Wishing you were somehow here again... [OPEN]

[dust_of_life]

((OOC: Figure she's going through this routine every night this month. Feel free to forward-date or back-date tag-ins.))

Growing up among the Cainites of the Order, Fatima had picked up on mechanisms for coping with stress from all across the world and across time. But not a single one of them was making it easier for her to deal with the emptiness of the space next to her in her bed. She'd been stuck on this flying Hilton for months now. But sleep still didn't come easily. After knowing what it was like to hear someone breathing beside her on the pillow, Fatima was having more than a little difficulty letting go.

Fortunately, growing up among the Cainites of the Order had also provided Fatima with a few extra outlets she could use.

It was usually after midnight when she would slip into the leotard Beverly had given her. The halls were quieter at night. Fewer people. Fewer judgmental crew members staring after her like the invader that she was. And the training facility was usually empty.

First, she'd start with a few yoga stretches. Some aggressive chin-ups. Knuckle push-ups. And then the real work would begin.

Somehow, her iPod had managed to survive her ordeal in Zelien. Fatima had doubted very much that she'd ever be able to coax any music out of it, but it was working now. All of her songs were there. Well, they weren't exactly her songs. The classical music was from Liam. The rock-and-roll was from Denise. And the oldies were from Auntie Diana. Didn't matter though. She always listened to the same song anyway. Survivor's Eye of the Tiger on repeat, the earbuds shoved deep into her ears, like she wanted to block out the rest of the world.

The punches she threw against the punching bag were precise and powerful. Fatima had fused the martial arts styles she'd studied with street boxing. And despite the work-out clothes, she always trained in her high-heeled boots. As she used to argue to Arty, you never knew what you were going to be wearing when someone attacked you. Better to be prepared for anything.

If only her loneliness could be punched in the bag.

Comments

[ethnobotany]

Usually, Beverly wasn't around much in the nights -- or, well, at all some days. Overall, she is doing better now than she was. Full recovery is still a long way off and may never actually come at all, but she is trying. She's working at it. Sometimes the nightmares are too much and drive her to the Arboretum or somewhere else. She knows it likely worries Wesley, but how can she even begin to tell him what's wrong?

No, her temporal displacement and her time in Zelien are topics better left alone.

For some reason, her feet take her to the gym tonight, even though she isn't dressed for it. She's still wearing her uniform, having never actually taken off the dark jacket, pants, and green undershirt combo. It's different from the uniform most people wear on this ship and it often makes her feel as though she sticks out more than she already does. At this point, though, she is aware that she can never fit seamlessly back into this crew so she might as well embrace her differences.

One of those differences happens to be using the gym when she arrives. Were it just about anyone else in there, Beverly would happily leave and find somewhere else to be. But Fatima gets a level of closeness no one else has from her yet. Deanna and Jean-Luc have been wonderful and even though Beverly can feel their friendships returning, she knows as well as they do that something will always stand between them. A small something, but it's there. With Annie and Finnick, Beverly is playing the maternal role and very strongly at that, but even then she has a lot to learn about them and a hell of a lot of ground to cover.

With Fatima, they've already done that. The connection is there, the friendship, the maternal role. It's all part of their relationship. So when she pauses in her routine, Beverly walks slowly forward, a gentle smile on her face. "Couldn't sleep?" she asks, as though she knows the feeling. That's why she's up. It's probably safe to say that's why Fatima is awake, too.

[dust_of_life]

Beverly's presence had been a balm to Fatima's agitation in Zelien. And that went double now. And it was more than just the fact that she was the mother-figure Fatima had long lacked. It was confirmation. Zelien had happened. And, as awful as it had been, Fatima felt better knowing it was real. If she'd just made it up in her head...well. Who knew what that really meant?

She didn't like to think about it too much.

She glanced over her shoulder at Beverly, giving the doctor a wane smile. "I've heard of this sleep thing you speak of," she said lightly, pulling out her earbuds. She knew Beverly would fuss. That was just what Beverly did. But unlike some of the other people she'd encountered around the ship who also fussed, Beverly would understand.

