Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two text messages.

One from Sigma.

It’s a slightly blurry picture of a cat. Sigma’s thumb is blocking a good corner of the picture. He typed. Meow or never! Phi told me to send this.

And a text from Phi. I didn’t tell him to send that. I told him specifically not to.

She thinks about how Phi and Sigma must be hanging out right now and talking about how good they are at adjusting to timelines shenanigans, since they’ve had to go through it all once already. 

She never thought she’d be jealous of that. They’re her family, right? But they have a whole history together that she’ll never be able to touch. And at the same time, they’re nearly strangers to her world. And yet they aren’t strangers to each other. 

To each other, they were always part of the plan. Diana’s job was to infect six million people and then get a robot modeled after her. But at least her not-husband and not-maybe-daughter could have fun.

Ugh. This is a bad look on her. It’s a bad feeling, too. She doesn’t want to be ugly and brooding while isolating herself. This isn’t who she is. But she’s still so jealous and petty about it, and can’t think of anything else to do about it.

She sends them a mindless string of emojis, hopes that they won’t be able to pick up on her bad mood through the screen, and places her phone face down on the table.

There’s something she knows. Even more than she knows about the other timelines, there is some other side of her that had been drawn out, teased out into the air, and she is only becoming more and more aware of it. It’s in the way her back arches, the way she seems drawn Mira every time she nears. It’s in the way her gaze tracks her, the way she always seems to be reaching out, and Mira always reaches back.

And then it’s in every other moment, too. The way they come together, their legs tangled in the sheets. She allows her hands to roam freely, and her mind to roam even freer than that. And every time a piece of her breaks free, a piece that she doesn’t need back. She is fighting her way back into life. She is claiming every moment she can.

And all she needs is this heat between them, Mira’s legs around her, her hand cupped around Mira’s breast, her mouth anchored to her neck. There was a movement here where her life had been stagnant before, and now there was exploration. Growth. And with the way Mira’s teeth grazed her skin, she finally found a way to stop thinking about things that didn’t matter, and only focus on this.

It wasn’t a cure-all. Such a thing didn’t exist. But all this pent up energy inside her finally went somewhere, and she enjoyed the flush on Mira’s face just as much as she enjoyed being the one who was able to put it there. With every soft moan and sigh, Diana felt a part of herself come back to her, a muscle memory, a song she used to know by heart.

And tangled in those sheets, breathless and limp, she starts to feel more like herself, more like the version of her she once remembered being. She escaped her brain. She was free.

Now, there was nothing else to think about. There was nothing about the past that could change. This was her life, and it always would be. But she could kiss Mira until they were breathless, and for a while that’s all she needed to do. Did it have to be deeper than that? Did the future have to be determined just yet? Or could it wait just a while longer?

And so this wasn’t about giving up, or giving in. It was just that she was too tired to fight with herself anymore. Why couldn’t she put her energy towards something she actually enjoyed? All of the worlds around her would always be swarming, and all of the timelines interweaving around her, but she didn’t need to be consumed by them. She couldn’t change a thing about the universe. Right now she just has to be here.

Mira was soft and warm in her arms. Her skin was smooth and tan. This was something Diana could do. She could run her hand through Mira’s thick, wavy hair, or dip her hand just to feel her shudder. Why did it have to mean anything? Why couldn’t this be something just for them?

And there was something soft and languid about it, like warm honey pooling onto a spoon. There was always time, and so the sheets could curl around them, and her lips could wander, and there was no judgement to be had. 

And her mind was mercifully clear. 

All of a sudden it didn’t matter who she was or could be, but only who she was now. This body she has, it was in the present. It was twitching and warm and alive under Mira. Her body was something that brought pleasure. It was not just wrought with trauma, or scarred or stretched. It was desirable. She was desirable.

And she was known in a way that words couldn’t describe, that she didn’t have the words for in the first place. And time would pass like that, the days tumbling over into weeks, and all she needed was a soft place to lay her head, finally exhausted enough to sleep.

It’s not like she thought that this might solve her problems, or erase the past. But it was nice to be held, and nice to be wanted. Mira’s teeth glancing at her neck chased chills down her spine, and she enjoyed the way Mira would watch her through mellow, half lidded eyes.

And she laid there now, naked in the darkness. Marveling at the fact that she did not have to be afraid of her body. It wasn’t just a carrier of trauma. It was her, and she could do as she liked with it. It wasn’t just a reminder of the past. It wasn’t just a reminder of what Delta did to her. It was still hers.

She was taking ownership of herself. And she didn’t need sex to do any of that, but it still felt good to express herself in that way. It was good to have something she wanted to do, and be able to do it. For so long she had told herself no, overthought and ruminated herself into destruction.

But it was just a kiss. It was just a moment together. Out of all the people to worry about, all the ones she had crammed into her head, there were just two to worry about now.

Mira shifts in the darkness, rolling over to face Diana. She intertwined their legs together. They make up two halves of a whole.

“Can’t sleep?” Mira’s voice is thick with interrupted sleep, and she pulls herself closer to Diana’s warmth, her breath hot on her neck.

“I’m fine,” Diana murmurs, “Just thinking.”

“Don’t do that,” Mira sighs. Diana buries her nose into Mira’s hair, and takes a deep breath, her eyelids growing heavy and warm.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “okay.”

And when her eyes drift open in the morning. Mira is right there beside her, fast asleep. Everything is so familiar. Her eyes slip closed. Peaceful.

She has the dream again. Why? Why can’t she just be happy?

“Hello?”

“Diana! Hi!” Carlos’ customer service voice comes through choppily. “It’s been a while! How are you?”

She pulls her knees into her chest. Carlos has that voice that always makes it seem like you’re the only person in the world that he wants to talk to. And, to be honest, she doesn’t mind pretending that it’s true. It’s nice to have his undivided attention, or at least to pretend.

“I’m good,” she says, finding it to be less of a lie than usual. “How are you guys?”

She heard through Phi that he and Akane and Junpei are a packaged deal these days, and it makes her happy to think that there was at least some good to come out of all of this that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

“Really good,” Carlos says, and she wonders if he was a camp counseler as a teen. He seems like he would have. Maybe sports camp. “Maria’s brain activity has been really promising lately.”

“Oh!” she sits up with the first flash of genuine hope that she’s felt in a while. “That’s great! Carlos, I’m so glad.”

“It’s such a relief,” she can hear the smile in his voice. “Honestly, Akane has been such a big help. This whole thing has been a miracle.”

Her smile dims, despite herself. “That’s really good,” she says, “I hope she keeps doing better.”

“Me too,” Carlos sighs, “I hope you don’t mind me talking about it. It was just so many years of the same thing every day. She never got worse but she never got better. And it was always just enough that we didn’t want to even talk about the alternatives. There was always that “what if.” Well. You’re a nurse. You’d know.”

Diana hums. “It’s a tough situation to be in,” she murmurs, “and it’s really so great that she’s pulling through.”

“Yeah,” Carlos says, his voice choked through the receiver. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She smiles, and for a moment they stay in that companionable silence.

“Man,” Carlos says, after a bit. “It feels like forever ago that we were in charge of the Mars Mission experiment. Remember that? All that stuff we thought would matter.”

She laughs. “Yeah,” she says, “we were so worried about all these little details. It was supposed to last a week.”

“Like, oh no! Will we run out of the beef flavored rations? Those are the best ones!”

Her smile dims. “And now it’s “oh no, do I have to shoot Sigma to free Phi from the incinerator?”

“Yeah! I mean, uh—”

“Don’t worry about it. We all did fucked up things.”

“Yeah,” Carlos says. “Still. I’m sorry that happened.”

She takes a deep breath. The memories come to her unwillingly. The gun that does and doesn’t go off. Poison in her veins. Braxton hicks. She wonders if the Crash Keys have a therapy division. No espers get their powers through being normal, well adjusted people.

“Anyway,” Carlos says, still sounding apologetic, “I did call for a reason. The, uh, the Crash Keys are starting to organize and get started on that whole terrorist thing. You know, the one Delta brought up. It might just be a red herring, but we can’t just ignore it, you know?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Anyway,” Carlos says again, “we’re just going around gauging interest from the Decision Game...gang.”

“Well, what’s your sales pitch? I have a lot of “catch the world ending terrorist” groups trying to hire me right now.”

“Well we can have matching T-shirts,” Carlos offers, “and it’ll look great on your resume.”

“Are Sigma and Phi doing it?”

“Phi seemed interested,” Carlos says, “And I haven’t spoken to Sigma yet.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Are you?”

“I…” she takes a deep breath. “No. I’m sorry. I think I have too much going on right now.”

“That’s fine,” Carlos says, “it’s completely understandable.”

“Thanks.” She rubs her eyes. “You think that’ll change what Sigma does?”

“I think he’ll ask about it. Unless you tell him first.”

She hums, noncommittally. The silence stretches and stretches.

“I,” Carlos seems to hesitate, “We were worried when you just left in the middle of the night like that. I know it’s not my business. And no one could really be okay after all of that. But if you need me, I’m here.”

Something tightens in her chest. Tears spring to her eyes, the way they always do when someone offers her support. “Thank you, Carlos,” she says, willing her voice to be steady. “I’m doing a little better now.”

“That’s good,” he says, sounding genuinely relieved. “And...I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I mean...it’s weird. But he was still your son. Delta. And I did shoot him. I thought that might have been part of why you felt like you had to leave”

She feels cold. “Oh. Oh, no, I—”

“I mean, I know it’s not that simple. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling about all this. But sometimes family is family.”

“Not to me,” she insists. “Not this time. I’m glad you shot him. You’re too kind, Carlos. I hope you made it hurt. Made him pay for it.”

Silence. But she stays on the line. Stays in the silence. It’s as close as she can get to staring Carlos in the eye. Letting him know how serious she is.

“I like to think I did,” Carlos says, his voice suddenly stone-like. “For everything he did to us. For everything he did to you.”

