You've Got Whatever's Left of Me to Get - SCP Foundation

If Elstrom could tell herself that it simply never could've happened, then its absence doesn't have to hurt.

You've Got Whatever's Left of Me to Get

…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

▸ More by this Author ◂

F.A.Q.

This man is… tolerable.

Better than tolerable… he's nice. His hair is clean and styled, tastefully slicked back. He looks like a character in a movie, except he's real and he's sitting right across from her. It's well into the evening, the sky dark, they're sitting outside an Italian restaurant. Elstrom would have preferred to be inside somewhere a bit nicer, but she can stomach Italian just fine. The way the surrounding fairy lights reflect off his big brown eyes is cute.

"So, your profile was a bit vague on what you do for a living," he says. He's got an accent, French maybe? It's nice, just enough to sound attractive without being too thick or forced.

"I work as an administrator for a large, privately owned company." Close enough to the truth. "And you?"

"I work in sales for a tech manufacturing company." Sounds like there's money in that. Good money too by the looks of his freshly pressed suit. She's never been particularly hurting for cash, but financial stability is always a sexy trait. Rich, well dressed, an hour into the date without a single perverted comment…

This man might be perfect.

And then he laughs, throwing his head back, his mouth far too wide, too many teeth. Elstrom can barely remember what it is she said, too distracted staring up his nose. There's something deeply unpleasant about seeing him from the angle. What a grating sound to accompany it, and now that she thinks about it, his accent is annoying. And his teeth are far too white, the light is shining off of them.

As she thinks about it more… sales for a tech manufacturing company? He had to gall to call her vague? That suit could be rented, this whole air of competency an act. He'll pay for this first date, and then hold it over her head next time. That suit looks raggedy anyway, even if he's got good money he has poor taste. He could use a better barber too, and a different scent of cologne, and more interesting food preferences.

And his smile is weird. Shows off only his top row of teeth.

And his cheeks are too thin. Too much emphasis on his jawline.

And Elstrom can't picture herself waking up in the morning and sitting across from him and happily eating breakfast every morning.

"I had a lovely night," he says, taking her by the hand. Too firm, too warm. "I'd love to meet up again. Perhaps for coffee?"

She grimaces, teeth bared. "No thank you. I appreciate your time, but I don't think we'll be meeting again."

He frowns, shoulders slumping, but he plasters on a smile anyway. "I understand. I hope this was a good time for you nonetheless." He shakes her hand and with his head hung low, he politely leaves her be. She pictures him slumping away into a moldy apartment, dirty and unattractive, complaining to his similarly sloppy friends about some bitch he went on a date with the other night, and she feels no regret ending this night.

She walks home shrouded in darkness, feeling the same as she always does.

Heavy bags hang under her eyes. She's never quite been able to get rid of them, but a layer of concealer usually does the trick. While she's contemplating her most recent failed romance, McInnis passes by her desk and pauses, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"A health inspector will be at the site in twenty minutes. I hate to spring this on you, but would you greet them and show them around the site for the next few days? I may find myself busy." He places the paper on top of what Elstrom is already looking at.

There's nothing she would like to do less than greet someone new, however McInnis has always been too kind to just outright say no to on matters like this. Fuck him really for just being naturally nice and charismatic. "Alright."

"Try to make a good impression for us," he says with a friendly sort of smile and then leaves her be.

After fifteen minutes, she begins her trek towards the site entrance. According to the paper, the inspector's name is Aubrey Al-Khafaji. Elstrom can already picture the sort of man this Al-Khafaji will be. He'll show up well-dressed in a suit and clipboard, oozing with professionalism. He'll try to make nice small talk around the site. Then, when they're alone, he'll make his true intentions known like the real creep he is. Like every single other person they send to this site.

She should've just passed this off to someone else… too late now.

Al-Khafaji is waiting for her, in a suit and holding a clipboard like Elstrom guessed, a tasteful leather satchel around his shoulders. He's a portly man, bit shorter than Elstrom, with black skin and a visor pinning an afro out of his face. He smiles as she approaches, the wrinkles around his lips and eyes indicating he's one to smile often. Hand outstretched to take hers, Al-Khafaji speaks and Elstrom realizes she made one snap judgement far too quickly.

This Al-Khafaji is a woman.

"Good to finally see someone! Though, I figure you're not Allen McInnis," she says like they're sharing some sort of joke. She has an accent, not one Elstrom immediately recognizes, but possibly Arabic? She takes her hand, her mind lagging as she decides her next move.

"I'm not, however I will be the one showing you around today. I'm Karen Elstrom, Karen is fine." Karen is fine? Since when is Karen fine? Why did she say that?

"Well then, Karen, Aubrey Al-Khafaji at your service!" She gives Elstrom's hand a hardy shake. "Feel free to lead the way! Lot of ground to cover."