That was important.

Fatima absently steadied the punching bag with one hand, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I keep expecting to roll over and find him lying in bed beside me," she said. "Like that'll somehow mean it's okay to close my eyes."

[ethnobotany]

"Really?" Beverly jokes easily, her smile coming without reservation as it does so rarely here these days. Pushing forward, she comes to stand beside the punching bag. "You might need to teach me what it means."

She does understand being unable to sleep or sometimes even rest. Sometimes the memories are worse than the nightmares. Sometimes they combine so that neither waking nor sleeping hours are safe. It's like the time Beverly lost Jack, only on a much larger scale. But she feels as though she's been going through the same coping mechanisms now that she had back then, the same time she'd had to take to deal with what had happened.

And she can certainly understand Fatima's position. Acutely, even. Oddly enough, she's a good one to have that conversation with.

"I felt that way after I lost Jack," she murmurs softly. "That didn't have as much to do with horrors like you two faced, more that I really loved and missed him."

The bad part is that it doesn't really get any better.

"At least with Q in charge, there's always a chance that you'll see him again." Unlike Jack and Beverly. She doubts even Q has the power to bring back the dead. Though really she shouldn't doubt the one here. He has a lot of power and cosmic boredom. Who knows what he'll do?

[dust_of_life]

Fatima knew that they were treading on sacred ground when Beverly said Jack's name. She'd never outright asked, but she was intuitive enough to know that there had been a husband and that husband was no longer in the picture.

And now she knew.

"My Auntie had this saying," she muttered, trailing her fingers along the surface of the bag. "She used to say blood is blood is blood. That the point of blood was to sustain life, whether it was in a cow or a human or a three-toed sloth."

The origin of the phrase actually came from Diana's indifference to where her blood came from, as long as she could stay alive. But that was beside the point.

"Loss is loss is loss," Fatima continued. And she looked up at Beverly, forcing herself to smile. "I'm just glad I haven't lost you."

Yet...

[ethnobotany]

Beverly so rarely mentioned Jack because on most days the pain was still too much to bear. Even though she had managed to love others in the time since her husband's death, a part of her would always love and miss him. A part of her had died that day with him. If Fatima had cared about Sam even half as much as Beverly had loved Jack, then living without him must be difficult indeed.

"I wish I could say it gets better," Beverly sighs softly, her attention on the punching bag, as though that will make this topic easier. "It was harder at first. The bed was so empty and so cold. I felt the weight of my loneliness in every waking hour. Now I can go days... weeks... sometimes months without dwelling on his death until it just hits me again, like it just happened. And sometimes I still can't get his face out of my mind. Maybe it just gets easier to cope."

Even she can't say. Some days are better than others, but she will always miss Jack. Fatima may always miss Sam, too.

Beverly's lips curl upwards slightly and she reaches over to gently smooth her hand against Fatima's back. She's done this before, as comfort for both of them. Touch is often how Beverly shows she cares.

"I was a little late in coming, but I'm here." She's here and she remembers. The fact that both of them remember Zelien will be their strength for a while. They have a lot to deal with, even now. What better way to do it than with someone as close as they are to each other?

[dust_of_life]

Fatima practically melted under Beverly's touch. There were so few people in her life she allowed to touch her, let alone in such an intimate way. But either by force of personality, by shared memories, or some combination of the two, Beverly had gained her trust enough.

And she needed someone she trusted.

Her lips twitched slightly. It was a grotesque parody of a smile, but it was close enough. "Missing him's better than the nightmares, anyway."

No need to elaborate. She was sure, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Beverly was having them too.

Who wouldn't?

[ethnobotany]

Beverly is definitely dealing with the nightmares just as much as Fatima, if the fact that she's up and out of her quarters at this hour says anything. She did leave Wesley a note to tell him that she's fine and she'll be back, but she didn't want to wake him up with her screaming. Her nightmares are intense here and they've changed recently. Where they were just about Zelien and the horrors she experienced there, they have since morphed to include memories of her last moments in her own timeline. And that means one thing:

The Borg.