She laughs, deep in her chest. It’s the first deep, genuine laugh she’s had in ages. “You’re a good man,” she tells him.

“Thank you,” he says, politely, awkwardly. “And you can call me anytime, you know?”

“I will,” she says, the laughter still leaving her in every exhale. “Good luck with the terrorist thing. And keep me updated on Maria, okay? You’re doing so much.”

“It’s a living,” he says, tiredly, but still good humored somehow, despite everything.

“I…” But whatever she wants to say seems to die in her throat. “Thank you for calling.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, simply. “I’ll let the others know how you’re doing.”

The line clicks closed. The room fills with silence. But a good kind. It presses up against her like a blanket. She looks out the window. The sky is blue and clear.

When Mira creaks open the motel door, Diana is already awake. She’s been laying on the edge of the bed they’ve had to share all night, thinking about where Mira is and what she must be doing. She’d never been too preoccupied by it before. It was just Mira’s business. And Diana had been too consumed by her own baggage to think that much about anyone else.

But now she had time, and she had space. It was limited, but it was there. And with the new ways she was coming to learn and know about Mira, new worries came along with it. Was she safe? Was she uncomfortable? Did something go wrong, somehow? Did she get caught, despite being so careful.

It wasn’t that big of a worry. Caught was better than dead. But it would still mark an end to so many things. Things that didn’t need to end.

She doesn’t want to think about it for too long. But she does anyway. She always does.

 But then Mira comes in, the almost petulant complaints she has swirling around inside her seem to to fall away. And Mira moves through the room silently, like a ghost, hardly ever touching anything or wanting to leave a mark. 

And Diana can see that calculated, cold look in her eyes, that almost hollowed indifference, and it dispels the tangled mess of worries she had festering inside her, and at the sight of Mira, Diana suddenly isn’t thinking about Phi or Sigma or anyone else.

Mira sits down robotically on the other side of the bed, her back towards Diana. And after a moment, Diana does what she does best: she takes care of other people. 

She’s known this all her life. As a nurse, she takes care of people who need her. As a person, she takes care of people who don’t need her. And sometimes she does both.

But she slips back into the habit easily. It isn’t a chore. It’s something she wants to do. Something she’s good at. Something that can help other people, and for once she’s glad to know what to do all on her own.

She kneels down and starts untying Mira’s boots. And after a moment, she looks up to see Mira’s glassy green eyes focused right on her.

Diana slides off the boot, and then the other. Still on her knees. She feels Mira’s hand drift over the top of her head, smoothing her hair down. It’s just the two of them. This was why she’s here. Because Mira can see right through her, and it captures Diana in a way that no one else can.

And all of a sudden, it doesn’t matter what other people has and she doesn’t. Right now, she has something all to herself.

The morning light is dim through the shades, casting the room in a soft amber hue. And Diana climbs back onto the bed, and pulls the blanket back. Gently, she coaxes Mira down, and pulls the blanket over them both, until the two of them are swathed in a cocoon of warmth, and the outside world doesn’t exist at all. 

They have this moment, and no one will ever have to know. And she doesn’t have to say a word about it to anyone. It isn’t for them. It’s just something they share. 

Mira lets out a shuddering breath, and the tension that’s wound her so tight finally relaxes. She seems to melt into the mattress, into Diana, and for a moment Diana just holds her, and stares at the space in the wall over her head, and thinks about how the sun is still rising somewhere, always around them.

Mira tucks her face into Diana’s collarbone. They are pressed so closely onto this bed, but it doesn’t make her fearful, or even excited at all. It’s just about being close to another person. It’s just about being held.

There is no one else she needs to think about, no other thinking she needs to do at all. And it’s always this way, but Diana has never had a choice before. She’s never had a moment of silence between the thoughts and memories that bombard her, and yet it presents itself to her neatly now.

She knows better than to question it. She simply takes the gift, and doesn't ask for more.

She closes her eyes. The bed is warm from the two of them, and she feels Mira breathing in her arms. And she isn’t afraid, or thinking about the past, or thinking about any other timelines. She’s just comfortably warm, and still vaguely wants to go back to sleep.

It’s good to be there for another person. It’s good to be able to. And for now, that’s all she has to do. For it to somehow be enough without saying a word is more than she could have hoped for, and yet she feels something release in her chest at the thought that someone would still come to her for comfort, and she could be able to provide it on her own, just by virtue of being her. Can she do that for Mira? She doesn’t know. But she really wants to try.

She tightens her grip around Mira’s waist as the highway buzzes around them. She feels Mira take a deep breath against her arms. She feels Mira’s breathing fall into a rhythm, and almost thinks that she fell asleep.

She hears Mira’s voice though, tired and still. “I would never want you to do this with me.”

Diana watches the shadows slide down the wall. “Do what?”

“Kill someone,” Mira murmurs. “It takes something from you.”

“Did it take from you?”

“Maybe,” Mira says, “I don’t know. It’s just something I didn’t have to begin with.”

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, Mira just sighs, the breath long and soft between them. A silent request to move on.

Diana hums, and then relents. “I thought you liked the job?”

“I do,” Mira’s voice wavers, “And these hearts… there’s just so much in them. I almost wish I didn’t have to take them out. Or that I could put them back. I’m not meant to have it.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It wasn’t. Not at first. Sometimes the hearts just make me sad.”

Diana runs a hand down Mira’s hair, hoping that the action would be as soothing as she intends for it. And for a long time, there aren’t any words to say. There isn’t any hidden meaning, any traps to look out for. There’s one bed, and they’re both on it, comfortably afloat. The breaths they take fall into a rhythm, and after a while Diana feels herself begin to doze.

It’s nice being with Mira. She doesn’t know how to explain it. She isn’t consumed by the past. There isn’t anything to read into. There’s no fear that she would have somehow signed herself up for something she didn’t want, given a signal she hadn’t realized. There was no miscommunication to be had, and no pressure from it. They were simply sharing a space.

Her body is pleasantly warm and heavy. She isn’t waiting for the inevitable attack, and if it does come, well, that’s on her for trusting one more time. Really, wouldn’t it make sense for her to just end up as another one of Mira’s victims? Isn’t that what she does? She doesn’t think she would mind it. At least it wouldn’t be her ex.

But for all her flippancy, she doesn’t foresee it. And if that’s where the truth does lie, then so be it. She isn’t in control of any of it. She can’t handle the future, or the past, or any other version of reality. All she needs is the moment. And she thinks that more than she ever wanted to kill someone, she just wanted to be free. And maybe she still isn’t free. But a moment of peace is nice to have.

She wishes this could be the answer. She wants it to be the answer so desperately. It’s been so long since she’s held someone, been held by someone, and even longer since her little rabbit heart wasn’t constantly on alert. She had always been such an insomniac around her ex, and in the months after. But she could sleep here.

And for once, her wish is granted. So she does her best to repay that gift peace, and tries to let it go.

And that feeling was almost enough to wash away this bitter stain within her, this cruel, angry thing. Almost. But it subdued it for now, softened it from an angry, snarling thing, and convinced it into dormancy, and the rest of the morning could slip by at whatever pace it cared to.

Maybe she should be feeling more conflicted about this. She knows that whatever war runs inside her won’t be quelled by this, and a moment of peace won’t fix the constant churning of her thoughts. But she thinks that more than she wants violence, more than she wants a messy end to this fear she feels, she just wants to be quiet.

“I took my first heart by accident.”

Mira’s voice is so thin she nearly misses it, and Diana hardly wants to breath, lest she scares this truth away. She simply holds herself still, and waits.

“Not really.” Mira murmurs. “I don’t know. I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I just...I was curious. And jealous. I wanted to know what it was like to feel love like that.”

A long pause. “And did you?”

“I don’t know ,” Mira’s voice is suddenly choked in a way that Diana has never heard before. “I thought I did. But maybe I never will.”

Diana rubs small circles into Mira’s back, and hopes the action is comforting. The golden sun pours through the blinds. Whatever surprise Diana feels at the revelation and vulnerability, she shoves it back, and simply resolves to stay for as long as she needs to.

“Well,” Diana sighs, “I’m here.”

And Mira just cries. 

“I should have killed Delta.”

Mira looks up from her milkshake. The diner chatters around them, and Diana knows that no one else will hear them. Her stomach twists into knots. Her mouth dries.

“I should have killed him.” She says again, just to be sure. The table is sticky under her arm. The pleather seats are glued to her legs. This cheap roadside dinner is trying to claim her.

“He was a nasty old fuck,” Mira agrees, her mouth still pursed around the straw. “I’m glad Carlos shot him.”

“It should have been me. I should have done it.”

Mira shrugs, finally removing her lips from the straw. “Maybe,” she says, propping her chin up onto her palm. “What difference would it have made?”

Something hardens into ice inside her. Maybe it’s her heart. “I don’t know,” she says, staring out into the parking lot. There are cars scattered about, truckers in from late nights and seniors here for the early bird special. Her coffee is a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

Mira stirs her drink. “He would still be dead,” she says, “And he was just some weirdo. Why let him have any more power over you. Like, you brought him into the world and now you have to kill him, too? Can’t he do anything himself?”

Despite herself, Diana laughs. “Maybe,” she says, “but isn’t it my responsibility? I feel like the whole decision game was really just about me giving birth. Like, did the rest of you really need to be there for that? It’s fucked up.”

“It is,” Mira agrees. “Is this about your ex?”

“What?”

“Like,” Mira gestures, “you didn’t want us to go kill him. Are you looking for someone else that it’s okay to kill?”

“No,” she says, “Carlos called the other day asking for volunteers for his “catch the terrorist” committee. And then he apologized for shooting that bastard.”

“Did you tell him killing Delta was just community service?”

“In a way,” Diana sighs, “But Delta threw the gun to Carlos. That’s such bullshit.”