Keeping her posture straight and her head forward, Elstrom marches down the halls. Now that this interaction has begun, it's her next goal to end it as quickly as possible. There's a comfortable well of solitude waiting for her at her desk.

They pass by each department, Al-Khafaji pausing their tour to chat with the department director and take notes on her clipboard. While she's taking notes on the state of Theology and Teleology, Elstrom clears her throat and asks, "Why does the Foundation need a health inspector?" It sounded a lot less rude in her head.

"Are you kidding? I would say the Foundation needs health inspectors more than anyone."

Elstrom stiffens, uncomfortable. "I meant, we have Janitorial and Maintenance. Doesn't that cover health and safety?"

"You would think! But someone-" she taps her chest with her pen, "-impartial has to make sure certain health standards are actually being met. There's a lot more dangers to working than whatever horrors you have locked up here."

Elstrom nods once. "Logical enough."

They continue on to Replication Studies. While they're idling by the break room, Dr. Wettle passes by holding a mug and strikes his head against an open cabinet door. Elstrom winces, sucking in a breath through her teeth. She never quite got the same pleasure out of seeing Wettle hurt himself as her peers, she found it more… pitiful. Al-Khafaji on the other hand stops what she's doing and rushes forward.

"Hey, are you alright?" she reaches up to put a hand on Wettle's shoulder.

"What?" he asks that it's the first time he's ever heard those words. "Yes I'm fine. I just-" he bumps his elbow against the counter and dumps his coffee onto her. Al-Khafaji gasps and backs up. "I'm so sorry about that!" He grabs a large handful of napkins and presses them into her chest. He then appears to think about where he's putting his hands, recoils, and dumps the rest of his coffee on himself. "Fuck!"

"Hey buddy, it's fine!" she says.

He groans. "Sorry." Deciding he's made enough of a fool of himself, he turns around and leaves, empty mug in hand.

"Bewildering…" Al-Khafaji gathers up the napkins and drops them in the trash.

"Your shirt," Elstrom says, for once at a total loss.

"Don't worry about it. Trust me, lukewarm coffee doesn't even make the list of the worst things people have spilled on me at work." She unbuttons her suit jacket and swings it over her shoulder.

"There's a bathroom over here." She gently takes her arm and leads her to said bathroom. Arms crossed behind her back, she waits by a stall for Al-Khafaji. The strangest feeling passes over her; the urge to fill the silence. "So, what's the worst mess you've ever been in while working?"

"Oh, now you're making me think." Al-Khafaji cocks her head to one side in thought. "Maybe not the worst mess, but I was watching these folks clean the kitchen at one of those big sites, the sort of sites where all of the staff live on site. They were moving this huge tub of grease somewhere to dispose of it, they were showing me where they put their waste you see, and apparently this tub-" she makes a series of hand motions, miming out the shape of this tub, "- wasn't secure and, Allahumma a'inni, they dumped the whole thing right on me and the folks carrying it around."

Al-Khafaji laughs and Elstrom clutches her stomach. She can barely stand the feeling of scraping the grease off her pans at home. The thought of gallons of it getting on her, all of it's sliminess on her skin, makes her want to vomit more than anything else.

"You alright over there?"

Elstrom notices her gaze and straightens up. "Yes, I'm fine." She waves her hand, dismissing Al-Khafaji's concern and clearing the air.

"Right." A pause. "Sooo, after I'm done with my report I was thinking of doing a bit of a bar crawl, checking out a few of the local places. Would you care to come with?"

Elstrom's throat closes up. She had expected this sort of advancement, but that was of course before she realized she'd be showing around another woman. "Don't you think… fraternizing after work would be a conflict of interest?"

"What? No, why would it be?"

Elstrom thinks for a moment, trying to find the perfect excuse for why she can't. It's been a well crafted skill; coming up with the perfect realistic sounding prior engagement to get out of any situation. But, as she mills over the options, she finds she doesn't actually want to deny this invitation. When does that ever get an opportunity like this? A social call with no expectations.

"I… suppose if I have nothing else going on tonight."

Al-Khafaji clasps her hands together. "Wonderful! Now then, I think I'd like you to show me where I'll be staying tonight."

Elstrom steps off the taxi, heels clicking against the asphalt. Al-Khafaji emailed her hours earlier with details and this looks like the right place, with its flashy sign and music she can feel through the ground. There's still time for her to turn around, get back in the taxi, send Al-Khafaji an apologetic message justifying her absence.

Just by coming here she's made up her mind.

Passing over the door frame is like stepping into a new world, and she's literally stepped into other worlds before. Everything is bathed in purple light, the air smells sweet like soda syrup, and there's not a single man in sight. Like a fish out of water, Elstrom makes her way forward, for once very aware of how she's being looked at.

