"Nineteen seventeen," he said. "Where I'm from. I think." This caused James to freeze up momentarily, a frown spreading across his features. Unless that was a false memory, and the likelihood of a memory being implanted and not his own... well, that was relatively high, all things considered. Nonetheless, James shook his head and pressed on. "No, actually, what I meant was... what year I came from. I don't know. My handlers didn't tell me what year it was. Wasn't really deemed necessary, except once in... I think, in the nineteen sixties, maybe." Sleeping through entire decades. Kind of a nightmare, really. All those years, so much happening, and James on ice.
What else, though? What other questions did he have? Am I like your James? No, not that one. He didn't even have enough memory to know who he was--or at least, he didn't think he did. Why go and add another man into the mix?
He leaned back a little, to get a better look at her face. "Was it... awkward," he said, pausing between words as he struggled to ask what he meant to ask. "For you and.." And what. And 'him', and 'me', and 'James'? "And the James you know. At first." He could imagine it would be; the concept of being that physically close and exposed was enough to cause the muscles in his back to tense up. It'd been a similar uncomfortable sensation at the idea of just being naked in her presence. He hadn't voluntarily been naked in front of someone for a very long time, except partially for Santana, and even that--still under the Soldier. "And his... does he have..." James cleared his throat. "Heavy scarring. Around the attachment point between the arm and the body."
There was a vague, tickling sensation in the back of his mind that he hasn't been nearly this indecisive before. That he was confident, sure of himself. That there was no hesitation. He shoved this over into the little mental area he'd designated how to be a person again, for examination later; for now, though. He cared a little more about the answers to those questions.