Oof. York deflates slightly at that kind of underwhelming response, but then again, maybe she ought to just consider herself lucky that Carolina doesn’t seem like she’s still angry. She can’t tell what the fuck else Carolina is feeling, though, which doesn’t make her feel great.
“Well, that makes two of us,” York says, then immediately regrets it. Phrasing, phrasing. For once she has no idea what the fuck to say. Maybe it was a mistake to have Wash call her in after all. It feels like Carolina’s been holding this entire conversation at arm’s length, and York wonders if her ability to read the fucking room died and never came back. She coughs, then clears her throat, then, out of habit, traces her fingers over the neural implant at the nape of her neck. Fuck.
The awkward silence only stretches another beat or two before Epsilon flickers into view at Carolina’s shoulder.
“Oh my god, C, you have got to be fucking kidding me. What happened to using your words?”
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“Well, that makes two of us,” York says, then immediately regrets it. Phrasing, phrasing. For once she has no idea what the fuck to say. Maybe it was a mistake to have Wash call her in after all. It feels like Carolina’s been holding this entire conversation at arm’s length, and York wonders if her ability to read the fucking room died and never came back. She coughs, then clears her throat, then, out of habit, traces her fingers over the neural implant at the nape of her neck. Fuck.
The awkward silence only stretches another beat or two before Epsilon flickers into view at Carolina’s shoulder.
“Oh my god, C, you have got to be fucking kidding me. What happened to using your words?”