Site-43 prided itself on it's inclusiveness. People forget that among all the unpopular budget cuts and policy changes, Elstrom also has a hand in every anti-discrimination rule that allowed everyone to have their gay old time. Elstrom is, of course, familiar with aspects of lesbian culture, such as being butch or other aspects of gender nonconformity as it pertained to her job. But knowing about it is far different from… being invited to participate.

There's a seat waiting for her across from Al-Khafaji, an icy purple drink placed in front of her. While Elstrom dressed up for this invitation, Al-Khafaji dressed down. She's in a t-shirt that reveals a pair of strong arms and a tattoo on her right forearm. It's hard to tell what it's depicting, but she is momentarily captured by how well the gold patterning shows up and reflects the lights.

"Like what you see?" she asks with that playful tone of hers. Elstrom is momentarily frozen. "Come, sit. Don't look so frightened."

"I am… comfortable admitting I'm rather out of my depth here." At the very least, being so far out of her depth means she's at no risk of running into one of her colleagues here. Hopefully.

"No one here will bite without consent, I promise you that." She nudges the untouched drink closer to her. "Take and enjoy yourself a little! Watch the dancers!"

Elstrom takes her drink and turns her head towards the dance floor. It's not a large space, but the few people there are certainly putting it to good use. None of them are good dancers, but they are earnest. Something about that earnestness both demands her attention and has her flushed and looking away. She focuses her attention on Al-Khafaji's tattoo, like staring at it will reveal a hidden image within it.

"Have something you'd like to say?" Al-Khafaji asks, staring at her as she takes a drink.

"I was curious about your tattoo, I couldn't tell what it was in this lighting."

She looks at her arm, then holds it out for Elstrom to observe. Elstrom gingerly takes her hand in hers. "Was something an old friend designed for me," she explains, "Based on the staff of Anubis, I'm sure you're familiar." She traces out the shape in the air. "The pattern work is all hers."

"I see," Elstrom nods, letting go. "Do the patterns have any particular meaning? They're not memetic, I hope?"

"You take me for one to tattoo a memetic hazard to my body." She shakes her head, still smiling. "That pattern has no meaning, not anymore. I have some other tattoos I wouldn't mind showing off, but we may need to go somewhere a bit more private." She winks, effortlessly sliding from gently somber to flirty.

"In my work it's hardly an unreasonable question," she says, pointedly ignoring the rest of that sentence.

"I see. I must ask, how did you end up working here? For your Site-43?"

Elstrom looks around, unsure of how much she should say in a veiled space such as this. "Director McInnis found me unwittingly working for an anomalous bank. Offered me a job soon after."

"Anomalous bank? Sounds interesting."

"It was not." After a beat, she catches the social cue to ask Al-Khafaji the same, "So how did you end up working for us?"

"I was born in Qena, Egypt. That is also where my home site is stationed, when I'm not traveling. When I was in college I needed a job, and so one day I appeared at Site-343 with my resume." She pauses to empty her glass. "They gave me a job as a filing clerk, with orders to never open a file! Then, when I graduated, they let me in on what they were really doing."

"Really? It was that simple for you?"

She shrugs. "It's a small site, they needed any extra hands they could get. Of course, these days I'm sure I spend more time traveling and looking at sites like yours than I do back home."

"Do you like that? Being so far from home?"

"Are you kidding? It's a dream! I don't think I could ever stay rooted to one spot again." She pauses. "At least, not unless I was sure I had something worth settling down for. I'm always willing to have my mind changed."

"If you don't mind me asking, do your parents know what you do?"

"I suppose I couldn't stop you from asking even if I did mind!" She laughs and Elstrom blanches. "They know I am a health inspector, they need not know much more than that. And yours? I'm sure whatever they know, they are impressed to have such a hard working daughter."

Elstrom scoffs. "They're both still veiled. Last I checked, my father was the sort of college professor other teachers fearmonger about, and my mother did interior design." She tugs at her shirt collar. "My mother gained a fascination in minimalism before that even became common, always obsessed with having as little stuff as possible to avoid clutter. I used to hide all of my toys in case they did not fit her aesthetic." She pauses, realizing that's not the funny childhood anecdote she thought it was. "I'm sure they think I'm dead."

"I see…" Al-Khafaji says, and Elstrom questions why she said so much. She realizes her drink is empty and Al-Khafaji motions for them to move closer to the bar for refills. Elstrom looks down as the bartender approaches and refills their drinks.

"I apologize if I have dominated the conversation."

She smiles, the skin around her nose scrunching up. "I like hearing you talk." She leans in an throws an arm around Elstrom's shoulders, a gesture she would never normally allow if she weren't feeling particularly charitable tonight. "My mother, in our small kitchen, would cook enough food daily to feed forty families. People would come to our home with dishware and money. My father, he wires houses. A freelancer you might call him." She cocks her head to the side. "Now we have both overshared!"