“We can go dig him up and shoot him again, if you like.”

She laughs. “Thanks.”

“We could make a girls night out of it. Get our nails done after.”

“Really pamper ourselves with some good old fashioned grave robbery.”

“Sure,” Mira says, “sounds better than whatever Carlos had going on.”

“Maybe,” she says, “probably.”

“What,” Mira says, deadpan, “you don’t want to spend years of your life going after some maybe-someday terrorist? You don’t want to just be a rat in a maze? Were you tempted?”

She shakes her head. “I’m tired of trying to save the future. I just want to save myself.”

“And? Are you saved?”

She mulls it over. “Maybe,” she offers, “More than I used to be.”

“That’s good then,” Mira takes a long pull from her milkshake. “Isn’t it such bullshit how Delta’s the one to tell us about this supposedly real terrorist problem? Like some carrot on a stick. Go fetch.”

Diana laughs, despite herself.

“I mean it,” Mira says, despite grinning herself. “Like, of course he has some last minute hail mary to throw in. Something that’ll get Akane’s group running around like chickens without a head for a few more years. And it seems like they all fell for it. Or maybe they already think it’s bullshit. But can they ever really be sure? Are they going to take that bet? No.”

She thinks about all of the people on this planet, and the lives they all deserve. “I don’t know,” she says, “what if they don’t and Delta was right?”

“What if Delta was wrong and Free the Soul ends the world anyway? Weren’t they the ones who blew up the reactors in the radical six timelines? I was already dead for that one. I think that’s what Crash Keys should be putting their focus on.”

“I guess.”

“It’s true. They’ll run themselves into the ground doing nothing” Mira says, “Delta wants them chasing their own tails for eternity and staying out of Free the Soul’s way. I wouldn’t be fooled.”

“Well, maybe you should call them up and tell them that.”

“Eh,” Mira takes a sip of her milkshake. “I’d go straight to voicemail.”

“No, really.” Diana says, “Carlos called you too, right? So why aren’t you in there helping, if you’re so smart?”

“He called as a formality more than anything,” Mira snorts. “And they don’t want me. No brain powers. Also, I kinda have some bad blood with Akane. I’ll just stay here and keep doing what I’m doing. Mind my own business. Keep the peace. I think they’d all be happy not to see too much of me.”

“If you're sure.”

“I’m sure.” Mira winks at her. “Why? Wanna join the save the world brigade? You could persuade me.”

Six million people. Soon I will have killed… “Not really,” she mumbles, shoving the memory away. “Never been much good at it.”

“Well,” Mira shrugs. “You don’t want to kill anyone. You don’t want to save them. What else is there on this bitch of an earth?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “but can I start with an order of fries?”

“There you go,” Mira says, “now you’re living.”

She’s still not sure if she is. But she smiles anyway.

And in the dream, she’s struggling. The blood is pooling onto her stomach, but it’s sticky and heavy and hot. Mira has her pinned. She doesn’t slide off this time. And Diana struggles and struggles under, twisting every way she can. Her hair is a curtain in front of her face. Her blood is contaminating everything. When she pulls her hair away out of her view, Sigma is staring down at her. 

There’s so much blood. No one is helping her. Why aren’t they calling someone? She’s hurt. She’s dying. Someone needs to check on the baby.

Sigma stares at her blankly. He reaches his hand out, and caresses her face. His eyes are black and his pupils are purple.

She wakes up with a scream choked in her throat. It doesn’t make its way out. Somewhere inside her she is just screaming and screaming, and the louder she is the more the void grows to drown her out. The more she tries to fight, the heavier it all becomes.

She throws the blankets off her, and stumbles out of bed. She’s alone. Mira must be on a job. Her skin feels clammy and cold. Her breath jumps in her throat. She keeps waiting for herself to bleed, but she doesn’t. Something in her stomach twists and twists.

She closes her eyes. Tries to shut it out. Her own voice rings in her head. Her breathing comes in shuddering inhales and exhales.

She thinks of all the things that could happen to her right now, and how not a soul would know about it until the sun rose. Her shirt sticks to her. Her neck is slick with sweat. And the night is silent around her. 

She checks her phone out of habit. The brightness of the screen hurts her eyes. But she doesn’t know what she wants. Who can she call to make everything okay again?

She rolls out of bed. No such number exists. She feels the sudden urge to leave the room, to go out where other people can see her and confirm that she exists. Just so she knows that this isn’t all just some dream. Just so she knows that she exists to someone else, even for a moment, and it isn’t completely drenched in heartache.

Or maybe she could go to 7/11 and get some twizzlers.

She could go for a quick walk. Even though it's the middle of the night, and she doesn’t know the city she’s in. But what could happen to her that isn’t worse than what she’s already been through?

She pulls on a jacket. Leaves a note for Mira. She’ll only go around the block. It isn’t far. 

With the dream still fresh on her mind, she feels like she hardly got any sleep at all. She pulls her collar up close to her face. There aren’t many people out this late at night.

She doesn’t want to think, but what else can she do? If she had any say in it at all, she would like the thoughts to stop. But she was never in control of anything, and that wasn’t going to change now.

She thinks back to her dream. Always the same one. Always the same lethargic pull. The same pain inside her. The same blood soaked shirt. She didn’t need a degree in psychology to figure it out. But she was tired of being bloodstained. She was tired of being in pain. No matter how obvious it was, that never made it go away.

And in some ways, things had gotten better. Being with Mira gave her a sense of freedom and empowerment that she hadn’t had in any other relationship. She enjoyed not knowing what the next day would bring. After having every plan she’s ever made fall through, it was good to be spontaneous.

But it wasn’t a fix. Nothing could ever fix her. And she was so tired of thinking about it. She knew. There was nothing her ruminations could tell her that she didn’t know already. But this wasn’t about what she knew or didn’t know. It was just about some pain deep inside her that could never be fixed or healed or quieted.

She screws her eyes shut against the wind. She was sick of being herself. And yet every day she would wake up in this body, this body that suffered and killed for her. She was chained to it. She always had been.

She doesn’t realize she’d dialed her phone until Rebecca picks up. “Hello?”

Of course. Who else would she call? Who else had she ever called in situations like these?

“I, uh,” She stammers, “Rebecca—It’s Diana. I have a new phone. Sorry.”

“Diana?” 

Some rustling. When Rebecca speaks again, Diana can hear just how groggy she is. She probably has an early shift. Shit. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, “you probably have to get up in a few hours, I wasn’t thinking—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Rebecca yawns. “I took a few days off to visit a friend. Where are you? Are you okay? Is your mars thing over? How was it?”

“Um. It was fine.”

“Yeah?” Rebecca doesn’t believe her. “Just fine? When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.” Something in her settles at the sound of Rebecca’s voice. It always does. She sighs. “It ended some time ago, actually. I’m with someone right now. She travels for her job and I just kinda...tagged along.”

“What? When did it end? I would have picked you up.”

“I know.”

“And now you’re just...tagging along.”

“Yes.” Diana rubs her face at the skepticism in Rebecca’s voice. She knows her history with her partners hasn’t been the greatest, and Rebecca has every right to be worried, but it still annoys her to be interrogated. 

“And who is this person?”

“Her name is Mira,” she says, “It’s just...it’s nothing, Rebecca.” It’s just an instinct to be anxious when she thinks she’s doing something wrong. She knows Rebecca better than that. But the fear is still there.

Rebecca sighs. “If you say so,” she says, reluctantly. “I trust you. Just… be careful.”

“I will,” she says, and her voice is too small for it to really mean anything. She cringes. Rebecca can see right through her. The silence stretches out between them. Diana perches on a ledge near a bank. She’s cold. But she likes the air on her face. There are no cars on the road. It’s a small area, not one of the busier cities. But it’s still strange to see a place that’s usually so full of life fall still and silent.

And she waits. She’s been on enough of these late night calls with Rebecca to know each inhale and exhale of the conversation. And she didn’t mind the silence, usually. They both need time to think. And usually she’s too busy trying to stop crying to be much fun in a conversation.  

“I’ve gotten a lot of calls like this from you over the years,” Rebecca says, as if thinking the same thing. Her voice so still and serious in a way that has always commanded Diana’s attention. “Always just… every time I was terrified. You know I would drive out to pick you up wherever you were. I would do anything for you. So many times when I got that call I thought you were dead. I could feel it. Like I just couldn’t do anything for you. I was powerless. And then you would be... gone. And there was nothing I could do for you.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s not your fault—”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. I want to be a good friend to you. And I want you to be safe. And other people making you unsafe isn’t your fault. You didn’t make me care about you. I did that on my own.”

She swallows another apology and rubs the tears from her eyes. She doesn't want to cry. She’s so tired of crying. But she thinks about all the people she met recently who were ready to die for her. What did she do to deserve that kind of devotion? 

She just wants to be average. Blend into the background, be unremarkable. Someone who’s never been hunted, but had never been sacrificed for either. Who knew that would end up being such a big request for the universe?

Another inhale. Diana watches the stoplight shine against a slick black puddle in the road. After everything her ex put her through, Rebecca had gone through it too, in a way. He had hurt both of them. How many more people would he hurt?

“I used to be so scared. I forgot what that was like,” Rebecca says, “And when you were at that program, with no outside contact and I thought, this is it. This is what my life would be like if you were gone. And I just… I missed you so much. You’re my best friend. I love you. I’m so happy you’re here. I… I’d still do anything for you, you know? Just say the word.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth to prevent any noises from escaping. And then it’s her turn to fall silent. And for a long time, she just cries. She doesn’t deserve it. She wishes she could give it back. She wishes that DCOM could have been what Rebecca thought it would be. But it wasn’t. Nothing was ever that simple. The universe existed just to punish her. And she was still ashamed, even after all this time. She had gone into DCOM as a way to escape, and instead the world had just handed her even more problems to deal with. How could she explain that to Rebecca? She couldn’t. But how could she pretend it didn’t happen?