Her nightmares now include such joyful scenarios as the people she cares about getting assimilated or killed by the cybernetic beings. Her other crew being hurt yet again. Fatima dying in her arms. Kaede being assimilated as a child. It's been horrific and so hard to sleep through. So when she woke up tonight, she didn't even try to go back to sleep.

Now she's glad she didn't. Spending time with Fatima is preferable to a lot of things.

"You know what's really funny?" she muses, her mind wandering to a related subject. "Missing someone who's actually here. Wesley is here, but... he's missing so much, so many critical events haven't happened in this timeline yet. It's so strange to me. Everyone on this crew I knew at one point and most I still do. I can't tell if I miss them or... the people they will someday become."

Everything is strange now and she still doesn't know what to make of it. But she manages a small smile, genuine as always, her hand remaining in place against Fatima's back, for her comfort as well as her friend's. "I'm glad I still have you, too."

What they would do without each other, what Fatima had done without her at first, Beverly doesn't like to think about.

[dust_of_life]

Fatima leaned against Beverly a little. She was her rock. Her anchor. The very notion that she'd spent a few months on board the ship without her seemed almost ludicrous now. But then, she'd spent a good amount of that time still convinced it was just another one of COMPASS's little experiments. All of it was a blur now; the man who looked like Jefferson and the medical tests and Prim's kindness.

This...this was real.

For better or for worse.

"I understand," she murmured. "Kind of." She hadn't experienced that sort of phenomenon firsthand. No, she was still alone in the multiverse, where her world was concerned. But she'd seen it with the Winchesters. Sam was so young, so naive compared to the rest of them. She'd seen the way they sometimes looked at him. Like a stranger wearing a familiar face.

Which was why she thought of the same advice once again. "It's sort of like a second chance, though. If you want it to be. A chance to make a difference choice."

[ethnobotany]

The soft huff of a laugh that thrusts itself from the depths of Beverly's being isn't a humorous sound. It's derisive, like the idea has crossed her mind before but she turned it down. She has to turn it down time and again, can't interfere for so many reasons. It's a jumbled blur to her sometimes and she has to fight with herself.

In the long run, she might be able to make a couple of different choices, but even if she warned them about the Borg and Locutus, that wouldn't change the fact that it would happen. Even were they prepared, the Borg could still overtake them, kidnap their captain, and leave them in dire straits. The problem will arise in how everyone reacts to her after it happens, after each difficulty comes to pass. Will they understand why she couldn't say anything? Or would they condemn her further for not warning them, for obeying Starfleet's rules and not saying anything? It's a difficult line that she walks now and she isn't sure how to convey it to Fatima without explaining everything.

"I wish I could," she admits softly, resisting the urge to pull away and withdraw into herself. "I wish I could save them from what's coming, but I can't. I would be doing them a handful of favors only to change the lives of everyone in the Alpha Quadrant. Would it be for the better? I don't know. We may never know. But I'd rather take the heat for upholding the Temporal Prime Directive than change things and have to worry about all the lives I've affected."

It's going to be a difficult position to uphold and she knows that. She probably isn't ready for the backlash she'll get once the Borg show up and Locutus happens. But it's the best she can do with what she's been given. Besides, with Q involved, who knows what will happen anyway?

[treadswater]

Normally, Annie wouldn't be up this late at night. Or rather, she wouldn't be out of her quarters. She's had issues with insomnia for years, even before her games, but back home, there are either things to do or she knows the area. She could go down to the victors' private beach and look at the stars, and be perfectly safe. Here? It's predictable until it's not, and she doesn't like that.

Except that tonight, she can't sleep. She needs to move, to do things, to be distracted, to distract her mind before it turns on her and rips her to shreds. Normally, she'd go and see if Finnick's awake, but he's in one of his own moods. The kind of mood where, back home, they'd skulk back to their own mansions, which isn't really an option here.