At the end of the night Elstrom finally sees a benefit for wearing multiple layers. A cold breeze passes by, making Al-Khafaji shiver. Elstrom considers stripping off her cardigan and handing it over in some mock imitation of a romantic gesture. She hesitates for too long to make a choice on the matter.

"You took a cab here?"

"I did."

"Then we can share a ride back home, and I can continue to be in your presence a little longer." She rubs her hands together and waves down a taxi. "If only we were back in Qena, I could take you home on my motorbike."

Elstrom has a vision of herself on the back of a bike, speeding down an open road. Her head on Al-Khafaji's shoulder, her hair swept up in the wind, her hands around Al-Khafaji's soft middle. She steps into the back of the taxi in a haze.

In the site, they part ways to their respective dorms, but Al-Khafaji takes her by the hand to say her peace.

"I'm glad you came out with me! It would have been no fun drinking with strangers." She leans in, propped up on her tip toes, and pecks Elstrom on the cheek. Momentarily stunned, Elstrom says nothing as she leaves.

In Elstrom's dorm she drags herself past piles of papers and objects to the bathroom. Every time she walks past the mess she's made of her home, she pictures Dr. Ngo's voice in her head, making some statement on how she's subconsciously attempting to rebel against her mother's tendencies via developing a hoarding habit. But she by no means needs a therapist to tell her about her problems, and she's not hurting anyone but herself living like this.

The bathroom mirror reveals the imprint of Al-Khafaji's lips on her cheek. She hadn't even realized she was wearing lipstick up until this moment. She presses her fingers against the marking, mind lingering in the hallway outside.

Early in the morning, Elstrom and McInnis pass by each other on their way to their respective offices. McInnis pauses in his steps and turns to watch her pass him by. She looks odd this morning, not that McInnis would ever judge on appearance alone, but it surprises him to see her unkempt. There's a blotchy marking on her cheek, almost like a bruise.

"Karen?"

"Hm?" She turns to face him, revealing the lipstick mark on her cheek.

"You've… got something on your cheek." He points to his cheek.

Elstrom tenderly touches the marking, mumbling out a soft, "Oh." She turns her back to him and shuffles off to the bathroom and McInnis continues on to his office.

The dried splotch comes off with a wet wipe, it would've cleaned off easier if she hadn't slept in it. Now that she thinks about it, she hasn't touched up her make-up, or really done anything to her appearance besides a change of clothes. She simply rolled out of bed. Her just rolled out of bed may be the average person's several hour make-up routine, but can she really let herself be seen this way?

Can she really let Al-Khafaji see her this way?

Al-Khafaji's grinning face appears in her vision, and a hot pain creeps up in her stomach. It's different than the usual nausea she gets. It's less like she's going to throw up and more like she's collapsing in on herself. Not willing to take the risk either way, she runs into the nearest stall.

Her breathing is heavy and labored. That's the thing in these types of situations right, she needs to get her breathing under control. She would take slow, deep breaths, but she's in a public bathroom. She doesn't even like breathing too much in her own bathroom.

What the hell is her problem anyway? Is she so insecure that even the thought of showing her natural face brings her to her knees? Or is it simply Al-Khafaji's approval of her that has her sickened? And which is more or less mortifying?

"Dr. Elstrom, are you alright in there?" McInnis calls. Elstrom says nothing, stunned to silence. "I ask because it's been quite a while, and I can hear you hyperventilating. If you are sick, it would be no trouble to send you home."

"I'm fine, sir." She swallows and tells herself she means it.

After a moment of silence, McInnis says, "If you say so. How is your progress on the inspection?"

She gets out of the stall and splashes a bit of water onto her face. "There have been no notable incidents, though I couldn't tell you for certain what Dr. Al-Khafaji has been writing."

"I see. I hope the rest goes just as well." She hears him start walking away.

"Sir! Before you go… could I ask some advice of you?"

He stops. "Of course you may."

"There's something that I… want. And even though I have pursued similar things, I… find myself hesitating and I'm not sure why."

"Sounds like you're nervous about potential consequences. But I believe if you think this thing, whatever it is you desire, will make you happy, then you should continue to pursue it. Even if it might not be simple, or entirely painless."

Elstrom looks at her hands, pointedly not observing her reflection. "I see, thank you, sir. That's all." After a silence, she hears McInnis's footsteps. When they're no long audible, she runs a hand through her hair to smooth it out, and turns to leave.

Al-Khafaji is waiting for her outside of Identity and Technocryptography. She waves as Elstrom approaches. Elstrom steels herself, the words she wants to say hanging at the end of her tongue. Dinner at my place tonight.

"Looking bright and eager this morning!" She says with a tip of her visor. "On with the tour?"

"Right." Say it. Say it now.

Al-Khafaji walks a few paces in front of her, leaving Elstrom to wonder why she even needs a guide when she's clearly capable of navigating herself. Back against the wall, she watches her pull out her phone and start taking pictures. Did she find some sort of issue in the walls and ceiling? She's still now, perfect opportunity to strike up conversation.