And at the same time, Rebecca had no idea just how close to a reality those feelings were. There were so many other dead Dianas out there whose Rebecca would never know what happened to her. How many nights would she spend lying awake, waiting for a phone call that never came? How long would she wait?

And Diana can’t shake the guilt, however undeserved, for having done that to her, even in other worlds. It was cruel, no matter who’s fault it was, to be so tied to another person like this. To be able to be hurt. No matter where she went or what she did, someone always faced the consequences.

So many dead Dianas that just went missing, and how many people in her life would just assume that her ex had finally done the inevitable? How many of them actually cared? Or had it all just been callousness, that it was bound to happen? And no one would ever know the truth, that she had died so far underground, so far away from the sun. And would it have made a difference if they did? That would have been her whole life. Her legacy. An abused woman to just an abused victim. That’s all she ever was.

But it wasn’t bound to happen. She is alive. She fought for it. She’s still fighting.

And yet she is tormented by those other timelines, ones she knew were all too real. How long would Rebecca wait by the phone? How long until she forgot? Or would she just comfort herself with the inevitable, just like everyone else?

There was no way to know. And there was no way for Diana to tell her.

“Diana?”

“Sorry,” she rasps, “I’m here.” A sedan rushes through the puddles and rounds the corner.

“How was it? The experiment thing. Are you allowed to talk about it?”

For a moment, almost opens her mouth to tell her. She thinks about what it might be like to explain to Rebecca about what she’d been through. She wonders how she’d explain it, if she could even get the words out in the right way to make sense of it all.

Okay Rebecca, so the mars thing was a total lie. What happened instead was this guy with a witch doctor mask flipped a coin, but we guessed wrong so we had to go do escape rooms that would probably kill us, and then when it was just me and this guy, who came here from another timelines where we dated for a few years but I died there and now he’s here but he’s still in love with me. 

And when I’m finally going a little crazy from isolation we have sex, but it’s like, some sort of miracle because I carry twins to full term while starving to death, and then we send our clone babies to the past, and then we died, and then it turns out that the guy killing us over and over again is actually my super old immortal time travel son, and he’s torturing seven other people all so me and Sigma would be alone for long enough to finally have a one night stand and create him. 

Like, Sigma already wanted to fuck me! We didn’t need a death game for that. Delta could have just bought us a hotel room. He did that all for cool brain powers and then this is the shit he uses his brain powers on? He doesn’t deserve that. I’m glad he’s dead.

“It was good.” she lies. "I signed an NDA."

“Yeah?”

“It was a nice break from reality. Met some good people from it.”

“Are you sure?”

Is she sure? “About what?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca sighs. “You just sound different.”

Her heart rate picks up. “Different how?”

Rebecca falls quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she finally says, “Like how you did sometimes after a fight with him. But not like right after, like… I don’t know.”

“I’m okay,” she sighs, “There was some... stuff that happened during the program.”

“...Some stuff.”

“Yeah,” she bleats, searching for a way to tell Rebecca what she went through in a way that could possibly make sense. But she comes up short.

“What kind of stuff? Without breaching that NDA, of course.”

For a moment, Diana is tempted to tell Rebecca everything. Really tell her, the best she can. She’s used to being able to confide in her. And if she can’t share this with her closest friend, will she ever be able to talk about it to anyone else? 

She tries to imagine it. Really imagine it. But there’s no way for her to start explaining without it devolving into a bunch of hysterical rambling. The more she thinks about the absurdity of it all, and what little sense or reason it has, the more angry she gets. And getting angry would never fix what happened. It would never make it right. It would never make DCOM into what it was supposed to be. But she was still angry. She would never stop.

“Stressful stuff,” she says, “There were some things in the fine print of the contract I signed? Nothing life threatening. But it wasn’t just “sit around and eat rations for a week.”

“Oh, Diana, I’m sorry. I should have done more research about it.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs, “really, it is.”

“Still. I thought it was weird. But it got you away from him. But I should have known there was a catch with that kind of money. You did get the money, right?”

“Yeah,” she lies. “How did you hear about it, anyway?”

“Um, someone just mentioned it to me,” Rebecca pauses. “Honestly, I don’t remember. There was this girl I was seeing. Casual. And she was like oh, I’m recruiting for this thing, take a pamphlet lol. I thought it was some Jehovah’s Witness thing. But then it just...seemed to be what we were looking for. She was right.”

She sighs.

“Yeah,” Rebecca says, “I’m sorry I put you in that situation, whatever it was. I mean, at least it wasn’t worse, right? You’re still here. And I haven’t seen you-know-who around in a while. You’re still going to get the restraining order finalized, right?”

“Oh,” she says, “I haven’t thought about that in a while.”

“I mean, that’s good?”

“Yeah,” she gives a chipped laugh.

There were seven billion people on earth, but just a few that always seemed to be around her no matter how hard she tried to get away. He was always haunting her, and he was still here, Decision game or no Decision game. She still has the same problems. Nothing ever went away or got better.

“Where are you, anyway? I’d love to see you. I really missed you.”

“I should really let you get back to sleep. I feel bad—”

“No, no,” Rebecca shushes her. “I’d rather talk to you. Really. It was weird not talking to you.”

Something seems to unfold inside her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” She can hear Rebecca smile. “Like, the Starbucks in the lobby got my order wrong again, and I swear it’s on purpose, Diana. I was the only one in there. I had to race this old man to be first in line. I almost tripped this kid on crutches. I would have hurdled over them all. I was literally waiting for them to unlock the door. I would bang on the windows if that made them let me in earlier.”

She laughs, but Rebecca keeps going.

“Like, how do you get it wrong? I literally write it all down and hand it to the guy, and then I watch him do it. It’s that twerpy college kid, and he’s so nice to the other customers, but I’m not fooled because I said extra whip and I know this is the normal amount, Collin. I need this sugar to blast me through my day And he’s always the one to take my order. When they do shift assignments do they just assign him to me? Like they see me coming and make Collin do it just to get it wrong. If I’m going to spend fifteen dollars on coffee then it better send me to an early grave, and this isn’t it.”

“Oh my god,” she says, “I promise it’s not that.”

“Well,” Rebecca sighs. “It was boring without someone to complain to. Was I supposed to tell Jeff about it? He’s such a square. And fucking Ben from radiology did not send me those scans yet even though Janet got hers before me and she wasn’t even hired when I asked for mine. Diana, I miss you so much over there.”

“Aww,” she laughs again. “I’ll come and rescue you soon.”

“Yeah? Do you know when?”

“Uh…” She had said it without thinking. She sighs. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Still with mystery girl, huh.”

“I mean, yeah,” she admits. “And we travel around a lot. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, even.”

“Where’s “here”?”

Diana takes a moment to remember the city she’s currently in.

Rebecca gasps. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember I said I was out of town? That’s where my friend lives! I’m there right now! Diana.”

“Well, I didn’t know that !”

“ Diana , I am trying so hard to be quiet right now because it’s ass o’clock in the morning. Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She allows herself to smile. Rebecca’s enthusiasm is contagious. 

Rebecca gives a tiny, muted laugh. “It’s been so long. I’ve missed you so much. Not that I thought that you might get murdered in your mars mission thing, but I was also like, isn’t this a little sketchy? Why don’t they have any astronauts on the team? Where’s my best friend?”

Oh . She hums ambiguously.

“But you’re here ,” Rebecca says, without noticing. “Why do you have a new phone? If I text you a location can you meet me there for lunch? Or breakfast? Why are you even awake so early?”

“I—” She laughs again at Rebecca’s rambling, still nearly giddy at the chance to reconnect with her friend. “I just couldn’t sleep. I can’t believe you’re so close.”

“I’m glad everything is good,” Rebecca says, “Honestly, I’d run over there right now. No shoes, in my PJs.”

“You’re crazy,” she says, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Okay, okay,” Rebecca says. “I’m not manic, I promise. Just sleep deprived.”

“If you say so.”

When she hangs up the phone, she feels lighter than she had in a long time. Why hadn’t she called Rebecca earlier?

She was afraid, mostly, as she usually was. There was never a time that she wasn’t afraid. And even though Rebecca had seen her at her lowest, she still felt like she had something to prove. That is she wasn’t better by the next time she spoke to Rebecca, then all her effort would be for nothing. But it was a lost cause. She was never any better. Just different.

But why couldn’t she laugh with her friend? Why couldn’t she smile, despite that? It wasn’t Rebecca’s fault that DCOM had gone so poorly. She had been trying to do something nice for a friend. And sometimes she thinks she’d rather deal with Delta than her ex.

But that didn’t have to be the way it always was. There were some parts of her old life that she could go back to, right? She wasn't changed so completely that she couldn’t still laugh with her friend. Maybe there was no point of no return. Or maybe she just hadn’t found it yet.

She slides off the ledge. The sun is starting to rise. She can see the faint glow on the horizon from in between the buildings. A gentle blush, a light without the sun, just enough to warm away the darkness. It wasn’t enough to chase the night off just yet. But it was just that. A glimmer. A faint wash of light.

She stands, and welcomes it with open arms. A warm, heavy drowsiness settles within her, stretching languidly like a cat. She thinks of the bed she has to return to. She wonders if Mira is back yet. And for once, she thinks about the future, and meeting an old friend for breakfast.

She turns back the way she came, and leaves the streets before anyone wakes.

Mira is asleep when she returns, but she quickly pulls her into the cocoon of warmth and presses her face into Diana’s hair. Diana smiles, despite herself, and curls into Mira, enjoying the weight of her arm draped over her side.

“How was your walk?” Mira mumbles into her hair, the words sliding together in sleep. Diana sighs.

“Good,” she says, letting the warmth seep into her. “Spoke to an old friend. We might go out to breakfast later. We’re not leaving today, right?”

“No,” Mira murmurs, and tugs her closer. “S’good.”

