She manages a little smile. "Thanks. And sorry, that's ... I mean, that's so much feels like a huge understatement, considering." Fourteen million and change of anything is more than most human brains can hold, she's well aware. "I'm just a PhD student from Berkeley, you know, would have had a very boring life if I hadn't been the result of hugely illegal experiments, could happen to anybody."
(It's a joke. Sort of.)
"Anyway. Sorry to get all dark on you, we were supposed to be toasting to your hot girlfriend and your new deluxe accommodations. But. I'm sorry all that happened to you, too." Because under the circumstances, she's not sure if anyone from his home would have been in a position to say that, either because they didn't know what he'd been through or because they'd been coping with their own trauma.
because no one had said it, because too much of the planet had been through the same experience and few knew exactly what he’d seen during that battle, and it’s not like Stephen gave them a chance to know either. Which left him with just— guilt-trips from the likes of Doctor West, second-guessing what he’d done and how it had played out, as if Stephen himself hadn’t lain awake wondering the exact same thing.
“Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly. Then, predictably pivoting quickly, “And actually, we were supposed to be toasting your birthday, and drinking in general, and not talking about actual Work work, so I think we’re actually still well within that remit.”
It’s a curious feeling, treading past these boundaries. He builds stubborn walls around his professional relationships, but it’s getting easier and easier to talk to Cosima simply person-to-person. Realising to his own surprise that he doesn’t mind it, actually: being friends, not just harried scientists commiserating about being trapped in Medieval Times, not boss and employee holding each other at an aloof distance.
"Yeah, I guess we're going out of order, usually you get much drunker before you hit existentialism at a birthday party. But. Thanks. It was really cool of you to remember." And as much as they both have to do, she's missed having people in the organization she just enjoys hanging out with, to no particular end. That, in itself, is a considerable birthday gift (though she's not mad at the wine).
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(It's a joke. Sort of.)
"Anyway. Sorry to get all dark on you, we were supposed to be toasting to your hot girlfriend and your new deluxe accommodations. But. I'm sorry all that happened to you, too." Because under the circumstances, she's not sure if anyone from his home would have been in a position to say that, either because they didn't know what he'd been through or because they'd been coping with their own trauma.
no subject
because no one had said it, because too much of the planet had been through the same experience and few knew exactly what he’d seen during that battle, and it’s not like Stephen gave them a chance to know either. Which left him with just— guilt-trips from the likes of Doctor West, second-guessing what he’d done and how it had played out, as if Stephen himself hadn’t lain awake wondering the exact same thing.
“Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly. Then, predictably pivoting quickly, “And actually, we were supposed to be toasting your birthday, and drinking in general, and not talking about actual Work work, so I think we’re actually still well within that remit.”
It’s a curious feeling, treading past these boundaries. He builds stubborn walls around his professional relationships, but it’s getting easier and easier to talk to Cosima simply person-to-person. Realising to his own surprise that he doesn’t mind it, actually: being friends, not just harried scientists commiserating about being trapped in Medieval Times, not boss and employee holding each other at an aloof distance.
places bow