"Dr. Al-"

THUNK! "Oh, goddamn it!"

The exclamation startles both of them, and they both swivel to see Phillip Deering struggling with a janitorial cart. One of the front wheels is twisted at an angle and Deering gives it a few kicks back into place. Prepared to ignore him, Elstrom turns to continue her conversation, but Al-Khafaji walks past her.

"Do you need a hand?"

Deering looks taken aback. "Oh, well you don't have to. I've…" Before he can stutter out a few more dismissals she's already dropped down and twisted the wheel back into place. Deering's mirror monster says something that makes his head jerk in frustration.

"Can I ask you a few questions about your experiences working in Janitorial and Maintenance here?" She leans in, notepad and pen in hand.

He looks around and shrugs. "I guess so. Are we in trouble or something?"

"No, no, of course not. It's just my job to assure your health and safety." She gives a disarming smile, eyes not even flickering toward the mirrors. "How often are there injuries on site unrelated to anomalous happenings?"

"Not very often. I mean there's Dr. Wettle, he's in replications, he gets hurt sometimes. Though that might be a sort of… anomalous happening." He takes a deep breath. "Other than that, no I don't think so. Though I'm sure the medical folks could answer that better than me."

"I see. And your boss." She pulls a paper out of her satchel to double check her notes. "Ms. Amelia Torosyan-Deering. How lenient would you say she is with with the Foundation health and safety guidelines?"

"It's uh- Mrs. actually. And she's not lenient at all, she makes sure everything is right up to code! Maybe even above code!" Now he has some energy to him; he quickly tacks on, "But y'know she doesn't overwork us, treats us all fairly. Shut up, Doug." He whispers that last part.

If Elstrom had any desire to join this conversation, she'd point out that Deering is incredibly biased. But she doesn't and it goes unspoken. Her foot tap tap taps against the ground as this impromptu interview continues. She checks her watch, the wall clock, her watch again. It's not as though they're particularly low on time, it's still early and there's still tomorrow to finish this, but there's something hot burning in her veins.

"… and would you say-" Deering gestures for Al-Khafaji to stop, perhaps sensing Elstrom's impatience.

"Sorry I uh, I don't mind talking but I should get moving. I hope your inspection goes well." He pushes the cart forward without much struggle.

"Alright! Have a good day!" She waves him off. "And you too!" She says to the mirror before the mirror monster promptly disappears.

"Usually people are a little more… off put by him," Elstrom says, watching Deering go.

"Him? He seemed rather normal."

"Not him per se, the thing following him."

From her satchel Al-Khafaji pulls out a pamphlet. "I was given this before arriving. Nice little explanation of your containment habits. Though, it's not too different from how things are done back home."

"Is that so? What sort of anomalies are contained in Qena?"

"We hardly contain at all! A lot of the things your people call anomalous are what my home would call superstitions. Rarely is anything so harmful it must be hidden." She says as though it's completely obvious, which it very well might be.

"Hm, it never occurred to me that there would be… different types of normalcy." They're talking now, Elstrom realizes, her heart jumping into her throat. They're talking and she should say it, say it now! "Are in interested in dinner tonight?"

Al-Khafaji gives her a funny look. "I'm interested in dinner every night."

Elstrom swallows. "My home. Tonight."

Al-Khafaji smiles, her cheeks pushing up her eyes. "Now that just sounds wonderful!"

Elstrom crosses her dorm again. She's counted: it takes twenty long strides to go from her bedroom door, to the kitchen fridge, to her bedroom door again. This she time makes the trek in nineteen steps, which is strange because she would expect it to take an even amount of steps no matter what. Which corner did she cut the first time that she didn't the second time?

Something much more important comes knocking on her door. One of the chefs from the cafeteria pushes in a cart with four dishes, still steaming hot. "Put everything on the dining table except the dessert. You can put that in the kitchen," Elstrom says as she pulls out her wallet.

"Got it," says the chef. They place three dishes on the table: a plate of six hawawshi sandwiches, a dish of Koshari, and a dish of Egyptian Moussaka. The two glasses, Elstrom had made a specific request for the nicest dishware they had, of Roz Bel Laban go the the kitchen. "You've got a nice place here."

"Thanks," she replies politely. Most of the clutter that's usually spread across her dorm has been moved to her bedroom and living room where it will hopefully go unnoticed.

Contacting the cafeteria staff for personal calls like this was hardly out of the ordinary, but Elstrom had called in about and hour and a half earlier with a very strict time frame and a rather unorthodox order. This would cost her, but between having her date crashed by a sentient boat or finding herself in her twenties again, a simple dinner in the comfort of her own home is priceless.

She places two thousand dollars in the chef's hands to be divided amongst the staff. The chef lets out a low whistle, counting and recounting just to make sure they had that number correct.

