( She opens her mouth, intent to answer. Intent to force out the first word — though not yet in English; the si dies on her lips before it can manifest. She's pulled into a moment that isn't here, that isn't her, that doesn't belong to her — but that feels close. Feels like it could. Like it could be her and Delilah, or her and Rebecca. The way the kick shoots out, the weight of a gun in her hand — these things are both so familiar to her, she can practically feel herself doing them.
But she isn't.
It's a girl with blue hair, and her younger sister. It's a man who is and isn't a father. It's soldiers, and it's an injection to the neck — she's had those before, too. The way they make the world go black, the way she would wake up in a new place with new things in her body. Metal where bone was.
When the memory ends, there's an uncommon wetness in her eyes as she stares at Natasha, looking for the blue-haired girl behind the red-haired woman. The flowers are forgotten. The color pink is forgotten. Instead, what she wants to know is: )
no subject
But she isn't.
It's a girl with blue hair, and her younger sister. It's a man who is and isn't a father. It's soldiers, and it's an injection to the neck — she's had those before, too. The way they make the world go black, the way she would wake up in a new place with new things in her body. Metal where bone was.
When the memory ends, there's an uncommon wetness in her eyes as she stares at Natasha, looking for the blue-haired girl behind the red-haired woman. The flowers are forgotten. The color pink is forgotten. Instead, what she wants to know is: )
Did you get to keep her?
( The other girl. The sister, the friend? )