ic contact;

[mathematician]

"I can't come to my communicator right now, I'm probably fixing something some idiot messed up, so leave a message and I'll get back to you when I'm done."

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Comments

[mathematician]

[Good timing or no, Lowell's burned bridge is already partially through reconstruction. He was angry at first, definitely. The work interruption alone put them all back by a week.

But actually getting along with Chloe and Charlie was not something he thought would ever happen. He didn't think he would possibly think of a Transport as a friend.

Definitely some classic Stockholm happening here, he knows. He also doesn't care, as he heads over to the West Wing rooms, with a small bag. It's mostly his dinner/breakfast. Food times kind of blur together when you're working all the time and there's no sun to tell you when it's day or night. Maybe there's something in there for Chloe, too.

He gets past the guard, and finds Chloe's room soon enough. A knock soon follows.]

Hello?

[totallytrustworthy]

Morning, love. [Not much to the meeting rooms, but they've got a table at least, and (instead of nearly every other time she's done this carefully monitored song and dance) Chloe moves to sit down; a bit of casual posturing that's only happened once before with a friend on the outside that she's known for too many years to count at this point.]

Surprised you're not falling asleep. [Ragged as she looks, it's a surprise that she isn't either.]

[mathematician]

Ah... Morning.

[Already, things hit off with a bang of awkward, as Lowell steps into the room.]

I should be. But I think Trish would actually lock me in med bay if I didn't eat at least twice a day.

[He's certainly tired enough to be falling asleep right there and then. But being exhausted is kind of how he's felt for weeks, so it's barely noticeable at this point. It's only when he actually does settle down that he feels the full force of 'you haven't slept in 48 hours, what are you doing.' Right now though? Salad for breakfast. Which he pulls out the container holding said salad from his bag and starts picking at. Don't judge.]

Do you like pudding?

[This is relevent, really.]

[totallytrustworthy]

Uh...[Bit of additional awkwardness there as she considers how much things have changed when he's the one offering her food. ] what kind?

[mathematician]

Chocolate.

[And out of the bag is half of a snack pak, ~just for you~. Along with a spoon.]

[totallytrustworthy]

You sure she won't kill you for sharing your breakfast as well? [Chloe's teasing of course; she doesn't even hesitate to snatch up what he's offered.]

[mathematician]

She might. I don't really get her.

[PEOPLE HE ISN'T RELATED TO CARING ABOUT HIM...????]

[totallytrustworthy]

[ENIGMA WRAPPED IN A MYSTERY.]

You don't really get that she...cares. [Have one slightly judgmental glance while she cracks the top on that snackpack.]

[mathematician]

Of course she does. If I died, no one would be able to maintain the Transporter. I care about her too. We'd have to find someone else to run medical exams if she wasn't around.

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh sweetheart...I don't think you've got that theory properly worked out just yet.

[mathematician]

... No, I'm pretty sure I do.

[He'll concede on the humor thing, but come on, he can't be wrong about EVERYTHING.]

[totallytrustworthy]

You can't possibly care for her based solely on her ability to pass out medical exams, can you? [Look even she sounds uncertain about that one. Come on, Lowell, you've clearly got a beating heart in there somewhere under all that tsun. ]

[mathematician]

...

[...Can he?]

She's more annoying than anything.

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh for Christ's sake. [Think of it this way, Lowell: at least you've earned a smile with that head shake. ]

Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

[mathematician]

[Wow, rude.]

What am I not getting here?

[totallytrustworthy]

[Rude is her middle name, it's a terrible problem.]

I don't think she cares about you just because she wants to make sure your fingers stay pressed to they keys, Lowell.

[mathematician]

I'm sure there's other reasons, like the personal benefits of beating me in practically every game we both play, and the camaraderie of being a part of the same team, but I can't say there are any more than that.

[totallytrustworthy]

That you know of. [And here's a slight eyebrow waggle for you while she goes in for a spoonful of pudding. ]

[mathematician]

That I know of.

[He agrees... warily. Yeah. He doesn't know much about what motivates Trish. It is a mystery.]

[totallytrustworthy]

[Chloe's quiet after that for a few beats, busy as she is enjoying the taste of chocolate (real chocolate dear god) on her tongue. He's half asleep and she's half starving: it works out. ]

So the other transports, have they been treating you lads all right?

[mathematician]

If "lack of any contact at all" equals "all right," then yes, peachy.

[totallytrustworthy]

...you're joking, right. [Pudding feasting: effectively stopped.]

[mathematician]

I've had a conversation with Small about 'punishment for the mutineers'-

[Munches on some more salad...]

... And that's about it. Besides you and Charlie, that is.

[totallytrustworthy]

[Chloe drops her hands, brow furrowed.] Un-bloody-believable. Those assholes charge in to kick our asses for locking up with you and then don't bother checking in?

[mathematician]

Are you really that surprised?

[He offers a half-shrug.]

A month ago, the Transports probably didn't even know we had names. During the mutiny, some were saying the Last Will recordings that were played on the Network "conveniently timed" rather than personal diary entries. I'm quite sure that the other Transports still don't think of us as real people.