WHO: Ozzy and Misha (Quebec) WHAT: Misha gets her memories back into her mind, and Ozzy is the first person she sees about it.
Quebec never realized that she'd been so incomplete a person. She had her personality and flashes of memories, but until Topher put her memories back in her brain, she had no idea how empty her head really had been. Suddenly everything made sense. The nightmares, the snappish attitude at certain subjects. She understood it all. Her fears were right: there were a lot of things that weren't good. But with her memories, they weren't a surprise. She'd been living with those nightmares all her life. She'd expected to be shocked or horrified at what she learned, but she wasn't. She just felt like a curtain had been lifted and the mysteries were over.
She felt better.
And she had to share it with someone. It just seemed right to visit Ozzy. She was in a soft pair of loose shorts and a sweatshirt, looking surprisingly relaxed. Bare feet. No food in hand, nothing. Just her.
She knocked and waited, swaying on her heels.
The room was still empty. Ava was in the infirmary. It wasn't looking great, but Lenore was awake, so she wasn't always alone. Occasionally Oz would be visiting the same time Holden did and the girls would beat them up at cards.
Oz didn't expect Quebec to show up, but he was happy to see her. "Heeeey. You look great. I've never seen you in shorts before."
Quebec smiled and spread her hands, doing a little twirl. "You're lookin' at the full and completed Artemisia Rice." Ta da! She was a real person now. Right? Did she still count as some kind of Active? In name only, maybe, while the Dollhouse wasn't functioning.
"You look happy," Oz commented proudly. "Come in, have coffee with me."
"Everything makes sense," she explained as she slipped in, closing the door. She took a look around, frowning. "How's Ava..? She all right?"
"Better. Still with the doctor, but better. Good enough to have wheelchair races with Lenore." But not good enough to come back. It was sort of empty-looking without her. Oz went to the kitchen to pry open the coffee can.
"Good..." Quebec laughed in spite of herself. "Won't be so lonely here soon enough, sure you're glad of that."
"It's too weird not having her here. We haven't really had the chance to get used to it." But he worried, all the time. More than he maybe should have been. "I'm afraid I've taken up too much space."
She wandered into the kitchen area, stretching her arms above her head. "Ain't no such thing. You live here, too. You either take up some space or you disappear. I don't think she'd mind you imposin' or nothin'."
"I don't want to take over." Even though he'd been there all this time. "I want her to come back and feel like this is home. It's the least I can do."
Quebec watched him, her head tilted slightly----and it seemed to dawn on her. "You like her, don't you." No judgment, just a little observation.
Ozzy paused. "...Yeah."
Quebec took in in a little breath, like her heart skipped a beat and it caught her off guard. "Oh, sugar." She reached out and touched Ozzy's shoulder, squeezing gently. "This has to be so hard for you, oh my gosh." She looked like she just wanted to up and give him a hug.
"What? No, hey, no, I'm not the one laid up in the hospital. She doesn't even know I like her." Ugh. How middle school was that? "I'm fine."
"When somethin' tears at your heart, when you love someone and they don't know or don't care? Nobody's fine." Quebec smiled and let her hand drop. "She's been through an awful lot the last few months. Knowin' you like her might make her happy. I mean, I dunno, not sayin' you should up and make a fool of yourself if you ain't ready or don't want to."
"It seems like a lot to dump on her, especially if it's not mutual." Ozzy shrugged. "It would just stress her out."
Quebec shrugged a shoulder in turn. "Maybe she likes you, too. I mean, you can sit and talk with someone a lot and never know how they really feel about you, whether they love you or hate you, or... y'know?" With her memories, Quebec seemed a little wiser, a little more relaxed. "Y'know." She offered him a brief, bright little smile. "Ain't in anybody's head but yours."
"Still. Risky." They were taking enough risks these days. Maybe he was just reluctant to have change, here. "Decaf?"
"Whatever you're drinkin', I ain't so picky, long as it's sweet." Quebec leaned against the counter, watching him. Not his face, but his shoulders, his hands.
