Work Text:
Your name is ROXY-413. You are in SPACE, where there are neither DAYS nor NIGHTS.
Nevertheless, your girlfriend's workday is running into the beginning of your night out.
Prototype Station Pi-Iota-Tau - fondly nicknamed ProSPIT by you and most of its other residents - works on a twenty-six hour rotation, enforced by artificial light. Right now the corridors are dimly-lit, and your quarters (large, comfortable, but not beyond your means) have defaulted to semi-darkness. By the light of Rose's computer rig, you're looking at your reflection in a full-length mirror.
You haven't quite finished getting ready yet, but you like what you see.
You're not unfathomably beautiful. Your beauty is totally fathomable, thanks, considering who your progenitor is. "Roxanne", as her creative team dubbed her, is a living legend. Her designers won prizes for her - and now she's winning prizes of her own. She created Calliope. God, what a masterpiece that girl is. Too artsy for cloning, but her genome is spectacular and Roxanne made that all by herself. If anyone needed proof that she's not just a pretty face and a rockin' body, that was it right there. Stick a QED on the end. Proved.
And if she drinks a little too much and swears a little too often and owns a few too many hilariously mutated black cats, people just shrug their shoulders and say, hey, nobody's perfect.
(That never stopped being true or anything.)
Across the room, Rose, already dressed for the evening, is busy being an oracle. She works with two other psychics on a precognition team: two lightbearers (her and a Vriska) and a pathfinder (Teiresias-1, or Terezi), plumbing the depths of the future for anyone who can pay. Right now they're working on something for a corporate negotiator. They get a lot of those. Everyone's looking for an edge, and Rose is fine with them getting it so long as the money's good. You just wish the overtime didn't eat into your evenings.
You also wish Vriska wasn't such a huge bitch. What's she saying now? You pad over barefoot and peer at the screen.
AG: So Rose - I fiiiiiiiinally figured it out.
AG: I know who your mother is.
...Oh no she didn't. Having a mother would imply Rose is organic, which almost nobody is these days for good reason: shorter lifespan, unpredictable health issues, congenital weaknesses... It's not a subject for polite discussion - or, apparently, for Terezi's team chat.
GC: OH Y3S
GC: TH4T 1S 3X4CTLY WH4T W3 N33D R1GHT NOW
GC: 1NSULTS
GC: 1 4M FUCKD33P 1N 4 POSS1B1L1TY TR33
GC: 4N HOUR 4ND 4 H4LF 1NTO OV3RT1M3
GC: 4ND MY N4V1G4TOR 1S TOO BUSY C4ST1NG SH4D3 4T MY TORCHB34R3R TO 4CTU4LLY FUCK1NG N4V1G4T3
GC: 1 H4V3 4 BR1LL14NT 1D34
GC: HOW 4BOUT YOU S4V3 TH3 M WORD FOR YOUR OWN T1M3
GC: 4ND G3T M3 TO TH3 J4CKPOT B3FOR3 MY N3UR4L P4THW4YS ST4RT FRY1NG
But the damage is done. Rose's jaw is set, and her lips have thinned to a dark line. Vriska's barb has found its mark. Fucking Mindfangs and their misanthropic bullshit. It stings to see her under siege like this. Disturbing her while she's jacked in would be stupid, though, so against all of your instincts you do nothing.
"Ten minutes, Roxy," she murmurs, startling you. You'll never get used to that - being read in two seconds flat, like a cheap entertainment feed skimmed over at a newsstand.
GC: B3G P4RDON >:?
Whoops, the headset picked that up. You cringe, but Rose is already back to work:
TT: Sorry, vocalised. Left is good.
GC: L3FT 1S T4K3 TH3 OFF3R
AG: Gr8, almost done. What happens if he tries for a caveat?
GC: SP3C1F1CS!
AG: Okay, okay! Try the timescale clause.
GC: TORCH?
TT: It could go either way. The key to success is in how he asks. Look at language, tone, attitude, that sort of thing.
GC: S34RCH1NG...
