some chance of fate — or more likely, the statistical probability of two people who are well acquainted with one another making eye contact in a room of crowded strangers — and they could have had a moment of silent, albeit shared, misery. She would never know. A redheaded waitress bobbed past her, and she followed the woman with her gaze until she led back to him — Agent Denver. This whole thing was inevitable, and she knew it. There was no understanding, because it was different. But there was sympathy, there was an idea. A shared suffering. She had no illusions — nor any want — to replace Arcadia. If she had any choice aside from Agent Olympia and Agent Denver at all, she would have taken it. But this was beyond her. This was beyond him. 

The least she could do was try to make the best of the worst possible situation, and so she sighed, turned around in her seat and ordered a drink. 

"Something German, I don’t fucking know," a few heads looked over at her. "Don’t look at me like that, and no I do not kiss my mother with this mouth — because joke is on you — I don’t have one. Fuck you." 

The bartender handed her back a beer, it didn’t look German. But then, the only German thing she’d ever seen was Agent Denver. Beyond that she hadn’t put the effort into researching anything beyond the basics. Perhaps she should. Luckily for her, though, German was included in her language file.

"Ich nicht mag diese Parteien. Bist du ein gut ziet?" She had her back to him, but held out the drink, just in case. She didn’t know how to communicate with him without someone else being present, let alone trying to breach the fact that they were going to be implanted soon, or that Austin had invited her to the Beta gathering too soon and she was sorry. "Oh, Ich habe ein bier für du. Es is Deutsch. Oder, ich denke es ist. Ich habe ein großer wunsch für diese an ärmlichen nicht. Verstanden? Ich mag du, Herr Denver, und Ich bin sehr taurig für deine unglücksfall.”

She paused.

...What?

His shoulders stiffened, though not out of malice or hostility. Outside of his thoughts, he hadn't heard that tongue on another being in years; ruled out in favour of English as everything he used to know to be so common place to him was left behind. Or on the flip side of things, perhaps he was going crazy; the remnants of memories from home finally cracking at his composure and breaking down the walls to reality, leaving him a mental case.

Fantastisch. Just what he needed. On the brighter side of things, at least it had the propensity to be more of a 'holiday' than what Solace had turned out to be. And if he lacked the sanity to distinguish between his old life and the one that possessed the entirety of his being now, well, was that necessarily a bad thing?

But the voice sounded real, very real, real enough to warrant a glance behind him to check, almost anticipating the fiery red hair of the-

Oh.

Despite having her back to him, he couldn't help but recognise Tara's form, her frame swathed with the vibrant red fabric that he seen numerous times throughout the evening, making herself clear amidst all the dressy suits and pastel gowns that made up the large portion of the crowd. In her hand she held, out of all things, a bottle of Beck's; the first real drink he had seen throughout the evening when champagne flutes and wine had reigned supreme.

Denver stared at her for a moment, his eyes creased with-- puzzlement? Surprise? For a strange moment, he was almost tempted to burst into laughter at her absurdly direct tone as she continued on- almost robotic, though he wouldn't be inclined to say such a thing to her face; but it was just so, so...

Well, to put it simply, he had never had someone he'd barely spoken to before offer him a beer, assure him without changing pace that it was German, and then go on to straight up say they liked him without so much as a 'sie' to be heard of- all whilst not even facing him.

But then... there it was, still without a beat. The whole 'I'm sad, I'm sorry, such a terrible loss' that only Atlanta had seemed to understand he had no desire for and in the end, were just wasted words that called back memories.

Though he understood, and such things were inevitable when there was not much else to say. After a brief pause of hesitation and not feeling like he had much of a choice, he accepted the bottle from her, giving the label a cursory glance before he did anything else, largely because he had not a clue what to say for a moment and vaguely picking up on the fact that this wasn't a German produced Beck's, a sure symptom that taste would be nowhere near as superior as the original.

Though it was the thought that counted, and flipping off the pre-loosened cap he took a drawn out swig before replying, no one yet facing each other.

"I understood, but we may as well stick to English." It's what you're comfortable with, is it not?

He took another swig, the awkwardness of the situation not quite lost of him. Tasted like garbage, this commercialised version did, and there was a smile threatening to twitch at the very corners of his lips. 'Es ist Deutsch' indeed, Tara.

"So, uh; not enjoying the party, are we? But then again, I'm not either. I guess we've got that in common already."