"Pleasure doing business with you, ma'am!" they tip their hat on their way out.

Now the real waiting begins and Elstrom returns to her pacing with fervor. If she keeps moving she doesn't have to ask herself why the idea of meeting with Al-Khafaji brings her such anxiety. It's only the first time she's let someone into her private space in… And it's not like it's any scarier than the dates she usually goes on. Not that this is a date! Very much not a date! Just a… dinner between acquaintances.

That she just been two grand on… Which! Might be cheaper than the money she usually spends on dates, often on new clothes before and after, which makes this all reasonable!

A knock on the door. Elstrom dabs the sweat from her forehead, double checks her makeup, and opens the door. Al-Khafaji is leaning up against the door frame, wearing a brown striped button down with a pressed violet pinned over her heart. The sleeves are rolled up, showing off those strong forearms of hers and that intricate tattoo on her forearm. It's almost infuriating how well she makes such a simple outfit look.

It's most certainly fury that's making Elstrom's entire body so warm…

"I knew I smelled something real good on my way here. You didn't go all out for little ole me, did you?" she asks with a flutter of her eyelashes.

"No, of course not," she says perhaps a little too quickly and far too defensively. Al-Khafaji's demeanor wavers. "Come in."

"Oh wow, you really did go all out!" she exclaims as she observes the table spread. "Do we say grace and just dig in?"

"I'm… not Christian."

"I would hope not." She sits and breathes in the air. "Alhamdulillah, it's like I'm on the streets back home. Is this homemade?"

Elstrom pauses. "Yes." Not a lie, it was made here, in her home at Site-43.

"You are wonderful!" she says, clasping her hands together. "Forgive me, but I've always had preference for women who can cook."

Elstrom lifts her glass of sparkling water to her lips, coolly deflecting this discussion.

"May I?" she asks, hand hovering over the hawawshi.

"Do help yourself."

Al-Khafaji loads her plate and Elstrom does the same. This is the part of the not-date where she's supposed to make small talk, but she's never spoken small in her life. And she's far too preoccupied with watching Al-Khafaji's hands move and her lips part to figure out how to do it now.

"What do you do for fun?" she asks between bites, catching Elstrom off guard. She has no pre-scripted line for this question; in fact, she has no answer at all.

"You first."

"Oh, making me carry the conversation, huh? I see how it is." She tilts her head slightly upward when she's thinking. "I've gained a fascination for styles of architecture."

"Is that so?"

"I suppose when you spend your job in so many different buildings, picking all the little flaws out, you start to notice what the buildings themselves look like." She punctuates her sentences by taking a drink. "You may have seen me taking photos of your site, soon I'll have the exact words to describe it."

"I had assumed those were for your work. I'd never considered that there's anything special to how a building appears." She tabs her nails rhythmically against the table. "What's your favorite style?"

"Hmm… googie."

Elstrom chokes on a surprised chuckle. "What?"

"It was a style I encountered while inspecting America's Las Vegas. It's what you may call a type of futurist architecture, it's all about angles but also curves and arches." She shakes her head. "Perhaps not the most interesting choice, but that name certainly got a laugh out of you!"

"Without context it sounds quite strange."

"I'm sure. But that's enough out of me." The table creeks as Al-Khafaji leans forward and puts her weight on it. "You can not keep up this air of mysticism you're so found of forever. Tell me, what do you do for fun."

She opens her mouth and keeps it open for several seconds. "I… don't."

"Hm?"

"I go on dates occasionally, and I buy new clothes. But… that's not really fun, is it?" she asks herself out loud, as though this is the first time she's come to this conclusion.

The chair legs scrape against the floor as Al-Khafaji shifts uncomfortably. "Clothes? I've noticed the fancy fabrics on you. Why don't you tell me about that?"

"Well, I don't know all the fashion terms like you might with architecture. However, I often buy anything new and high end I can get my hands on. So, I have quite the wardrobe, so to speak."

"Is that so? Well I certainly wouldn't mind a fashion show, if you'd ever like to show off." Al-Khafaji raises her glass to her lips and wiggles her eyebrows. Elstrom thinks about it, and then she thinks about the mess she spent today shoving into her bedroom, and shame boils up inside of her.

"Perhaps another time."

"I see, you're not the type to just let anyone into your bedroom."

By this point they've cleared their plates, or at least Al-Khafaji has and Elstrom has had her fill. She stands and steps into the kitchen, returning with the Roz Bal Laban. Al-Khafaji throws her head back with a laugh.

"When I think I can't be spoiled enough! You'll make me rotten at this rate!" She takes the glass graciously.

"Believe me, you could be far more spoiled." Elstrom nudges her pudding with a spoon, more interested in watching Al-Khafaji for longer. She could not stomach another bite, but there's joy to be had in watching someone else enjoy themselves.