"Well... good, that's all I have left. There's milk in the fridge if you want it." Oz filled the coffee pot with water, pausing to pour some of it in a flower pot on the counter.
"Your plants are still thrivin'. You're so good with them. I usedta be friends with the florist across the street from my bakery----always had to have fresh flowers in my shop." Quebec went for the milk. "I wanted plants, things in pots, in dirt, so they can keep on growin'..." She was just talking to fill silence, wanting to share a little bit of things she remembered. "I ain't buggin', am I?" It was an abrupt question.
"What?" Oz looked over, shocked. "No, why would you think that?"
"I just realized I came over unannounced." Quebec squinted at him and set the milk on the counter. "And maybe I was botherin' you with all the ... comin' and seein' you and stuff." Ozzy was a kind of surly guy. She waved a hand, grinned. "But the answer's no, so good on me."
"I wouldn't have let you in if you bugged me." He was surly, for sure. That nice English accent probably didn't help.
Quebec smiled to herself. "Well. Thank you." She pursed her lips. "And I'll have you know that I don't appreciate you talkin' about me to everybody. Bravo up and decided to talk to me about my eatin' habits." She sounded stern, angry, but that tone slowly drifted off. "I don't, but I'm glad you care so much."
"Everybody? I only told Jack," Oz clarified.
"Well, then." Quebec was close enough that she could bump him with her hip. "I ain't so mad."
"Good. Don't be mad." He grinned, bumping her back. "Bravo didn't go psycho on you, did he?"
"Aw, no. No. I didn't know any of that about him... it's... I dunno. He opened up to me. I got defensive with him. I probably should bring him somethin' to apologize." Quebec didn't talk about what was discussed. Her eating problems were her business, and they weren't going to end so easily. They were habit now. "He ain't so bad."
"Really? He seems nuts. I don't get him." Oz thought he was a psychotic trouble-maker---the exact opposite from Jack. He didn't get that, either.
Quebec shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ear. "He's a little off his rocker, yeah, but I think a lot of people seem nuts until you get talkin' to 'em. Even the nuttiest people are people. I mean... people look at me, and..."
"Whoa, hey, not the same thing. You're a little different; Bravo's psychotic. You wearing a skirt and him making glitter kittens while he contemplates our destruction are two totally different things."
"I'm just sayin'. Bravo's got a reputation for bein' a crazy person. People look at me and think they know me or what I think or what I want, think they have the right to ask me rude and uncomfortable questions that they wouldn't ask anybody else... Just don't think it's right to assume he's all-up crazy just because he set a bomb off. And stuff." Quebec was trying not to grin. "But maybe a smidge."
"You know what I don't get? Him and Jack. Jack's just so ... normal and decent." Truth be told, Oz really liked Jack, admired him.
Quebec watched the coffee pot. "Can't explain love. Some people just match up and fall for each other, but some people don't match up, and that's why they fall. Because they just..." She spread her hands, gesturing vaguely.
Ozzy shrugged. "Don't get it. And I don't think I'd ever do what he did for anyone."
"Maybe you just haven't met the right someone," Quebec said. "Neither have I. Can't even imagine."
"Maybe you have to be a certain type of person."
"Maybe." Quebec didn't understand it. It was clear she wanted it, unrealistic though it was. "You think you want something like that? Sounds good on paper, but who knows in real life. Jack and Bravo fight like devils."
"Seems too intense. I think I would be miserable if I fought with someone the way they do. It's too much." Ozzy shook his head, getting out the mugs. "Why would you ever want to constantly be around somebody you just want to yell at?"
Quebec opened up the milk carton and went looking for the sugar. "Damned if I know. Just want someone who cares for me but ain't afraid to tell me what's what. I ain't... um. I ain't ever had that before. Nothin' like that, so what do I know, it could suck somethin' royal and I'm just a fool. Where's the sugar?"
"Me, neither. It's... um. Over ... there." Oz pointed, guessing. "In one of those badly-labeled-in-a-not-labeled-at-all jars."
