WHO: Quebec & Bravo WHAT: Quebec's upset. Bravo tugs out the reason why, and they have a little chat. Then Bravo gets Q drunk on that Bomb Squad death hooch.
Misha had never, ever felt this kind of pain before. People went through this all the time, didn't they? It was ... normal. People got hurt, they weren't loved back. But Misha didn't know normal. Misha didn't have experience with love. She had experience with unwanted hands tearing at her body like she was a piece of meat to be laughed at. Some of her earliest memories were of being held down in the middle of the night and being nicknamed "Annie" for being such a damn sissy boy, and this was what sissies got. Of wearing a girl's sweater and lipstick to school to impress a boy she liked, and let him force her down on her knees to suck him off, before his friends beat her up. Of being stared at and laughed at and asked rude questions, of being followed home and attacked so bad she wound up in the hospital.
Over the years she came to the conclusion that people didn't want her. She wasn't a boy, she wasn't a girl, not physically. There were people, Dollhouse clients, who wanted her for her body, fetishizing her in often dangerous fantasies. She didn't know any of that. People who liked her didn't love her, or want her. She didn't want herself, which was why she was here in the first place. She could take her destiny into her own hands, get the money to pay for her surgery, and be a real woman. She wouldn't have to be afraid or ashamed anymore.
She'd pushed Ozzy away because she didn't want him to feel obligated----and she was stupid enough to turn his nice words around and believe he actually wanted her. He might have liked her plenty but she wasn't right to be anybody's girlfriend. He didn't want to kiss her. Not right now, not ever. Ava was prettier. Ava was a real woman.
Misha was happy for him. She was. Really. Honestly. She tried to be, anyway. She could be happy for him and dismiss how she felt. Chalk it up to her being stupid. She just didn't know how to handle something so... so normal.
So she baked. Jack was hurt and needed care, so she made more cookies for him and for Mark. She couldn't bring herself to eat any. Couldn't bring herself to eat dinner. Instead, she brought a small plate of cookies up to Mark and Jack, knocking lightly on their door.
Mark answered the door, looking up to see her. "Heeey." He smiled, looking brighter than he had in weeks. Misha towered over him, but he seemed to be used to that. "Come on in. Anyone with food is welcome."
"Ta da, ginger snaps." Misha slipped in, her nice blue dress rumpled and covered with flour. She didn't bother with the apron. "Should I keep quiet? Is Jackie up..?" She peeked toward the bedroom.
"Asleep, actually. Hopefully he stays that; he hasn't been sleeping so well lately, for obvious reasons." Mark closed the door behind her, sighing. "He seems to be ... getting toward all right, though. And we get along now, so."
"Well, hey, that's somethin'." Misha kept her voice quiet, low and a little hoarse. "Should I go---? Don't wanna wake him."
"What? No, please don't. Of course you can stay. Come on, sit down." Jack must have been out if Mark didn't seem concerned.
Misha wandered in and sank down onto the couch, smoothing her skirt. "Aw----ugh, I'm a mess, look at that. I knew I forgot somethin'." Come to think of it, she did look a little harried. Fragile. Like she put a fresh coat of paint on a vase that was broken and glued back together. "How's his leg, is he up an' usin' it? If he ain't usin' it, it won't work right when it heals..."
"We're trying. He limps around until it hurts too much. Doctors are just so busy." Mark sat in the chair, crossing his legs Indian style. "What's up? You look sad."
"What?" Misha made a face. "I think we're in circumstances that can make us a little sad now and again, hon."
"Wanna talk about it?"
Misha stared at him a moment. No. No, she didn't. She did not want to talk about it. But Mark knew things about her that other people didn't know, and... she couldn't talk to Ozzy about Ozzy. "It's... no, it's nothin', it's just stupid, I did somethin' stupid." Really stupid. She lost the one person she could always talk to. Maybe not lost, but she couldn't face him just yet, not without it hurting.
"Everybody does stupid shit, Misha."
"I kissed Ozzy," Misha blurted. "I love Ozzy." Her breath hitched and she looked down at her hands, which were busy worrying the fabric of her skirt.
"Oh. Ohhhhh, Q." Mark covered his mouth with his hand. "If he hurt you, I'll go shank him---"
"I kissed him, he kissed me back, for... for a bit, a real long bit, and... I almost fell asleep in his lap." Misha shook her head. "And I... in the mornin' I told him not to fuss about it. Then he told me I was pretty..." It sounded like she'd cry with that one word. "And he didn't regret it."