As their dinner comes to a close, they both raise to their feet. Elstrom is about to speak, but Al-Khafaji beats her to the punch. She puts her hand on Elstrom's hip and Elstrom is helpless.

"Karen," her heart skips a beat hearing her name on the other woman's lips, "You have given me a wonderful night, and you are undeniably beautiful. I must show you my affection." She leans in, pressing their chests together, and sealing them in a kiss.

In half a second Elstrom realizes three very important things. One, Al-Khafaji is very warm. Burning even with how much she radiates and fills the space around her. Two, this is the first time a date non-date has ever made it to a kiss. The kiss is nice too, like they were made to be slotted together. Three, this is the most terrified Elstrom has ever been in her life.

The moment that half a second ends, she puts her entire strength into shoving Al-Khafaji off. She stumbles back, catching herself on the table, and looks back with the expression of a kicked puppy. Elstrom pants and trembles and stares back with wide eyes. Slowly, Al-Khafaji straightens herself out.

"I see I've misunderstood the situation."

Elstrom swallows thickly. "That's correct."

She gestures to the table. "Do you care to keep the leftovers?"

"… you may take them with you." She quietly steps into the kitchen, selecting three tupperware containers and handing them over. She turns her back to Al-Khafaji as she fills them up. Al-Khafaji hovers by the door once she's finished.

"I apologize for… making it awkward, so to speak."

This is where Elstrom is to dispense some form of admonishment or forgiveness, but she finds she has neither to give. With a sigh, Al-Khafaji leaves.

At eight fourteen in the morning Elstrom rolls over in bed and picks her phone off of the nightstand. "Hello, I've come down with a stomach bug this morning and I won't be coming to work today. Anything important can be left on my desk until tomorrow." She doesn't need to act to make herself sound sick, and it's a common enough occurrence that McInnis won't ask for proof.

In ten hours Al-Khafaji will be done with her report and she'll be gone from this site for good. Those ten hours can't move fast enough in her opinion. If she were to be smart about this, she'd use this free time she's given herself to make something presentable of her home. And yet all she can get herself to do is wrap herself even tighter in her blanket.

Logically, this shouldn't bother her. It's hardly the first time a fellow coworker hit on her, hell it's not even the first time a fellow woman has hit on her. Yet something in her stomach aches, not the usual sick she feels, but like something is eating her. Like something has been eating her for years.

Images of that bar bathed in purple lights keep flashing in her mind. She just can't stop thinking about the music, about Aubrey's hand in hers, about the lipstick mark on her cheek, about how causally she went in for the kiss, like she knew exactly what she wanted.

She can't stop thinking about Quinn Law.

Quinn Law appeared in front of Elstrom when she was still reeling in the death of her most recent horrible date. There's a woman who knows exactly where she is in the world, Elstrom thought as Law took her my the arm and dragged her across Three Portlands.

Law was beautiful, is beautiful. And confident in a way Elstrom could never be. Whether fueled by bravery or ignorance, Law went through every area like she knew she belonged there. And she looked at Elstrom, the woman she thought Elstrom was, with such affection. Like there was something in her, something real, that could be desired.

And it never could've worked out.

Law was taken for one, which isn't necessarily an obstacle. Monogamy is an outdated practice and Elstrom has seen firsthand how open and non-conventional relationships can work. But it's simply not what appeals to her.

Law was also UIU. Even if Elstrom could handle the distance between 3ports and Canada, a relationship between a UIU agent and a Foundation bureaucrat just wouldn't work out. The hostilities between their two groups, on top of the responsibilities placed on both, it would just be too much.

And most of all… Elstrom was afraid. Afraid of what Law saw when she looked at her with affection. And afraid even more so that what Law was seeing was a total fabrication, a projection of what could be there. Afraid of what Law would do when she found that there was simply nothing worth loving about Elstrom at all.

Instead of saying any of that, she looked Law in the eyes and said, "I prefer men." And Law looked away, already a million worlds away from her.

If Elstrom could tell herself that it simply never could've happened, then its absence doesn't have to hurt.

There's a knock at her dorm's door. The sound shocks her out of her thoughts. Surely no one would have a single good reason to bother her at this time, and yet they insist on knocking again. Like a ghost, Elstrom raises from her bed, dragging her tangled up blankets and sheets with her.

Something smells good. Spending the day rotting in bed has left her starving. Opening the door just a crack reveals McInnis, some sort of dish cradled in his arms.

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"You didn't," she says, hoarse.

"Good. I brought you something I hope will make you feel a little better today." He shoulders the door open and places the dish in her hands. It's a macaroni and cheese, the cheese is gooey and streaming, freshly home cooked.

It's thoughtful enough to bring a tear to her eye.

More than that even.