Diana relaxes into the mattress. She doesn’t know if she’ll sleep, but it was nice to get a change to relax. She is cradled by the warmth, and it feels safe to be held by someone. It’s been a long time since she’s felt safe anywhere.

“Do you wanna come with?”

Mira hums, but Diana can’t tell if that’s a yes or a no. She just turns and watches the sun rise through the curtains, and waits until its rays move across the bed and into her eyes.

And then her phone lights up. It’s Rebecca. Surprisingly, the cafe she mentions isn’t that far. Diana smiles. The last tension she’s been holding seems to leave her body. Some things aren’t ruined. Some things she gets to keep.

Mira snores softly beside her. The sun is warm on her face.

But she pulls herself out of bed. Mira reaches out to the space she just held, her hand grappling the sheet in search of her. Diana sits on the bed and presses a kiss into her temple.

“Hey,” she says, “Come with me, sleepy.”

Mira blinks her eyes open, and yawns. “Where are we going?”

“I’m meeting my friend,” she explains again. “You should come say hi. Show her you’re not a— that you’re a good person.”

“Am I a good person?” Mira scrubs her eyes, “If I was terrible, would you let me sleep?”

“No,” Diana says, “I have other friends for you to meet, in that case.”

“Oh,” A mischievous glint enters Mira’s eyes, and she playfully pulls Diana back into her arms. “We’re meeting each other’s friends now, are we?”

“Just one.” But she blushes anyway as Mira’s teeth graze her ear.

“Will you make it up to me, if I come?” Mira’s voice purrs in her ear.

Diana turns around to face her, so close their foreheads are touching. “I’ll make it up to you, and then you’ll come.”

Mira’s eyes glint in the morning light, and she pulls Diana into a kiss. But Diana breaks away before it can go any further, despite how her body wants to return to the bed.

“No, no,” she says, lifting Mira’s hand off her. “Breakfast. Meet Rebecca.”

Mira drapes across the bed. The sun slides across her shoulders. Her back. Her gaze tracks Diana. For a long moment, Diana wonders if she might refuse to go with her. But slowly, laboriously, Mira pulls herself from the bed.

“Okay,” she says, “lead the way.”

Rebecca grabs her in a hug as soon as she nears the cafe. For a moment Diana is just smothered in it, all this happiness inside her as she clings to her friend, as Rebecca clings to her.

“It’s so good to see you. It feels like it’s been forever.” Rebecca says, pulling away. “And this is your friend—oh.”

Diana looks between them. Rebecca is staring at Mira, the smile sliding off her lips. Diana frowns. Mira looks at the pavement.

“Do you know each other?” Diana looks over at Mira, who doesn’t meet her gaze.

“She was the one who told me about DCOM,” Rebecca says, still frowning. 

“Good to see you,” Mira says.

After a moment, Rebecca shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says, “Good to see you, too.”

Diana turns to Mira, “Can you get me a latte? I’d like to ask Rebecca something.”

Mira stares at her for a long moment, before her lips twitch into a grin. “Sure,” she says, and disappears inside.

Diana joins her friend at the table. “What was that about?”

Rebecca rubs her forehead. “I just… I kept thinking about what you said about it. How it was messed up. Things in the contract. Escape rooms. I’m sure there’s more that you’re not telling me. I really didn’t know anything about it. Things were getting bad again and maybe I was just purposefully ignoring how sketchy it was.”

Rebecca pauses to sip her drink. She shakes her head, her curls swinging from the movement. “But I just...I had this weird feeling when that girl— Mira, was talking about it. When she gave me the pamphlet. I almost didn’t give it to you. But then he showed up at work and I just, I had to get you out.”

Diana swallows the sudden lump in her throat as the memory resurfaces.

“But I,” Rebecca cradles her drink. “I never thought that DCOM could be worse than what was happening here. But that was so stupid. And it seems like something did happen.”

Diana suddenly wishes she had something to do with her hands. She wishes she could have something to hide behind, and find a way to either take back the words she had spoken about it during their phone call or to tell the truth completely. But the half-truths would only make her feel guilty. Everything did.

“It’s not your fault,” Diana says, “It’s one of those things that was going to happen. They...they picked me for it.”

“What do you mean?”

It was true, at least. “The people in charge. They selected all the candidates. They knew you would get me involved. And if you didn’t, I would have ended up there some other way.”

Rebecca freezes. “Oh,” she says.

Diana narrows her eyes. “What?”

Rebecca presses her lips together. “Nothing,” she mutters, “it’s just, if they had you all picked out, then I guess Mira didn’t have to sleep with me to get that pamphlet to you.”

“Oh,” She blinks, “oh, Rebecca, I’m sorry.”

Rebecca closes her eyes and seems to force her shoulders to loosen. “It’s fine,” she says, “I didn’t realize Mira was on some mission. Here I thought we were just having some fun. Silly me. Why sleep with someone if you can’t recruit their friends for some weird experiments?”

Something stirs in her memory. 

“It’s alright,” Rebecca shakes her head. “I’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“It’s fine.” Rebecca reaches across the table. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” she sighs. Something turns over inside her. She doesn’t want to focus on it. Nothing good would ever come of it. She knows that by now.

Rebecca takes her hand away and folds her arms. “How much do you really know about her? How long do you think she was watching us before the mars mission thing?”

“I don’t know,” Diana says, “the whole organization was super shady. And she’s not a part of it anymore.”

Rebecca narrows her eyes. “Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. Before either of them can say any more on the topic, Mira returns with a coffee in both hands, and places one of them down in front of her.

Diana murmurs her thanks and Mira nods stiffly. She still must feel uncomfortable in front of Rebecca. Diana wishes she could reach over and take Mira’s hand, but she’s sitting too far away.

Rebecca glances at her phone. “I don’t mean to pry, but any chance you’ve thought about coming home? We miss you at the hospital.”

“I mean, I’ll have to go back eventually.” She sighs, The director knew about her troubles with her ex, and gave her all the time she might need to “get it sorted out.” The problem was that she had no idea what sorted out even meant anymore. She had gone to DCOM, and everything was worse now.

The silence between them is icey. Rebecca won’t look at Mira. Mira won’t look up from the floor. Diana just looks between them, helplessly.

Suddenly, Mira stands. “I think I should go,” she says, passing by Diana’s chair.

Diana reaches back to grab her, gently. “What? No.”

Mira stills patiently in her grasp. “I’m making it awkward.”

Diana twists around. “No, you’re not. I wanted you to meet her.”

“And I met her.” Mira studies the pavement. 

Diana lets her go. She disappears around the corner. Diana fights the urge to put her head in her hands.

“To be fair, it was kind of awkward,” Rebecca says, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.

Her chair scrapes against the sidewalk. “I have to go catch up with her,” she says, “I’m sorry.”

Rebecca waves her hand. “Saw that coming,” she says, “keep in touch, alright? Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” she says. “And thank you, Rebecca. The mars mission thing sucked but...it wasn’t the end of the world.”

“Mira!” She catches up to her just a block from the hotel, panting a bit from having to jog.

Mira arches an eyebrow at her, but doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t keep walking, either, which Diana takes as a win.

“So,” Diana catches her breath. “Can I ask what that was about, back there?”

“You can ask,” Mira mumbles, before turning to walk into the lobby. “Coming?”

Diana follows behind her, patiently, but Mira doesn’t continue. It seems clear that Diana might have to drag this out of her.

“Well,” Diana crosses her arms as Mira jabs the elevator button. “What happened with you and Rebecca?”

Mira stares at the elevator doors, as if willing it to appear faster. “Nothing,” she shrugs, “I had to get the pamphlet to you. It had to be through someone you trusted. No string attached for Free the Soul. As for Rebecca, it was just a night we had together. I don’t know.”

“There wasn’t any other way to bring it up?”

Mira casts her an inquisitive glance. “What’s this really about?”

“Nothing,” Diana says, shoving back a surge of indignation. “I’m just trying to get the story straight.”

“There is no story,” The elevator doors part and they step inside. “I don’t really think it’s that deep. I had a job to do. Rebecca gave me an opening, and I took it.”

“That’s how it is for you? An opening?”

“I mean, yeah,” Mira leans against the wall. “It was all consensual.”

“I don’t think she consented to recruiting me for a death game.”

“That’s on her, then.” Mira shrugs. “She didn’t have to do it. And a lie by omission is the least of my crimes.”

Diana takes a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she says, a bit too sharply, “I think she was hurt by it.”

“It’s not my fault she feels guilty for inviting you to something she also knew nothing about,” Mira says, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper as the elevator door parts once more to allow a tired looking man in a suit to shuffle in.

“But you did play a part in it.” 

“I was working for a cult,” Mira shoots back. “Sue me.”

“I just—You're still responsible for that! You have to care about other people's feelings! And--" Her words are cut off as the elevator door opens once more and Mira breezes past her. She jogs to catch up once more. “Is that also what you do? Seduce people to get what you want?”

Mira doesn’t look at her. Her voice is flat. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“Is that what this is?” Diana’s heart is beating sharp in her chest.

Mira unlocks the door, and doesn’t answer.

Diana closes the door behind then. “Mira.”

“Does it matter?” An edge of frustration finally seeps into Mira’s voice as she veers to the opposite side of the bed, the window a gray backdrop behind her. “It can be whatever you want it to be, okay? Isn’t that what it always was?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means—” Mira gestures around, before letting her hands drop to her sides. She lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re mad at me for sleeping with your friend to get what I wanted. But now you’re here, and have been for a long time now, since that first hotel, trying to get me to fill some hole in you. But it was never about me. ” 

“Well, I never asked you to do that!” Diana snaps, “Here I thought it was something you wanted to do, always calling me shit like princess and kitten—”

“But you wanted me to! You loved it! You never told me to stop, did you? You just wanted to be wanted. You wanted someone to kiss it all better, just like Eric did! And I was always good at doing that for other people. I knew what to do.”