"So what's the problem?"
Misha wouldn't look up. "I went to tell him I loved him and he told me he was with Ava."
"...Oh. Honey, I'm sorry."
"Because he likes Ava. Because I... I knew he liked her, I knew he wanted her, and I still go and do somethin' so stupid as to kiss him in the very first place, like it'd matter." She didn't cry. She sounded close to it, but Misha had an alarming way of checking out when she was hurting. She could brush things off like nobody's business. It manifested in other ways, harder to find. In the way she wouldn't eat, in the way she carried herself, hated undressing. "He oughta be with her, she needs someone good and safe and ... realistic."
Mark frowned. "Realistic? You're realistic, Q, whatever the hell that means. Look, if he said he thought you were pretty ... I think you just got dumped the old fashioned way."
"Ain't dumped," Misha muttered. "Wasn't nothin' to dump in the first place, I read too much into him thinkin' I'm pretty 'cause people don't do that. He also told me he didn't wanna kiss me again right now, an' apparently I just ignored that. I go kissin' him and then he goes kissin' her. About time, anyway, 'cause he's been lookin' at her for ages."
"But he didn't act disgusted. Like I said. Old fashioned way. You just lost your man to another girl." Mark actually sounded a little proud. "It happens to everyone, even the gays, I promise. It's like a rite of passage."
Misha lifted her eyes to stare at him. Seriously?
"Hey, you're the one who wants to be normal, remember?" Mark was determined not to let her wallow in this and turn it into a 'oh no I'm transsexual and nobody will ever love me' thing.
Too bad. "She's a real woman. I was stupid. Thought he wanted me. Ain't never had nobody want me unless they want to hurt me." Misha looked back down at her hands, smiling. "Felt nice. For about five minutes. An' I don't know what's worse... bein' told no for what I am, which is old, or bein' told no for who I am, which ain't never happened."
"Q. I don't know how to say this. I think he might have just liked Ava better because he's liked her longer. If you turn this into an 'I have man parts' thing, you're being really, really unfair to everyone involved. You're basically saying that Ava is just a vagina, that Oz is shallow and mean, and that you're such an idiot that you believe all of that crap."
"I wish Oz was shallow an' mean," Misha said helplessly. "That's ... I don' know how to deal with this. It ain't... it ain't like I..." She shook her head. "You know what, it ain't important, it ain't nothin', right? I could talk to him without lettin' him see me cry. I been through worse. Way worse." She glanced at him. "Shouldn'ta told you." Now she was royally embarrassed for being so upset.
"You did good. You just ... had something perfectly normal happen to you. Something that happens to everyone at some point, okay? I've gotten my heart broken plenty of times; it's nothing to be embarrassed about." If Mark had longer arms, he'd hug you, Misha.
Misha crumpled, bending over double and resting her forehead against her knees, her hands against her feet. "With everythin' goin' on, an' then you dyin'-but-not-dyin', this ain't no reason to ..." But her breath caught up with her and she was really, really struggling with tears. She never cried in front of people. Ever. Wasn't polite. "But you got Jack to see you through, you got someone who... who holds you at night." She sucked in a breath, her arms wrapping around her legs, shoulders tense. "Somethin' about him just made me feel a little less lonely. He made me feel pretty, the way he looked at me."
"You can still be his friend, you know." Small comfort, but there it was. "There's nothing wrong with being friends, after you've calmed down. Hell, Owen and I are best friends now, and we did date. He can still make you feel less lonely without fucking you."
Misha clicked her tongue with disapproval. "Language." Because she associated that word with negative things. Painful things. "I can still be his friend. Yeah." She wiped her hands over her face and sat up again. "It's so... silly of me, I know you're right, I do." Because that's how things always were. Was it wrong to want a lover?
And what would she do with one, anyway? She hated her body so much she wouldn't let him touch it. Maybe a part of her wanted someone who'd convince her she was fine the way she was. Or, at the very least, she wanted to be touched with her consent. "Ahhh, hell, Bravo." She waved a hand off toward the kitchen. "Eat some cookies. I'll be fine tomorrow."
"You can stay as long as you want, Q. Just so you know. We can eat some cookies, watch a movie..." Mark watched her carefully. "...drink some of that death booze Foxtrot and Romeo like to make."
"I don't wanna eat nothin', I got no appetite." Misha glanced at him. "But I could sure's hell use a drink."