GC: THR33 M4JOR P4THW4YS
The conversation descends into shop talk again, and you turn away to finish getting ready. Despite your best efforts, you're still turning the M word over in your mind. Rose has never told you what she is, but you've always known she's something off-standard. She lives too regimented a life not to be: regular sleep to stop bags forming under her eyes, careful drinking to stave off hangovers, hiding blemishes with makeup. Her entire public identity washes away in the shower. Only once have you seen her naked in anything more than starlight, and she snapped at you and turned away; you switched off the light and touched her gently until she softened in your arms, and didn't tell her your batch was designed to see in the dark.
If Vriska's right, the little dark patch on your girlfriend's left thigh might be a birthmark. The idea ought to disgust you; instead, you feel a pull of tenderness and wonder, though you shouldn't, who her mother might be.
As you're pulling on your boots, Rose gives a slow sigh and relaxes in her chair. The golden glow before her eyes dissipates. They're finished. From across the room, you can just read the screen:
TT: Do you need me for the report? I oughtn't to keep Roxy waiting any longer.
GC: NO W3V3 GOT 1T
GC: H4V3NT W3 VR1SK4
GC: TH3 4NSW3R YOU W4NT 1S Y3S T3R3Z1 W3 H4V3
AG: Suuuuuuuure! Wouldn't wanna spoil your d8!
AG: Wow, I can't believe YOU of all people are d8ing a Roxanne.
AG: Does she know whose fuckchild you are?
That's it. It's on. You cross the room in three strides, pluck the headset from Rose's head, put it on your own and start talking. They can't hear you, and your threatening forced cheerfulness doesn't translate well to text, but the words will get your point across.
"Evening ladies, sorry to butt in - AG, you're a Mindfang-V, right? Whoo, Mindfang. What a killer. She was so good they had to change the law on how good you can make a person - plus they declawed her entire genome to stop an army of her going rogue and taking the whole goddamn sector. Split it right down the middle, thinkers and doers, and ran the clones from there. So, AG - Vriska - how about you guess what happened to Roxanne's genome after the law changed? No, forget that, I don't think I've got the time to wait while the gears turn."
AG: Hey, f8ck you!!!!!!!!
You ignore her. "They toned her spec down to fit the guidelines before they ran the next batch of clones." Beat. "Notice that little "next" there?" You smile coldly; even though Vriska can't see it, it feels right. "You got it: they'd already run one. Five hundred. Each and every one tagged and monitored because the law says Roxanne's statline's too goddamn good to walk around off the leash."
That's the background. Now for the punchline.
"Allow me to properly introduce myself: my full name's Roxy-Four-Thirteen."
You glower at the screen, as if she could feel you staring her down.
"You wanna go, you little bitch? Just you go ahead and call my lady another dirty word. I'll rip your fuckin' face off."
And that's when Terezi intervenes.
GC: TH4T 1S 3NOUGH! >:[
GC: S1NC3 TH1S T34M 1S CL34RLY COMPROM1S3D 1 W1LL WR1T3 TH3 R3PORT MYS3LF
GC: 4ND TH3R3 H4D B3TT3R B3 SOM3 FUCK1NG BOOTK1SS1NG COM1NG MY W4Y TOMORROW
GC: OR 1LL F1ND MYS3LF 4NOTH3R P41R OF CR3T1NS TO C4RRY
GC: 3V3RYBODY OUT!
There's a stab of pain behind your eyes as the client closes itself. You pull off the headset and curse. "Fuck! Does it always hurt that much when she dropkicks you outta the client?"
Rose plucks it from your fingers. "I wouldn't know; I've never personally given her cause to."
The frosty tone makes you wince. "You okay?"
"We're late," she says, and leaves without further comment.
All right. You won't push. Besides, she's right: you have a party to get to.
It's Twelfth Night, and the Sector Nine function hall is teeming with revellers. This is your kind of party: a Boy Strider at the decks and an English Adventurer behind the bar. The latter flashes you double pistols and a wink; you think you might know him, but you can't get a read on his ID-chip through the crowd. Rose follows in your wake, expressionless. You shouldn't have dragged her out. She always feels out of place in crowds, convinced that she's too short and unattractive to be welcome anywhere her reputation doesn't precede her. The fear isn't unfounded; people can be assholes to mishap prototypes and defective clones alike, and by all accounts organics have it even worse.