“I can’t help that. That’s not my fault. That’s not fair,” Diana spits, “You thought you knew what I wanted, but you were the one who decided to keep going with it! And if I was reading the signs wrong—”

“You were going to see what you wanted to in me no matter what. You think you’re the first person to go around sexualizing me?” Mira snaps, cutting her off, “You think I don’t deal with this shit all the time? Anything I did, you would have taken as an opening. And you did!”

“You returned it!” Diana shouts back, “It wasn’t an opening, I wasn’t calculating anything. I was interested and you seemed interested back, was I wrong?”

“We didn’t even know each other, and I knew what you wanted when I left that hickey.” Mira sneers, “And now it’s all about feelings and knowing each other? I’m just a distraction.”

“Yeah, I did want to know you!” Diana shouts, “I didn’t tell you all that shit about me because I didn’t want us to be vulnerable!”

“The only thing you ever asked about me is stealing hearts!” Mira’s voice raises to match hers. “That’s the only thing you find worthwhile about me. I have a family, and a life outside of this, and people I need to protect. But all you ever asked me about was how to keep a heart beating! How the fuck else am I supposed to take that?”

“Well, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“How else could you mean it? You never even tried to ask! You just sat around waiting for me to tell you shit about me, while rambling about your own life and kissing me, and then just hearts this, and hearts that. And now you’re here taking the moral high ground because your friend has her feelings hurt because she invited you to a death game that I suggested? How is that my fault?”

“Because you lied to her!”

“I lie to people, sweetheart!” Mira snaps, leaning over the bed, “And sometimes I kill them, too! And you knew that, and you loved it. This isn’t news to you.”

Diana opens her mouth to respond, but Mira just keeps going.

“And let’s face it,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “There’s nothing I could do that would be bad enough to make you want to leave. You’re here because you think I’m so much worse than you, so you can do whatever you want while still telling yourself you’re better than me. And then you can go back to your nice little life knowing that you never had to get your hands as dirty as I did.”

“That’s not true,” Diana forces her way in, cutting Mira off. “I'm sorry you see it that way, but that’s not my reality, and you don’t get to tell me what I think.”

“Isn’t it reality? I can kill and seduce people and stab them with knives and needles, but no matter who you are or what you do, you comfort yourself with the fact that you think I’m worse! You think I don’t see it?

“You’re making a lot of assumptions here.” Diana finds her voice, strongly forcing herself back into the conversation. “And I cared about you. I do care about you. I wanted to know you. Maybe at first, yeah, maybe it was like that. But not anymore. Not for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Mira scoffs, “what changed? Nothing. But I’ve always known who I am. And you still don’t have a clue.”

“I never needed you to do any of that,” Diana snaps, baring her teeth. “Sorry to say that being with you hasn’t solved any of my problems, or made me feel better than I am. I never expected you to save me—”

“Oh please, you wanted me to be an escape for you so badly!” Mira jabs a finger at her, “you were batting your eyelashes at me since before we even left the motel parking lot! It was never about who I was. Anyone who could take you away from what you were feeling was worthy enough for you. And now you’re going on about feelings and wanting to know me? What a joke.”

“What? I wasn’t— batting my eyelashes ,” She hisses, “And this isn’t about that. I’m trying to talk about the fact that you slept with my friend just to get me into the Decision Game.”

“And I want to talk about the fact that I’m one big rebound. I’ve never been ashamed of that.  And after Sigma left you, I was all that’s left.”

“This isn’t about Sigma,” Diana feels her face heating up, “I’m not so desperate that I just turn to the next available person.”

“Oh yeah? I’m not the one that got pregnant at the Decision Game, am I?”

“ Fuck you,” Diana spits, seeing red. Her hands shake. She almost wants to lunge across the bed. “You have a lot of nerve to bring that up. You have no idea what it was like.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” Mira interrupts her again, “After your prince from another world didn’t want you, there had to be someone. You couldn’t just be alone.”

“Oh yeah? Was it just me then? There was never anything in this for you? When you came to me that night all upset, and told me about the hearts you took, was that just because of me and my neediness too?”

“I mean, I tried ,” Mira says, exasperated, “Maybe I did want you to know me, after a bit. Maybe it wasn’t just a hookup. But I’m talking about before all that. You just didn’t want to feel bad.”

“I always feel bad!” She explodes, “I feel bad right now! You never took any of that away from me, and I never expected you to. It didn’t just run to you as some coverup—”

“You did at DCOM!”

Diana forces herself to take a deep breath, though her whole body is locked and tense. “What are you even talking about?”

Mira draws her hand down her face, and is quiet for a long moment. Diana thinks back to the comment she made about a hickey. That’s right. She did have a mark on her neck at the start of the Decision game. She remembers Sigma staring at it. But she hadn’t known where it was from.

She feels cold. “Did something happen before the Decision Game started? Something I don’t remember?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mira mutters, “I don’t know.”

She glares at her. “What? Did we have a real emotional connection before we did..whatever happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Mira says, “You weren’t going to bed. You were moping around the lounge and Delta told me to go hurry up and make sure you get injected. So I did.”

Diana narrows her eyes. “Yeah?”

A voice drifts through her memory, floating to the surface. Oh kitten, I’ve done much more dangerous things than that.

Diana frowns. “Tell me what happened.”

Mira sighs. “There’s nothing to tell,” she says, “I swear. You were lonely, and staring at me. I gave you an opening and you took it.”

“You gave me an opening?” She spits, “Are you serious? This is how you’re going to do this? Fuck you.” Her hands are shaking. She can hardly see through her rage. “I can’t believe I spent so much time here. You did what you had to do to inject me with drugs you knew would erase my memory. You would do anything to get what you want and not even feel bad.” 

“I don’t want it to seem like you weren’t into it! You kissed me.”

“It’s not about who kissed who!” Diana snaps, “I can’t believe you don’t get this! I didn’t give you the okay to erase my memory and do whatever you want to people! You lied to Rebecca and then blamed her for not somehow knowing what she was getting me into? You kissed me knowing it was just to get me where I needed to be? You just use people! Those are your actions! And then you accuse me of using you?” She laughs, harshly.

Mira blinks. “I’m sorry,” she says, softly. Diana shakes her head.

“You’re not,” Diana says, gathering her things. “You’re never sorry.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” Mira says. “I... I wasn’t thinking.”

“But it did hurt me,” Diana says, snapping her bag closed. “Intent had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t make it okay,” Mira says, “And I'm not trying to make you stay. I just...I did like having you here. It wasn’t all bad.”

Diana swings her bag over her shoulder, and sighs. “It wasn’t all bad,” she echoes. “And it was fun. But this was too fast. We didn’t know anything about each other. I’m sorry for my part in that. But not anything else.”

Mira just stares at her, silently. Feeling emboldened, Diana continues.

“And just, think for yourself, okay? I know you can. I know you know what’s right. I should have...maybe I romanticized you too much. But you just don’t have to do what other people tell you to, like that makes it okay.”

She’s not angry. She’s just sad. It lays heavy and cold in her chest. She turns towards the door. Mira doesn’t say a word. The door clicks quietly behind her. For a moment, Diana stands in the empty hallway, and breathes. The world is quiet around her. It feels like her and Mira are the only two people in the world, with just this door between them. 

She would have once felt like this was impossible. That moving forward was impossible, and so was being alone. She lets out a long breath. And starts to walk, with no one beside her but herself.

She expects herself to feel stupid. How often has she been here? How many times has she been in Rebecca’s passenger seat, failing again and again?

But it’s different. She doesn’t know how to explain it. She just watches the highway pass by. There is no wind in her hair. No one to hold onto. She can just sit and rest her head on the seat. She doesn’t need to hold herself up.

Rebecca doesn’t ask. She just offers Diana a commiserating smile, as if she knew this would happen. But Diana doesn’t want to know if she had guessed or not. She just wants to be in the silence. Be with herself. She hasn’t been with herself in a long time.

The world passes silently around her and she watches it with lazy, half lidded eyes. No matter what happens to her or where she goes, she is always just her. And maybe it’s time she stopped hating herself for it. It wouldn’t change it. She would never not be her.

And if no one else would take care of her, maybe she should do it. She’s the one that can pick herself up. She always has.

It’s a strange feeling. She’s so used to beating herself up. For going over things so many times in her head. What had she done wrong? What had she done to deserve it?

But maybe it was different now. Or maybe she’s just too tired, but she thinks that sometimes things just happen. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And maybe they aren’t all good or all bad. With the way the timelines work, what meaning did any of it have? 

Why should she waste time feeling bad about every choice she makes? That doesn’t mean she can just do what she wants. But sometimes choices were just choices. All she can do is keep going. That was always her only option.

But moving forwards wasn’t the same as running away. There was nowhere she could go to run away from herself, though she had tried and tried again. And all of her problems would still be there. Everything would still be there. She would always just be herself.

She rolls down the window. The wind pushes her hair back. She feels free. Not good or bad. What right did she have to make any sense of it? She just needed to be here, and just for a moment not think about anything.

But it’s always just been her carrying herself through it all. That wasn’t a curse. It’s just what life was.

She leans her forehead against the window. The scenery blurs before her, all different forms of life reduced to shapes and colors, passing by without a thought. She was just part of that stream, and the things she did had monumental importance and yet hardly mattered at all.

And she carries this grief inside her wherever she goes. It pulls her down and even when she thinks that she can’t take another step, it doesn’t go away. It is always with her, laying on her shoulders. Digging its claws in.

“I just keep making mistakes,” she says, her throat so tense that the words can barely make it out. Everything inside her is swallowed by it. She is swallowed by it.

Rebecca takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m so sorry,” she says. But it doesn’t make it better.

“Even when I try not to care, I still get hurt,” Diana mumbles, “What’s the point in any of it?”