So Annie's taking a chance, and wandered down to the gym. Not to pick up a staff again and whirl it, that just seems to attract people wanting to spar with her, but to look at the treadmills.

She misses running. Doesn't trust the holodecks, not when it feels like there are ants crawling on the inside of her skull, but she misses just running. And quiet, after midnight, seems as good a time as any to try those machines. She's not dressed as she would be for running back home, but her clothes are loose, sensible, and her long red hair is braided.

But she catches sight of Fatima, and stops to watch. She'd seen the woman around, and of course it's always useful to watch how people fight. Not so much tips - she can't fight, and she knows it - but techniques, experience, things to report back to Finnick as their pool what they've found out about the others on this ship.

Mostly, though, she's watching the other woman's legs and wondering how in the world she's keeping her balance in those shoes.

[dust_of_life]

A lifetime of living with Cainites, coupled with a year and a half in Zelien had taught Fatima to be keenly aware of her surroundings. And even through her red rage and through Eye of the Tiger, she knew that she wasn't alone. She kept going at the bag, but her peripherals became preoccupied, trying to decide if there was some kind of threat.

Her Cainite radar didn't go off. That was a good thing. And she was able to organically shift with each punch until she was able to see her guest. Human, she was guessing. Also a good thing, although she had to admit her prejudices had become less hardened in light of her experiences.

She slowed down, coming to a stopping point. With one hand, she steadied the bag. With the other, she took out her earbuds. Her entire body was taut, arms gleaming with sweat. Fatima didn't sweat like the girls in the movies. She wasn't 'glowing.' No, it was a real sweat. A dripping sweat.

But she wasn't out of breath.

"Did you want to use the bag?" she asked politely.

[treadswater]

She's a short woman, is Annie. Barely five foot in height, although she's not particularly slender. She stands with her feet apart, for balance, and the way her eyes followed Fatima's movements spoke of her actually following the movements, trying to predict the next move.

"Oh, no, I was just-"

Staring. Again. She's been doing that too much lately, things catching her attention enough that she stops and watches without trying to hide it. Stupid of her.

But fighting with boots is unusual.

"Gonna go runnin', but. How, why are you practicin' in boots?"

Her accent, if one has a good ear for them, is a heavier version of Finnick's, and there's a ring on her left hand, dark and non-metallic.

[dust_of_life]

The accent immediately struck Fatima as familiar, although she couldn't place it outright. She didn't have the musical ear that the York sisters had. Auntie Diana had forced her to take piano lessons, but she'd lost interest in it pretty quickly. It always managed to ruin her manicure.

She smiled politely, then turned to glance at the boots. "Old habit," she admitted, with a little laugh. "Helps with balance though. You suddenly become keenly aware of the fact that you could topple over at any minute, if you're not careful."

And the pressure of a woman's weight on a single stiletto was enough to decapitate a vampire.

She'd learned that one from experience.

[treadswater]

"Guess I can see that."

She can, a little. She thinks. But then, Annie learnt her balance on the Pacific Ocean and the rolling decks of fishing boats, a place where heels would lead to more broken ankles than people already get.

But it'd be useful for the Capitol. Being able to fight in heels, if needed. Being able to run.

She wonders if Cashmere taught herself.

She remembers Cashmere is dead, and so she can never ask her.

Rather than let the though settle, Annie blurts out the next thing she thinks off.

"When you take 'em off, is it hard to adjust back to wearing normal shoes? I mean. For fighting."

[dust_of_life]

It was a question Fatima had never really considered before. And it took her only a few seconds to realize why.

"I don't really wear normal shoes," she admitted. "I like the height that heels give me." Which wasn't to say that Fatima was short. She was really quite average in that department. But feeling tall made her feel...what? Like she could sit at the big kids table.

A feeling she desperately needed when the 'big kids' were all immortals.