You always told yourself you didn't care what she was. With people the way they are, though, you're starting to think you can't afford not to care.
You're about to ask her if she wants to leave when an almighty crash makes you both jump. Several people scream. The lights go out. The music cuts off. You reach instinctively for Rose; she guides your hand to her shoulder. Within moments, you can see her again: she's wearing her hubtopband, the light from the holographic visor casting strange shadows on her face. She's checking in with her contacts. Good idea. You nod your understanding and turn your attention to your tabletwatch, selecting timaeusTestified from your list of contacts and opening a new dialogue. Dirk-300 is one of the station engineers. If anyone on your friends list knows what just happened, it's him.
TG: yo di-stri
TT: It seems that you're trying to find out what just happened in Sector Nine.
Aaand you've got his auto-responder. You fight the urge to scream.
TG: gfdi hal
TG: wheres dirk??
TT: The clone you're attempting to reach is currently occupied doing anything but talking to you. Please try again when you're less annoying.
TG: ruuude
TT: Please. I'm well on my way to technological singularity. As you would know if you had a brain as powerful as a planetoid-sized supercomputer, there's a point past which manners become largely irrelevant.
TT: What did just happen in Sector Nine?
TG: beats the fuck outta me
TG: big honkin CRASH & now all the lights are out
TT: According to internal communications, a Dersite ship is attempting to dock at the lower docking ring.
TT: It appears that their navigational sensors are offline.
Dersites. Great. Anyone else would've warned station control about the malfunction, but to a Dersite that's confessing a weakness to a stranger, punishable by ostracism from polite society.
TG: they ran right into us didnt they
TT: Bluntly, yes.
TG: ffs!
TT: Damage reports indicate that several power couplings have been severed, endangering vital systems across the station. Emergency backup power has been activated, but there may be intermittent loss of functionality as stationwide power levels are rebalanced to compensate. Further damage could cause widespread critical system failures, including but not limited to: lighting, artificial gravity, structural integrity and life support.
TT: Wow, it sucks to be a meatbag tonight.
TG: see that
TG: right there
TG: that is why i never talk to u
You close the chat window and rub the bridge of your nose. Li'l Hal is even more of a headache than his creator.
Rose is gone when you turn around. Hoping she still has her hubtopband on, you ping her a message.
TG: whered u go?
TT: En route to station control. They're trying to guide a damaged ship into the lower docking ring. They've just lost sensors in that entire sector.
TT: Naturally Terezi has informed somebody important that she's accustomed to flying blind and secured us a short term contract.
TT: By "short term" I mean I need to be up there five minutes ago.
TG: shit ok
TG: omw
You've never left a party so fast in your life.
After a wardrobifier quick-change (you hate the scratchy -ify! feeling, but like hell you're running in that dress) and a mad dash down a few corridors, you reach the transit terminal. The transport to the command level is waiting at a nearby platform, and you dive aboard just before the doors close. It's just you and Rose; nobody else seems willing to risk the transports right now. She's wardrobified herself into her lightbearer colours, probably for the same practical reasons as you. You take the seat beside her, but she doesn't look at you. Her visor is covered in scrolling text.
A moment later, your tabletwatch beeps. You tap it to pull up the display.
TT: You didn't have to come.
If she'd rather not look you in the eye or say this out loud, you're not going to challenge that. You concentrate on your tabletwatch. As you subvocalise, the words appear.
TG: u kidding?
TG: aint lettin u face vriska alone
The transport jerks. The lights go out for a few horrible seconds before it jolts back into life. In the dark, Rose presses herself closer to you.
TT: There are tens if not hundreds of thousands of people on this station, and if I fuck this up they could all die.
TG: yeah well u aint gonna fuck it up
TT: You don't know that.
TG: this is re what vriska said aint it
TG: cuz shes clearly fulla shit js
TT: No, she's absolutely correct.
TT: I have a mother. And a father. And they didn't love each other very much but nevertheless here I am, their misbegotten daughter: five foot and change of uneven follicles, poor conformation and deep-seated psychological problems that will no doubt eventually cause me to do an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the deep end and kill everyone in a three-mile radius. If I don't die of congenital liver failure first.