Rebecca looks at her with her big sad eyes. Everyone makes those big sad eyes at her. Everywhere she goes, everything she does. She is trapped in it. Every move she makes just sinks her in deeper.

“Good things will happen for you,” Rebecca says, “They can happen for you. I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

Diana glances at her. Her hands are clenched tight around the steering wheel. 

“I want to feel better,” she says, “I just don’t know how.”

Rebecca gives a hollow, knowing laugh. “Have you heard of therapy?” But of course she has. They both know that.

“I don’t know,” she says, tiredly. “Maybe I can try that again. Maybe.” And again. And again. There was never any end to it. There’s just too much to untangle. It all twists around inside her and hardly makes any sense. How can she put it into words for someone else, when she can hardly explain it to herself?

The argument she had with Mira swirls in her head. A part of her is still boiling with rage, at having her pregnancy thrown in her face, at how obvious it had apparently been that she wanted someone to save her, that she had run right into Mira just to be drugged by her instead.

But even more than that, something inside her starts to starts to take shape, and she stares out into the blurring landscape and thinks:

It wasn’t her fault.

It feels like she’s seeing herself outside of her body. Watching her own life. She didn’t do anything to make her ex hurt her. She didn’t make Delta set it up. All those things just happened to her. She didn’t force Mira to make out with her before injecting her. If the memory drug would have erased her memory of the night regardless, why hadn’t Mira just done it? 

No one was ever thinking of her. She had to be the one to do it. And she was tired, so tired of fending for herself, for fighting off these wild dogs that nip at her heels. Whenever she lets her guard down, there just becomes one more reason to keep it up.

And it was so hard— to live like that. It was grating, and dangerous, and draining. And she was exhausted by it. It was dragging her under. But what else could she do? She was out on the ocean all by herself. If she stopped treading water for a moment, what would happen?

She glances at Rebecca. No. Not alone. Not always. And there were so many more people she knew now. There had to be a way forward. Any way would count. She just had to force her feet to move. She just had to take that step.

Her phone vibrates. She glances at it.

“I know it’s hard,” Rebecca says, softly, “I’m going to be right here with you, okay?”

She lets out a shuddering breath. “Thank you,” she says, pressing her palm into her eyes. She isn’t going to cry. “You’re always here. I appreciate it so much. I really do.” 

Every fight with her ex. Every legal problem she had. Every moment she couldn’t speak up for herself, Rebecca always had her back.

She takes a deep breath. Dries her eyes. What other option was there but to keep going? When had she ever had the luxury of choice? She never did. But what else could she do? This was who she was. In every timeline, in every universe. She had to keep going. She didn’t have to do it for all those other Dianas. But she did have to do it for herself.

But it wasn’t right, what had happened to any of them. The trash disposal room and the teleporter room and the lounge. There was no need for any of it. And with all that, is it any wonder that she left with the one person she had thought might make her feel better, or at least distract her enough in the meantime?

Maybe one day, years from now, she’ll look back and know exactly what it was that she did wrong. She’ll be able to pinpoint the exact moment. The thing she shouldn’t have said. The move she shouldn’t have made.

But probably not. Most likely, she won’t understand a thing at all. She’ll just make new mistakes, and run out of ways to fix them. But she was still here, wasn’t she? That had to count for something.

But right now, she can’t find anything. There wasn’t one moment that soured it all. There was just the truth, and now she knew it. She opened herself up and wouldn’t regret that. But she knew it wasn’t what she needed. And she was right. And now here she was, back in Rebecca’s passenger seat.

But there was always time to try again. If not in this timeline, then the next. There was no way backwards for her. Any direction she went would push her forward, whether she liked it or not. 

“Can you drop me off somewhere?” she asks Rebecca, as they near the city. 

“Of course,” Rebecca says, flicking her turn signal on.

Picking herself up got harder every time she did it. And every rock bottom she hit just gave way to a steeper ledge underneath. And her nails were bleeding and brittle from trying to claw her way up, or at least slow her descent. But an object in motion stays in motion. She just has to try and change the trajectory.

She looks up through the glass. Faintly, just barely, she can still see the moon.

She clutches her phone in her hand. This wasn’t an ending, or a beginning. She feels the ghost of another Diana at her back, those pale, translucent hands on her shoulders. Steadying her. Steadying herself.

She can feel that timeline thrumming inside her. She can feel that Diana’s short breath on the back of her head. Her cold hands. The way the moon had slowly killed her. And she had loved Sigma, then, with her whole heart, and it hadn’t been enough.

Maybe they had known it would happen like this. Maybe they thought that any time they had together would be better than living separately. Maybe dying on the moon with someone she loved would always be better than the alternative, the ruins of a civilization she destroyed, surrounded by a virus she released, with every new death just another lash against her soul, another stone on her back.

But on the moon, she was loved. Even if it was just for a little while. Even if Sigma wasn’t the one she had gone to DCOM with. There was a light in him. She wanted to protect him. She couldn’t.

And she feels that weight. She feels that spectre. She is the last proof of it, that they even ever existed at all. Because some version of her had died and would go on to die. That Diana was locked in a cycle of love and death.

But she isn’t. She’s free.

Sigma opens the door. His gaze softens. “Hey,” he says, “welcome back.”

She feels all of these emotions that aren’t hers. Or maybe they are. Maybe they’re all hers. All the love she has inside her that has nowhere to go. The hope they had. The future they wanted. She was grieving it. She grieves so many things.

She smiles, shakily. “Hey,” she says, as he lets her inside.

It’s a small place. He didn’t need much, he told her. He was thinking about going back to school to finish his Ph.d, just to have it.

“But maybe I won’t,” he says, leading her into the living room. “I don’t need to be Dr. Klim anymore. But I miss having something to learn. But I don’t want to be around all those kids. It’s weird.”

She sits down on the couch.

“Anyway,” he says, “how are you? Can I get you anything?”

“Um,” she tries to think. She could use a moment to gather her thoughts. “Do you have tea?”

“Yeah,” he says, “Jasmine, right? Or do you drink different teas now?”

She smiles, sadly. “No,” she says, “just jasmine.”

She hears cabinets opening. The sink running. She glances around. There are some plants clustering the corner of the room by the window. There’s a small balcony that hardly has room to walk into.

“Are you becoming a gardener?” She calls into the kitchen. Sigma laughs.

“I heard you could grow new plants out of cuttings from succulents,” he answers, “It reminds me of cloning. I thought I’d play around since my landlord won’t let me have cats and I was feline sad about it.”

She smiles.

“So, what brings you back here?” She can hear the forced nonchalance in his voice, “Just a visit?”

She sighs. Sigma reappears in the doorway with two mugs in his hands. “That bad, huh?”

“No...” she says, “Yes. Maybe.”

He places her mug down on the coffee table. She watches the steam curl into the air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Instead of answering, she curled her knees towards her chest. Protected. “You sound better,” she comments, instead of answering.

He leans back in the chair across from her. “I’m okay,” he says, “it took a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he glances at the window. “The first time it rained I stood out in it for a long time and caught a cold. And I thought it would make me feel good to be here, but it just made me sad. And sniffly. And then I wanted to tell someone, but didn’t know who.”

“Oh,” she says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, loosely, “it’s alright,” he says, “What did I expect? It’s not all a movie.”

She lets out a knowing sigh.

“That’s a lot of sighs,” Sigma says, reaching over to rescue the tea bag from their mugs. “I’ll have to start charging you for them.”

She smiles. Tired. Robotic. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” He says, “make tea? It’s easy.”

“No,” she says, “you just seem different now. Lighter.”

His gaze becomes pensive as he curls his hand around his mug. Just to hold it. Just to feel the warmth. For a while, she just watches how the steam rises in the light. She thinks about her long car ride. The fight with Mira. The 4am phone call. It was a long day.

“I don’t know if I am any lighter,” Sigma admits, “I guess I just know how to handle it better. But I made a lot of mistakes in the timeline I came from that I’ll never be able to fix. But I was thinking, you know? About— about the bluebird.”

Her hand reaches instinctively to her necklace. She remembers him telling her about it, and then telling her again, so many timelines overlapping, so many voices, let me tell you the story of Mytyl and Tytyl, two siblings who are asked to find a bluebird…

She nods. Sigma shifts his gaze away.

“I always wondered about it. The bluebird is gone in the morning. Is happiness always out of reach? Or maybe it was just a fool’s errand. Maybe that’s what all of this was.”

He presses his lips together, and stares directly out the window. And for a long time, no one says anything.

“I mean,” his voice is tight with tension. “Isn’t that what this all was? I gave away so much of my life, and now I don’t fit anywhere. And in the end, did it really matter if I was at the Decision Game or not? I mean—” he glances at her. “It mattered. Biologically. But, you know.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

“And I just keep thinking,” he says, gaze still pulled firmly to the side, “that this must be some kind of joke. That this isn’t really how it ended, because how could it? This is the bluebird. This is supposed to be it. I knew how the story would end, but I’m still surprised.”

“I’m really sorry,” she says, her sadness sticking in her throat. 

Finally, he shifts his gaze to her. “Don’t be,” he says, quietly, “you were the only good thing about any of this.”

And all of the feelings inside her thrash about, and she can hardly say a word. She just nods. She didn’t ask to be the only good thing. She didn’t know what she was to him until it was too late to make a difference.

“And, I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I put a lot of expectations on you. I wanted that happiness. I wanted to feel like I had earned it. But Delta used us both, and then he threw us out. And neither of us were happy. It was good for you to leave. We wouldn’t have been good together.”

Something in her releases. She nods again. Her head bobs up and down. Sigma slides his gaze away, and stares thoughtfully into his tea.

“But I was thinking,” he says again. “The bluebird. Maybe I was chasing you all this time. When you died on the moon, I almost couldn’t handle it. The only hope I had was that I had to make sure the AB project worked, not only so we could save humanity, but so that I could see you again. I would know you were safe. So all that time I was chasing it. And now you’re here and I— I guess I’m finally realizing it. I lost my chance forty five years ago. It’s been over for a long time. That love isn’t going to happen to me again.”