"Did I offend?" his hand hesitantly hovers over her shoulder, like if he touches her she'll shatter into dust. She backs up, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Aubrey's face appears in her vision. The dish is warm against Elstrom's chest and she's thinking about Aubrey embracing her, that moment where their bodies pressed together, right before Elstrom pulled away. How she wishes she had to foresight to wrap her arms around Aubrey's waist and pull her closer.

And Elstrom can picture herself waking up in the morning and sitting across from her and happily eating breakfast every morning.

"I just realized I have to do something!" She slams the door shut in his face and runs to set down the dish and put on shoes. Any shoes will do.

It's almost five pm, Al-Khafaji should still be on site, if only Elstrom could get there a little quicker…

Al-Khafaji sits on the edge of a parking lot, clicking her pen rhythmically. There's a warm space welcome to her back inside the site, but she would rather wait for the helicopter to come pick her up out here. She looks at her watch again and it tells her it's been a full minute since she looked at her watch last.

She takes in a deep breath of the cold evening air and lets it all out in a huff. In the distance she can hear the hum of a helicopter blade, and see the tiny black dot in the sky grow ever larger. Raising to her feet, she brushes the dust off her pants, ready to rid herself of this place.

"Aubrey!" Al-Khafaji stops in her tracks and reels her head around. Pulling down her visor to block out the sun, she spots another little dot approaching her. Elstrom comes to a stop before her, breathing loudly, hunched over with her hands on her knees.

"Dr. Elstrom, I thought you were sick," she says with a playful, yet professional tone, the way one might joke with a total stranger. She turns just slightly to avoid looking Elstrom in the eyes.

"I need to say something to you."

Al-Khafaji looks over her shoulder with a weary frown. "Well don't feel the need to hurry."

Elstrom freezes, standing up straight like a deer in the headlights. She looks a bit like a deer that wasn't quick enough getting out of the road. Her hair is unkempt, she's still in her uniform from yesterday with is now soaked in sweat and sticking to her skin, and she hasn't done her make-up, showing up every wrinkle to the world. And she needs to say something.

After a minute of silence, Al-Khafaji sighs and turns her back to Elstrom. "Look, Karen, you're a beautiful woman. But I know the sort of person you are, and I'm just not interested in getting caught up in whatever argument you're having with yourself. Either you know what you want, or you don't."

"I know what I want." Before she can stop herself, she goes in for a hug. Al-Khafaji tenses, more out of shock than discomfort. "I've known what I've wanted for a long time now, and I was unfair to you. I'm so sorry for that."

She shoulders Elstrom off so she can turn to face her. She looks her up and down, taking in every flaw in Elstrom's appearance. "Wow, you really mean that, huh?" Behind her the helicopter touches the ground and she glances nervously at it.

Elstrom nods. "I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I should've told you that. And I don't want you to leave." Not now, not when she's finally let herself have this.

"Look, you know I can't stay. We've both got jobs to do, places to be."

"Dr. Al-Khafaji, what's the hold up!" calls the pilot over the whirl of the helicopter.

She swallows, a single tear running down her cheek. "Is that it then?"

Al-Khafaji looks at the helicopter, and then back at Elstrom, and then at the pen in her hand. "It doesn't have to be." She takes Elstrom's wrist, pulls her arm and start, and scrawls her number across her forearm. Elstrom gasps and tenses at the pen's point digs into her skin.

"Aubrey…" she mumbles.

"Send me a message when I touch down in two hours, okay? Don't be shy!" She smiles and waves her off as she makes a run to get on the helicopter. Elstrom stands there, letting the winds blow all around her, as Al-Khafaji lifts off into the air.

She wishes she had kissed her.

Breathe Elstrom, keep it together.

K_Elstrom

Hello, this is Dr. Elstrom. I am messaging you to confirm you've reached your location safely. I hope your ride was comfortable. Feel free to message me back whenver you have a spare moment.

Three little dots appear. Elstrom puts her hand over her heart to keep it in her rib cage.

A_Al-Khafaji

Do you always text like this?

Her cheeks grow flushed with embarrassment, before it occurs to her that Aubrey is simply being playful.

K_Elstrom

Yes.

A_Al-Khafaji

Cute <3

A_Al-Khafaji

I'm glad you messaged me. I was a bit worried you weren't going to and I did that whole dramatic exit for nothing lol

She lefts out a sigh of relief. This is good, normal even, she's doing fine.

K_Elstrom

I'm glad that I did.

K_Elstrom

Are you doing well?

A_Al-Khafaji

I'm real tired from y'know being on a helicopter for a while

A_Al-Khafaji

About to take a shower. Maybe we can chat some more after ;)

She hugs her phone to the chest, needing a second to remind herself how to breathe again.

K_Elstrom

See you after you shower then. And thank you.

A_Al-Khafaji

What're you thanking me for?

She pauses, picking her thoughts carefully. What isn't she thanking her for?

K_Elstrom

Just, thank you.