"They used to make us wear gym shoes when I was in school," she said. "I hated it."

[treadswater]

From the sudden little smile, liking the height is a sentiment Annie can understand and fully support. Heels can be fun, and not just because it makes kissing her fiancé a little bit easier. (Although, there is that as well. Finnick isn't a tall man by the standards of this ship, it seems, but he's still got eleven inches on her.)

On the other hand, they make her feet ache. That could just be the last time she had to wear heels a lot it'd been in the Capitol, and wearing heels for weeks had made everything hurt, but she doesn't enjoy the perspective difference enough to wear those shoes often.

"Gym shoes? Like, uh....running shoes?"

[dust_of_life]

"Yeah. Like running shoes. The way I see it, any shoes you run in are running shoes."

Spoken as someone who was frequently running for her life without warning.

Fatima dipped her head politely. "Manners. They are a thing." She offered her hand to the other girl. "My name is Fatima. Fatima Merali. I'm from Los Angeles, 2009. If that means anything to you."

She figured there was a fifty-fifty shot.

[reincarnshaman]

While most people use the door to enter rooms, Trever drops in from a Jefferies tube. He's pink stained, carrying a squirt gun and has a very unhappy cat with him. Standing up he spins with the guns held ready to shoot, but not seeing his brother he relaxes a little. He then stared up at the ceiling as if waiting for something.

He's obviously not noticed Fatima yet.

Or at least it seems like it.

[dust_of_life]

Whether it was a product of her upbringing or a product of her year and a half in Zelien, Fatima's fight-or-flight nerves were on a hair trigger. Even without the benefit of her hearing, her instincts immediately alerted her to the presence of another person in the room. And for a moment or two, every muscle tensed as she prepared to deal with a potential threat.

But then she noticed what he was carrying and...

What?

Seriously. What?

She reached out to steady the bag with one hand, taking one of her buds out. "Should I ask?"

[reincarnshaman]

Trever looks at her, dropping the cat who shakes herself off and stalks off to be pissy. He's also got a bright pink stain on his shirt and neck.

"You didn't happen to see anyone who looks like me around, have you?" he asked, ignoring the question for right now.

[dust_of_life]

"No..."

Her eyes followed the cat for a moment. Fatima had a little bit of a weakness for cats. Artemis had a few that wandered around the compound. One, in particular, had taken a liking to Fatima. And she'd forgotten how much she missed the warm feeling of when he curled up in her lap.

But she shook away the nostalgia, turning to look back at the strange man who'd dropped in on her.

"You...um...got something on your shirt..."

[reincarnshaman]

"You should see the other guy," he said cheerfully. "He's green in the face. It's going to be there for a month, at least!"

So. Clearly there is some sort of squirt gun fight going on here.

Cat is sulking still and comes over looking for attention away from her crazy human.

[dust_of_life]

Well, considering the horrors Fatima had survived, a squirt-gun fight didn't seem so bad. A little weird, considering the situation. But then again, sometimes you had to make the best of things.

She understood that.

Fatima knelt down to the cat, holding out her curled fingers to let it sniff. "Out of curiosity," she said, addressing the human (or human-shaped?) guy, "what is that gunk?"

[reincarnshaman]

Trever is definitely human. There's magic about him, but he's human.

"It's dye. My older brother came up with the recipe back home."


OooOoo... is this a new minion? She wanders over and sniffs the proffered hand. For a moment she freezes and Trever gives Fatima a narrowed eyed look, but then she appears to accept the offering and rub her head into the hand. Once she does that, Trever relaxes.

[dust_of_life]

Fatima gave the cat a little scritch behind the ears. It had been a very, very long time since she'd seen a cat. She forgot how comforting that velvety, soft fur could be.

"You're here with your brother?" she said to the boy. "Were you both drawn from the same time? Or different points in history?"

She'd had more than enough experience with both sort of possibilities. The Winchesters had been a real headache.

...she missed Sam so much.