Who: Motoko and Abigail What: Random meetings and comfort When: Last week Where: A book store Status: complete Rating: PG-13 for talk of death
Motoko was sitting in a book store, looking at some books about synesthesia. She wanted to understand more than she did about Canaan’s condition. She was simultaneously running multiple web searches in her brain, while flipping through a book, scanning each page with a blink of her eyes.
Abigail was just relishing not being in the hospital. Her father didn’t like letting her out of his sight, but she did have to go out for school and such. She wanted to go to the bookstore after her English class just to wander around the stacks, to smell the books for a while.
She was almost out of books. She felt bad about not buying any of them, so she probably would buy something. She just wasn’t sure what. It was nice being able to devour books, but it wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be. She looked up at movement and smiled. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
When Abigail saw Motoko, she grinned. “Hi!” Moving over to hug her friend, she made it light and brief. Her scarf was in place around her neck, and she was totally healed. She didn’t look like a girl who’d cheated death, and she planned on not bringing it up.
Motoko hugged her back, careful of her strength. She studied the girl closely. “How have you been?”
“Good!” It was only a half-truth. Really, Abigail liked her life most of the time, it was just the whole best-friend’s-evil-twin thing that had been a bump in the road. “What about you?”
“Busy. I’ve closed some deals, and had a few bumps in the road. I’m ..researching an issue for a friend.” She almost said something else, but caught herself. She knew how she felt about Canaan, but there was their jobs, and the ‘major’ in her head balked at relationships.
Abigail just nodded. She caught the pause but didn’t comment on it. “Anything I can help with?” As long as the subject stayed away from Abigail, she was fine.
“I’m researching a condition where your senses start picking up other senses. You smell color, or taste sound.”
“That doesn’t sound fun. Has she had any blows to the head recently?” Abigail blinked, then moved over to the psychology section. She figured some abnormal psych books would have information on it.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Motoko said. “It could be a natural condition, too. Maybe it was something that was triggered.”
Small fingers ran over the spines of books, pulling some out and flipping through them. “So you’re looking for books about her condition? Has she been to the doctor yet?”
“Yes.” Not technically a lie. “She’s been to see someone. We’re working on procedures, but I want to understand more.”
“Well, did they tell you what the condition’s called?” Abigail looked up at her friend, cocking her head to the side.
“Synesthesia,” she replied, holding up another book, and then flipping it up. She rapidly scanned through the pages.
Abigail nodded, looking through a few books herself. She sat down on a chair, lost in the description of post traumatic stress disorder.
Motoko’s eyes fell on Abigail, as she finished the book. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine, why?” Abigail absently chewed on a cuticle as she read.
“You seem distracted.”
“Sorry. I just ... might get this book,” Abigail murmured, snapping it shut.
She was concerned, but she didn’t want to make Abigail jumpy. “Do you have someone to talk to? That helps.”
“I talk to Daddy a lot.” She continued to chew on her nail. “It’s not for me, though, it’s for a friend. I’m fine.” She was, for the most part; blacking out had its benefits.
“I’m sure. But if you ever feel the urge…” She scribbled her number and held it out. “I’ll listen. I won’t even charge you the nickel.”
Abigail blinked. “Huh?”
“To talk.”
“Oh. Oh, duh, pay phones.” Abigail blushed and laughed. Hannibal would have teased her for weeks for that one. “I don’t ... nothing to talk about.” Nothing she could talk about, anyway.
“... oh. Lucy always seemed like she’d be the worst psychiatrist, she’s too judgemental. No, my dad’s a shrink. I’m fine.” Abigail stood up and folded her arms. “Why do you think I need one?”
“You just seem jumpy,” she said, looking up at her. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d need to talk to someone who’s not actually family. There are things I can’t even tell my friend, and she’s the closest person to me. She doesn’t need to listen to me express my worries for her health, right now.”