Ouch. You want to look at her, but you don't want to see the icy expression you feel sure is there.
TG: what i dont get is
TG: y does it matter who ur mother is?
TG: not like u can guarantee inheritance of anything like w/ a progenitor
TT: Because my mother is a progenitor.
TT: Your progenitor, to be exact.
Oh. So that's why Vriska was holding it over her head.
Genetically speaking, you're her mother.
TT: As I understand it the key components of her mistake were a very dull party, copious amounts of alcohol and an attractive stranger.
TG: wow
TG: so ur tellin me
TG: roxanne got drunk @ a party
TG: screwed some random
TT: And I happened. Yes.
TT: Sorry.
You only have to mull that over for a few seconds.
TG: yep
TG: totes believable
TG: get smashed, ride a dick & catch babies
TG: that is exactly the kinda stupid ass thing id do
TG: also explains y u smell so fuckin good i mean dear god
TG: & u no i couldnt decide if u were organic or a dropped prototype
TG: cuz random genetics should never come out THAT cute
TG: but this 100% figures
TG: no child of mine would ever NOT be a slammin hottie
You feel her move beside you. As you turn to look, your eyes meet. Her look of uncertainty almost breaks you then and there. You're not unfathomably beautiful. It's her beauty that's unfathomable, born of chance and circumstance and full of tiny imperfections. Building Roxanne took about fifty years in man hours and cost millions in wages and technology. Nature came up with Rose in the space of a night, and because of that - because she was never meant to be at all, never mind to be beautiful - to you she's the loveliest woman alive.
You put an arm around her. She tenses at a flicker of the lights. If you can just keep her calm until you reach the terminus, she'll handle the rest.
"I dated One-Eleven from my batch for a few cycles," you say, because you have to say something. "Combat medic. God, she was incredible. Would'a gone on seeing her if she hadn't gotten her ass shipped out to a hotzone. It's GSA, y'know? It's like...she's you, and that's safe and comfortable and right, but she's not you, so that's fuckin' fascinating. She had this scar on her - " Rose's unimpressed look stops you in your tracks; you wince and get back to the point. "...What I'm trying to say is...I felt something like that when I first saw you. Part of me just...knew you. That connection, that pull...it's the most powerful thing I've ever known. I couldn't not want you."
There's a quiet click and a change in the light as she switches off her visor. Her expression is full of understanding, and she doesn't need to say or subvocalise anything for you to know she felt the same way. You can't imagine how it must have been for her, though, tangled up in what are no doubt complex feelings about her mother, and there isn't enough time to unravel all that now. All you can do is be truthful about your own experiences; she'll volunteer hers when she's ready.
"So frankly, Rosie..."
Your hand finds its way up to the back of her neck, fingertips toying with the fine, downy hairs at the nape.
"...I could give a good goddamn if anybody else thinks you're beautiful or acceptable or right. You're right for me - and if I didn't know better I'd swear we were made that way."
Not before time - but too soon for you - the transport slows to a halt at the terminus. There's a flicker of frustration in Rose's eyes as well, as though she'd meant to respond to you. You hop out of your seat and hold out your hand for hers.
"C'mon. You got a day to save."
After a speech like that, by all rights you should have led her by the hand all the way to station command. What actually happens is that her sleeve snags on the transport door and tears right open, provoking a startled fuck! and then an oh, for fuck's sake! of consternation when she remembers that her wardrobifier only has two settings. You've tried persuading her to accept a better one, but she's never been good with gifts. You wonder if that's Roxanne's fault.
"Fine." She -ify!s herself back into her dress. "They've pulled me out of a party; that's their fault, not mine."
You can't help grinning. "Damn straight. Also you look about a million bucks."
"Silence, wench." But at least she smiles for a moment before hurrying on. "The others are already inside. The doors should let us in."
"Good, because I ain't waiting outside." She raises an eyebrow at you, but you're not backing down. "Vriska wants to give you hell? She can go through me. I could take a Mindfang-V with one arm tied behind my back."