"Ain't had a girlfriend or ain't been in love?" Quebec asked on her way to find said jar. "Sorry, that's personal. Not my business."
"I've had girlfriends," he said anyway. "I meant I've never been in love that way. I don't think it's for everybody."
Quebec glanced at him, holding the little sugar jar close. "It probably ain't," she said. And then, the subject changed abruptly. "Would you call me Misha?"
"Huh?" Oz paused, thinking. "I don't see why not. Sure. Of course."
"It's just that that's my name," she said. "And now I remember that it's my name. But at the same time, I ain't so sure how much I wanna be spreadin' that around. What you said about fairies stuck with me or somethin'."
Oz made a face. "I shouldn't have told you that. It really has nothing to do with anything."
Quebec---Misha---chuckled softly. "I know. But a name's important, and if everyone knows me as Quebec, that's... y'know, all right, but it makes me feel like less of a person. I'd like it if the people close to me called me my real name." She hesitated. "I mean, that... um. You and... you're."
He watched her inquisitively until he caught on. "We're friends." He'd taken that for granted, to be honest.
Misha's fluttery, delicate fingertips smoothed her sweatshirt. "Are we?" She looked nervous, but there was a smile there.
"...Aren't we?" Wait, what?
"I mean, you're surly and rude."
"And you're pushy and sensitive, I don't really know what that's got to do with it."
Misha's mouth twisted into a sly little smile. "Nothin', that's what's beautiful about it." She held out her mug for coffee.
"You ask such weird questions." Ozzy shrugged, taking the mug from her.
"Only to put a bug up your rear." Misha grinned and watched him, leaning up against the counter. She bit her lip. She really must have thought they were friends if she dressed like this when she came to see him. Her bare toes curled.
Ozzy chuckled, passing her a mug full of coffee. "And everyone thinks you're so nice."
"Sugar, I ain't that nice." Misha went about adding milk and sugar to her coffee. "Ain't mean, neither, but nobody's just one thing or the other."
"Good point. You've just got everybody convinced is all."
"That I'm made of marshmallows?" Misha blew on the surface of her coffee to cool it down.
"Pretty much." It certainly wasn't that far off the mark, to be honest. "I wouldn't correct that with them if I were you. It has its advantages."
Misha shook her head. "Ohhh, honey. I ain't made of marshmallows. But eventually I think a body goes through enough that everything else can just roll of your back, y'know? Don't take much stock in someone who seems a little bit nasty when you've met evil folks." She shrugged a shoulder and smiled to herself.
"And to be honest, nobody quite lives up to Alpha in terms of evil and crazy. Compared to that, Holden Keating is practically a saint." ...All right, so Oz had been giving up that vendetta as of late. We're all in this together and all that.
Misha practically growled. "Lockin' you in a closet, I swear to God, who does that to a person. I spent three days in a closet once when I was eight years old----"
"Down, girl. Look, I still think Zulu's a bitch and she and her psycho girlfriend are welcome to stay away from me. But..." Oz shrugged. "Ava is friends with Lenore, and for some strange reason Lenore and Holden get along really well, despite Lenore being a decent person. It's let it go and put up with him, or make the infirmary a very uncomfortable place."
"Hatchets are just fine for buryin' as long as you know where it is so you can go dig it up again if you need to." Misha's mouth twitched into a smile.
"You ever consider writing a self-help book?"
"Have you heard me talk? I never finished high school; you don't wanna see me write."
"You could always have it dictated. If ... anyone here did that sort of thing."
Misha laughed a little. "I think I'll stick to cookies and cupcakes, but how 'bout I leave you little nuggets of wisdom on post-its around your room?"
"As long as they aren't tips for shaving," he replied flippantly, loading his coffee with sugar.
Misha squinted, apologetic. "Didja grow back yet?"
"For the most part. I suppose I can't be too upset; you didn't put me in a dress or frilly underwear. ...That I know of." The way Oz looked at her implied he didn't want to know if she had.
Misha just smiled and took a sip of coffee. She'd let him wonder about that one.