“My friends are going through a lot right now, it’s just tiring.” Abigail shrugged. “Nothing’s going on with me. Just school and Daddy and I are thinking of going to France over Christmas.” Abigail smiled. “I was coming in to get a French language tape. He can only help me so much.”
Motoko held up a hand, and then reached behind her neck. “May I see your phone?”
“Why?” Abigail raised an eyebrow.
“I can get you all the french you need,” Motoko promised. She pulled a cable from her neck.
That was a little terrifying, but Abigail decided to trust her friend. She handed over her phone.
Smiling reassuringly, she plugged into the phone. Data rapidly appeared on the screen. "I'm only uploading, I'm not accessing any of your private data. There should be a new icon. Eiffel Tower. Would you like any other languages?"
“Um, no thank you?” Abigail blinked. “Did you get that from your dreams?”
“Yes,” Motoko answered evenly.
“How’s it work?”
“My entire body is artificial.” Motoko spoke evenly, not wishing to alarm her. “My ghost, my soul inhabits it.”
“And you woke up that way?” Abigail reached out to touch Motoko’s face. “You felt real when we kissed.”
“I was real then.” She held Abigail’s hand against her face. “I didn’t wake up in this body. It was a ...dream gift. I meant to avoid ever changing to it.”
When Abigail finally took her hand back, she moved it to the scarf around her own neck. Pulling it down, she revealed what it was hiding. It was a long, five inch scar from below her left ear to the middle of her neck, like someone had been trying to slit her throat from ear to ear and failed halfway through. “I woke up with this.”
Motoko’s eyes seemed to dance. She was upset, but the girl had clearly survived. What bothered the cop most was that she’d inflicted a few wounds like that herself. It took a certain kind of person to do that to a girl. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do it.” She covered the wound back up, hoping Motoko wouldn’t notice the love bites around its edges.
“I’m still sorry. No one should have to go through that. Even in a dream.” She pulled Abigail into a hug.
Somehow, the contact with someone who was a friend but still not as close to her as the other people she’d told - it broke down Abigail’s barriers. Her eyes filled with tears and she murmured quietly. “It was my birth father. In the dreams. He ... he killed girls who looked like me, he was scared to lose me and he made me help - “ Abigail choked back a sob, trying not to be loud in a book store. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - “
Motoko took a breath, and rubbed at Abigail’s back. Her motions were gentle and smooth and as reassuring as she could make them. “It’s okay. Those are dreams. You don’t have to be that person that he was trying to make you be. He’s not here, he’s not with you. He’s not going to hurt anyone.”
She nodded. “He died when I was fourteen, before I started having the dreams. He was good here,” she whimpered. Her voice was quiet, and eventually she leaned back. “I’m sorry. You’re worried about your friend, you shouldn’t have to worry about me.”
“I have plenty of worry to go around,” she assured her, softly. “And it seems like maybe you don’t have enough worry for you. So you can have some of mine.”
“Really, it’s okay.” Abigail wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, retying her scarf when she was done. “It happened a while ago.”
“Doesn’t make it any less traumatic.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder. “But I’m glad you’re holding up. Just don’t be afraid to cry.”
“I do. Just not in public.” Abigail smiled up at Motoko. “For what it’s worth, you’re still the same you. I don’t know if you worry about that. But you are.”
Motoko worried about that sometimes a little too much, no matter what she told herself or others. So she smiled at Abigail. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to go get food? Do you need it?” Abigail wrapped her arms around Motoko, hugging her again.
"I don’t need food, but I can still enjoy it.” Motoko wouldn’t mind getting lunch, especially if it might help Abigail feel better.
“Then let’s do that.” Abigail smiled, eyes bright. “I can tell you about my boyfriend.”
“That sounds like fun. I can tell you about my friend, too.” Motoko wasn’t going to put labels yet. Canaan’s mental state was too fragile for that, but she had patience.
“Too soon?” Abigail’s mind was keen to pick up on things like changed words.
“Too soon,” Motoko agreed.
“Well, you can tell me all about it at lunch,” Abigail smiled, reaching out to squeeze Motoko’s hand.