She gives an odd smile. "Funny you should say that."
"Hm?"
"You'll see."
And you do see, once you're inside: the team's Vriska has only one eye, and her left arm has been replaced with an old-model cybernetic prosthesis. You know that doesn't make her any less dangerous - Mindfang-Vs are super-soldiers; they keep on fighting after losing far more body parts than this one has - but you refuse to be intimidated. She knows what your line's capable of. You fold your arms and shoot her a meaningful look. "You gonna be a problem, Mindfang-V?"
She sneers. The scar on her left cheek twists with the movement. "Excuse you, Firstbatch. Who has a station to save?" She beckons to Rose. "C'mon, glowball; jack in!"
Rose rolls her eyes, but doesn't hang about. She joins her two coworkers on the central platform. "Searching," she says, her voice cool and exact. "Confirm connection, Teiresias-One."
"Teiresias-One, confirmed; Torchbearer found," says the tiny woman at the front of the platform. Her voice is almost as strident in life as in text.
Rose nods acknowledgement. "Seer found. Confirm connection, Vriska-Eight-Triple-Eight."
The mountainous Mindfang-V steps in closer. "Vriska-Eight-Triple-Eight, confirmed. Torchbearer found."
"Navigator found."
"Seer commencing gestalt," says Terezi. "Torchbearer, light up."
"Lighting up."
Terezi flexes her fingers. "Seer has visual. Navigator, lock point zero."
"Point zero locked."
"Seer ready to begin future-path traversal. Gestalt in three...two...one..."
And then, all at once, they say, "Gestalt successful. Station: prepare docking clamps thirty-nine and forty. Dersite vessel: adjust course nineteen degrees X, eighty-six degrees Y."
The station crew relay the team's commands while you stand by and watch. This is the first time you've ever seen a working gestalt. Tiny Terezi stands at the head, sightless eyes staring straight ahead. Rose is on her right, one arm around her, the other hand cupped as though holding up a light. Vriska, on her left, has her hand on her shoulder. Their voices speak in unison, commands, headings, warnings. On the flickering viewscreen, the Dersite vessel drifts towards the waiting docking clamps.
It hits you then that the three women in front of you - all that stands between ProSPIT and disaster - are a blind mishap, a partially-sighted amputee and an unplanned organic.
Take that, shallow modern society; the pariahs are saving your asses.
When the docking clamps finally lock on, a cheer goes up from the crew. (You add a little whoop and some applause of your own, because damn, that was cool.) As the trio disengage from their gestalt, you run up to pull Rose into your arms. She sighs and softens against you. Must've been hard work, saving the day.
"I expect prompt payment, Commander!" says Terezi, snapping out a white cane and heading for the exit. "The goodness of my heart is dependent upon financial solvency."
Vriska snorts a laugh and takes a running step after her. You guide Rose along in their wake. Now that everyone's safe, you've probably worn out your welcome in the command centre.
The moment you're all outside and the door has slid shut behind you, Terezi turns and pokes Vriska sharply in the ribs. It's about as high as she can comfortably reach. "Listen, you. I don't care what your problem is - sort it out, or you know where the airlock is. And you - " Her white cane jabs at Rose's shin. " - call off your bodyguard. She has a pretty voice. I'd hate to have to make her brain run out through her nose."
As the three of you watch her walk away, cane swishing ahead of her, you tilt your head and remark, "I kinda like her."
Vriska snorts. "You would." She turns to Rose, but doesn't look her in the eye. "Just so you know, I don't actually care what you are. It's not a galactic fucking issue or anything."
"I have a birthmark on my left thigh."
You blink in surprise. Did Rose just say that out loud? Vriska fails to hide her disgust, and Rose looks grimly satisfied. "I don't care that you care," she says icily. "But if you ever let me see that you care, expect me to take full advantage."
Vriska waves a dismissive hand and turns on her heel. "Whatever..."
You don't bother watching her leave. You're looking down at Rose, squeezing her gently, saying "I like that birthmark," because you can't properly articulate how proud you are.
She nestles against your side - you marvel, not for the first time, at how well she fits there - and in lieu of all the things she can't yet say, she says, "It likes you, too."