And finally, whatever he had been holding onto seems to slip away. His face crumbles with a sadness she can only imagine, and yet it all feels so familiar to her. But she sits there, curled and still, and she watches him cry.

Has she seen him cry before? She can’t remember. Certainly not at the Decision Game. Not through anything that happened to them.

She slides off the chair and crosses the gap. And just for now, she holds him. And she doesn’t do it because of any other timeline, or any other Diana she might owe this to. She does it because he’s her friend. When she had no one to trust, she trusted him and Phi. Her family.

She releases him. He wipes his eyes. “Ugh,” he says, “Wow. Forty five years. That’s not how I was expecting this conversation to go. I wanted to ask about you.”

“You can ask about me,” she says, collecting her mug from the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at her. He was always looking at her with this reverence she didn’t deserve. But she holds his gaze. She’s just herself. His eyes are red rimmed. He grins, and shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he says, as they each take a long sip of their tea. “I had a point, though. About the bluebird. God, what was I even talking about? Something about chasing you? Yes. Right. Because then I was thinking, well, isn’t the joy in the journey? Like, maybe the bluebird wasn’t happiness. Maybe it was about a shared goal. And once Mytyl and Tytyl were working together to find it, they found the bird. But they can’t keep it, because they stopped journeying. Because happiness isn’t just something you get and then it’s over and you can go back to bed. It’s something you work on. And we all need other people to work with. That’s what I think.”

“I think that’s a good way of looking at it,” she says, “It sounds like you had a lot of time to think about it.”

“I did,” he said, “and I thought about you, too. And I...I think that whoever you are, that’s your right. I’ll always have my memories. But the Diana I knew is gone. I can’t live in that past. And for so long I spent all my time thinking about the future. The AB game. DCOM. Shifting. But there’s nothing else to plan for. And I can’t think about what the future might hold. I just have to be here, now.”

“Yeah,” she says, softly, “yeah, I get that.”

“And not to keep going on and on about this bluebird metaphor,” he says, gesturing with his mug, “But it really helps me put it into context. Like, the more energy you put towards this idea of happiness, this bluebird, the farther away it gets. The more certain it is that it’ll be gone in the morning. And for so long, all I did was put energy towards this idea of happiness, that I didn’t ever stop to wonder what happiness was. And now I’m all surprised when I don’t have it. Like, you idiot, you never even worked it out. You just did what you were told. And now there’s no one left to tell me. I have to do it myself.”

“You wanted to have the answer,” she says, “For so long, you were told that there would be this answer out there. Radical Six would be destroyed. But then you come here, and in how many timelines was Radical Six even a problem?”

“I know,” he says, emphatically, rubbing his face. “I know.”

“I think that makes a lot of sense,” she says, “I think I went on a similar journey myself. Because I’m back here, and I don’t know what happiness is. I don’t want to waste time chasing something I’ll never get. It just makes me tired.”

“So what happened, then?” Sigma leans back into the chair again. “With Mira. Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No,” she sighs, “It’s okay.”

But she stares into her tea instead. Sigma waits, and she just stares and stares. What can she say? What does she want to say?

“It was good,” she says, “In a way. It was good for me. To break away from...everything. Take time to process the Decision Game. I don’t know if I did process it yet. Or if I ever will.”

The words get stuck in her throat. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. And when she opens them, Sigma is still there.

“Maybe I wanted a distraction. Or I wanted someone who just didn’t know me so much. And I was just so sad and scared all the time. It was like the Decision Game brought back every bad thing that ever happened to me, and I just wanted someone to hold on to that was unapologetic. Stronger. But what you said was right. You can’t run forever. And there was a lot between us that we needed to talk about.”

“Do you regret it?”

But when she looks into Sigma’s eyes, she only sees honesty there. There was no hidden motive, no vendetta to be had.

“No,” she says, simply, “It was a good break. It was nice. But more and more I think I have to be on my own for a while.”

“That’s fair.”

“Yeah,” she says, “And I think we’re all on our own journeys. But you know,” she spares him a glance, “we can still be friends?”

“Yeah,” Sigma says, smiling ever so slightly, “I’d like that.”

She sips her tea, and smiles.

Diana answers her phone on the second ring. "Hello?”

“Hi.” Mira’s voice still sounds guarded.

“How are you?”

“.....Alright.”

“You’re in a new city?”

“I always am.”

“Yeah.” Diana shuffles the phone against her shoulder. “Listen—”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry how that turned out. If you felt like I was using you. If that was ever my intention. You deserve better than that.”

“Hm.”

“And thank you for taking me out of that parking lot. I think that no matter where I went, I was going to have to think about what happened at the Decision Game. But you made it more enjoyable.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” she says, “you’re one of the most interesting people I know.”

“You must not know a lot of people.”

She laughs, “I know a few more, now.”

For a moment, they sit in perfect silence, miles away.

“....I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah? You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not. I didn’t think I cared so much. But I was lonely when you left. I didn’t think I could be lonely.”

“I guess you can.”

“I can,” Mira echoes, “But it made me think about how I act. About how I acted. And you had every right to be upset. After everything I’ve done, to you and other people, how can I accuse you of using me?”

“Two things can happen at once.”

“Maybe. But I was careless with your feelings. I always had trouble with that. And I knew that, too. But I never wanted to do anything about it. And that hurts other people. It’s inevitable.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“You would. Not in like, a weird way. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Diana opens her door. She stands on her balcony. The sun shines on her face.

“....I don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“I mean… it’s good to be alone sometimes. And it’s good to learn about yourself. And I don’t know if I would have learned those things if I hadn’t met you, Diana.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. Empathy. Another kind of life for me. Is it even possible? I don’t know. But at least I can try to choose what my life is like, once I know what I want it to be. I spent so long telling myself that I couldn’t change, and I was scared to find out if I could. Because then, why was I acting the way I was when something better was in me all this time? Is something better in me?”

“Yeah. Wow.”

“I told myself there wasn’t, because I was scared to find out. And the people I hurt, including you, and all the hearts, they got hurt because of it. I don’t know how I feel about it. Like you said that one time. Is the feeling I get from it really just coming from me? Is it inside me somewhere? I don’t know. But I want to find out. Why not? I have time.”

“That’s true.”

“You gave me a lot to think about,” Mira says, “And I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. For apologizing.”

“Yeah,” the connection dims before Mira’s voice resurfaces. “...a lot, you know? And I don’t know what I want. But the road is clear, and the sun is out, and I thought I’d give you a call. Because I don’t want you to be upset because of what I did. Are you?”

“Upset?” Diana sighs, “I’m upset about a lot of things. But also I’m not. I’m just me. One day at a time.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ve been seeing a therapist again for the stuff with my ex, and talking to Akane about everything else. She knows a lot about this timelines stuff, and all the guilt that comes with it. She’s really smart.”

“Yeah. Seemed like it.”

“I mean, it’s still hard. There are still bad days. I don’t know if those stop. But I’m just doing what I can.”

“.....I worried that I really messed you up. That you wouldn’t trust anyone. Because of what we did at DCOM. Because of what we did after.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I didn’t trust anyone long before I met you,” She gives a bitter laugh. “But I’m starting to. And I’m glad you called. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Diana takes a deep breath. The air is warm and clear. The snow is melting.

“It’s okay if we can’t be friends,” Mira says, “I respect that. I just wanted to call.”

“Thank you,” she says, “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, okay Mira?”

“I will. You too.”

“And listen, if you’re ever in the area, maybe we can...I don’t know. Get lunch. If you say you want to change, then I wonder who that future version of you is?”

“I wonder, too,” Mira says, “I guess I’m going to meet her.” 

“That’s good, then. I’d like to meet her, too.”

She stays on the line. She watches the flower buds poke their way through the earth. Her past doesn’t define her. The future doesn’t either. She is without definition. No one can claim her, not her ex or Delta, or anyone else.

The future is before her, free and boundless still.  And it’s hers.

When she reaches the cafe, Sigma has two cats on his lap, one climbing his calf, one hanging onto his shirt, and one stretched across his shoulders. Diana arches an eyebrow at the sight.

“Good Meow-rning,” Sigma says, hushed, “They’re sleeping. It’s nap time. You’ve got to be purr-fectly quiet. Phi hiss in the cafe. Her moms are here.”

She catches his eye. They share a glance. “Is it weird?”

“I don’t know,” Sigma says, “I’m trapped here. In purradise.”

“You’re doing important work,” she says, as another cat comes and rubs against her ankle. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

But she doesn’t move to leave just yet. She just watches. She can see Phi through the glass in the cafe section. She’s talking to someone, maybe one of her moms. And she can see the way Phi moves, the way she gestures, the way she laughs, that this is someone she spends time with. Her whole life, even.

“She was loved,” Diana says. Sigma carefully turns his head to look.

“Yeah,” he says, “She was. She’s a smart cookie. When I met her in the AB game, she was the one I relied on. I asked her, don’t you want to see how this ends?”

“Yeah? And what did she say?”

Sigma looks through the glass, fondly. “She did. And then we ended up here. And now there’s a future for her, too.”

Diana smiles. Phi was right. She always had a family that loved her. And Diana will always be grateful for that. And she’s even more grateful that she gets to be a part of it.

A door somewhere opens, and all of the cats abandon Sigma in order to crowd around the employee that entered, meowing loudly and twisting between her ankles. She smiles at the scene, at the employee’s feigned annoyance as the climbing continues en masse.

“Aw,” Sigma says, watching the scene, “it was nice while it lasted.”

Before she can respond, Phi notices them, and beckons them over. Sigma meets Diana’s gaze and raises an eyebrow.

“Well?” he says, “We’ve been spotted. Ready to go?”

She takes a deep breath, and finds that she is.