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"I used to have freckles." Karen leaned on the sink, squinting at her own face.
Goro rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as her fingers traced over her cheekbones. He was half convinced he'd heard her wrong. He'd heard partners complain about many types of marks after sex, but freckles was a first.
"There was one spot in specific," Karen said, poking a spot just above her left cheekbone, "I hated it. It was always so hard to cover up. Now it's gone and I miss it."
"Why did they get rid of your freckles?" Goro asked. He rolled out of bed stiffly. There was a phantom ache in his shoulder from a nasty fall he'd taken in college. The bone had been replaced with metal, there shouldn't be pain, but some mornings it hurt like it always used to.
"They didn't get rid of anything," Karen's voice was stiff, "There was nothing to get left after the accident to get rid of. They had to rebuild my face from nothing." She turned to Goro, plastering a practiced smile over her face. "Don't you think they did a wonderful job?"
"I... um." Goro bit his tongue. The question felt like a trap. He would never call her ugly, but he could sense she didn't want to be reminded of her own beauty. That was strange in itself. Karen wasn't usually the type to play mind games. Normally, she asked for exactly what she wanted. "Are you unhappy with the results?" he asked cautiously.
"No." Karen turned her attention back to the mirror. She glared at her own reflection, arms crossed over her chest. "Of course not. It's a miracle what they did. It looks perfect... I look perfect."
"Karen, what's wrong?"
Karen straightened her back, turning back and forth in the mirror. She traced her curves, frowning as she pressed down on her ribs. "I look too perfect," she said, "I was never this thin. It was all well-tailored clothes and flattering camera angles."
"They changed your body?"
"Not on purpose." Karen ran her fingers through her hair. "Like I said, there was nothing to save. All they had to rebuild me from were pictures. And those pictures were me at my best. When I was done up for press conferences and photo ops."
"I can't imagine you needed that much makeup," Goro said. He stood, approaching Karen cautiously.
"I used to have this cowlick." Karen twisted a chunk of hair near her temple. "Sometimes it'd take five minutes to get it to lie flat in the morning."
"Karen." Goro covered her eyes with a hand. "What brought this on? Did I say something wrong last night?"
"It's not you." Karen made no move to push away Goro's hand. Her stance relaxed and she took a deep breath. "I mean it is you, but it's not your fault. I haven't had sex since the accident and...” she trailed off. She turned towards him leaning into his chest. “Promise you won't laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“I look too good,” she said.
“More than normal?” Goro asked.
“You're supposed to look like a mess after sex," she muttered, "Smudged makeup and messy hair and dark circles under your eyes. I look like I just walked off a photo shoot for hottest crime fighters."
"Didn't you do one of those?"
"That was years ago." Karen elbowed him in the stomach. "At it took a full hour of hair and makeup."
Goro laughed before getting serious. He wrapped himself around her from behind, looking over her shoulder into the mirror. She was right. He didn't look like someone who was up all night sweating. It was something he doubted he'd have noticed without Karen bringing it up, but she did and he couldn't unsee it.
"Is it really so bad?" he asked.
"No." Karen smiled sadly, meeting his eyes in the reflection. "But messiness is what makes us human. If I don't even have that..."
"There's more to humanity than that."
She hummed, touching her face again. "Of course there is, but it's one less thing. I don't want to lose any more."
Goro hugged her tight, nosing at her hairline. "You'll always be human. No amount of surgery will change that."
Squeezing her eyes shut, Karen takes a shaky breath. "You're right," she said, rubbing her eyes, "There are just days I wish I could go back."
Goro thought about the nightmares, about hearing screams from miles away and knowing he wouldn't make it in time to save anyone, about the months of relearning old skills because his body didn't work the same anymore.
"You know, when I was preparing for the Olympics, everyone was so impressed with all my skills," he said, squeezing Karen tight, "But now, I can do much more, but none of it matters."
"It matters to the people we save."
"It's not the same."
Karen nodded, not in agreement, but in understanding.
"I didn't plan for a career outside of sports," Goro continued, "But I can't go back. No sane official would let a cyborg enter a fair competition."
"You'll always have a career with JAKQ."
"But do I want that? For the rest of my life?"
Karen didn't respond but saying it out loud made Goro realize he knew the answer.
"No." He let go of Karen and walked back towards the bed. "I'm not doing this forever. I can't spend my whole life surrounded by violence. I can't wake up every day dreading the next time I have to tell a child that their parent is dead."
"That was my plan." Karen didn't follow him. She gripped the sink as she stared at her reflection. "That's why I became a police officer."
"Is it still?"
Silence stretched between them. Goro sat on the edge of the bed, watching Karen's back.
"I don't know," she finally said, "I don't think I'm the same woman who accepted the commander's offer. She would have said yes, yes to anything that made the world a better place, but me..."
He waited for her to finish her thought, but there was no sign she had a conclusion.
"We're all different people," Goro said, "We don't have to know what that means just yet."
Karen's smile was reflected in the mirror as she relaxed. "You're right." She turned toward him.
"While I figure all of this out, you wanna try and make a proper mess of me?"