nexus_crossings | On Second Chances

Yannow, it's not every day that Hippolyta Hollister is starstruck and speechless. Congratulations, Ambassador Spock. You've achieved what was previously thought impossible.

"...Erm. Well. Mainly get better taste in men, to be quite honest. Erm. I'm sorry, sir, but would you terribly mind if I could, erm. Buy you a drink? Which I know is absolutely hilarious in light of the first part of my answer, but it's not like that, I swear it."

Ah, there's the motor mouth.

It is not a reaction the old Vulcan is accustomed to. It would be rude to rush this young woman to the point of her ramblings, so he sits quietly and listens until he feels he has an appropriate understanding of her wishes.

"I have a friend whom I suspect would wish to impart a similar sentiment to yours, Miss."

Spock's smile is soft and subtle. It would appear she seems to know who he is. Or a version of him, at any rate. Fascinating.

"Do you know of an establishment that would have Vulcan Spiced Tea among it's selections? Your offer is most agreeable. Might I inquire as to your name?"

"Mmmmm-maybe?" she hedges. "It's the Nexus, you might be shocked what you can dig up here. If not, I'm pretty sure you'd like a chai latte."

She's actually blushing a little. Or at least there are high spots of color on her cheeks. Hell, this is the same woman who jumped at the opportunity to shag Jim Kirk the second she clapped eyes on him. Of course she's a fan.

"Ah, Hollister. Hippolyta! Erm, Hippolyta Hollister, hi. Sorry. Hold that thought, gonna go see if we've got some Vulcan tea for you."

And off she runs, smacking her own forehead as she goes.

Chai latte.

Curious. That would be an Earth blend of spices and pepper, would it not? It takes him rather longer than he would like to admit to recall that the latte portion of the drink would imply it contains dairy from the bovines native to Earth. He has never consumed such a beverage before, though if one were to exclude the dairy he would be most agreeable to trying it.

Miss Hippoylta Holister is a very high energy woman however and is already running off before he has a chance to say as much. Ah. He must have stayed silent for a moment too long.

"I shall await your return." She cannot hear him now but it seems polite to confirm none the less.

High energy. That's one way of putting it, sure.

Five minutes later, she returns with two steaming paper cups in hand. Venti, just for the record.

"I knew it. It's the Nexus, we've got everything under every sun. Here you go. One Vulcan spiced tea, as ordered. Had to PINpoint myself to the outer reaches, but it's there. Nice gal named Saavik sold it to me. Careful, it's smegging...erm. It's really hot."

She sits herself down nearby, a respectful but talkative distance, and sips her own beverage. The name on the side of the cup is HIPS. The name on the side of Spock's cup is also HIPS.

"Ah."

The smell alone brings a fond smile to the old Vulcan's face. It has become something of a rarity back in the world which he resides in. As many cultural mainstays have with the destruction of Vulcan. A tragedy that permeates to even these small comforts and one which causes him remorse every day.

"You do me a service, Miss Hollister. I am gratified for your efforts." It may be shorts and tank top weather for most humanoids out here today but Spock will be warming his wrinkled hands with the heat of the beverage for a long few moments before he begins to sip at the drink.

"Or would you prefer Miss Hips?" It's difficult to tell he is joking with how straight faced he is, but there is a light of mischief in his eyes.

She laughs. She throws her head back and honestly laughs, utterly delighted.

"Sir, if you call me Miss Hips, I can go to my grave satisfied. Miss Hips is just fine."

He might be warming himself up in his robes, but she's in her usual jeans and t-shirt and Doc Marten boots, and who gives a toss for the weather? It's different on another world, so be prepared. Although she does wallow in the sunshine like Spock does. Apparently she's not used to getting sunshine where she's from.

"So. What do you think of the Nexus?"

"Then, I believe the appropriate reply would be that 'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hips'."

Her vivacity and easy laughter do much to elicit that same small smile from the ambassador. There is much about her mannerisms that remind him of a dear old friend of his own. One he can only see now in memory or in the face of a young man he has no rights to interfere in the life of.

"I must admit, that the basis for such a place as this is truly remarkable. It is not something I would have thought possible before experiencing such a thing first hand." His speech is slow and methodical, in no rush to ever convey one thing over another. After another sip of his tea, he lowers the paper cup to his lap and looks over at the woman who he is sharing the company of.

"I am curious how someone so young knows of me. You do not appear to be from my time, if I may say so."

"Hah. That's one way of putting it. I'm most certainly not of your time. And yet, I sort of am. I was born on November 11th, 2277, Detroit, Michigan, Earth. I got on an interstellar ship at the age of 16, signing on to the Jupiter Mining Corporation deep space vessel Red Dwarf. The reason I joined the JMC was because when I was a young girl, I watched a television show. Called Star Trek."

Her smile is tempered now, somewhat tempered with the knowledge of what the multiverse means. A slightly sad smile.

"I watched the adventures of a young crew on a ship the USS Enterprise. And a slightly older crew on the USS Enterprise in another series. And I watched another crew on the deck of the Deep Space 9. And another on the lost voyages of the USS Voyager. I watched the Federation of Planets fight Klingons and Ferengi and Romulans and Q. And I loved every single second. So. I really do hope when you declared this place 'fascinating' that you already understood what it meant, otherwise I just destroyed the mind of one of my heroes and that'd be awful."

"I see. The collected Starfleet logs were made public record then?"

The ambassador wonders at how many new faces would have been able to learn from his own mistakes. Jim had been rather fastidious in keeping logs. It was one of his more responsible traits. A pang of mourning still prompts him to shut his eyes and trace in his minds eye the small box of personal affects in his quarters back on New Vulcan. Of the picture therein with the faces of those he cared most deeply for during his long life.

"The curiosity that you shared with myself and our comrades is proof of the better qualities of humanity, I must admit."

"Mmm. Not exactly."

She grimaces, and then shrugs.

"Where I'm from, you and your crewmates were a television show. A television show I watched every episode of. Welcome to the Nexus, Admiral. We're all fictional here."

A storybook lesson? Truly?

Spock finds himself smiling around his tea and just barely chuckling as he shakes his head.

"Fascinating."

Though with enough alternate universes the possibilities are indeed endless. He could have easily been something else, someone else than who he is here
~~mirror verses aside....~~. Why shouldn't he have a different life in some other universe? To think of all the other worlds of knowledge he could obtain from other versions of himself is truly staggering.

"I am glad in any regard, that the ongoing mission of my companions and I were able to inspire you in your own career. I hope it has proved as fruitful for yourself as it was for me."

When he says 'fascinating' her grin gets even bigger, and she's even giggling a little. Quietly. With dignity. Honest.

"It was. It really was. And if you ever get a chance to watch a show called Red Dwarf, you'll see what I mean. It's a heck of a thing, to find out you're fictional. But then again? It's pretty liberating, too. As an old friend of mine used to say, there's just a man at a typewriter..."

The implications of their each and every mission being a story unto itself may seem like an invasion of privacy to most. However, for the Ambassador it is taken in stride. Miss Hips would have been privy to many of his weakest moments in such a case, but she also would have beared witness to his strengths.

Assuming the stories would even be the same as the missions they tackled. Sop many what ifs.

"You have a similar experience then? How strange. At least, it can be used as an example if it's documented and broadcast..."

"Heh. Similiar."

Miss Hips shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders.

"The lesson from my television show? Is don't be Arnold Rimmer."

Plo's age is not so immediately obvious as a Vulcan's (indeed, he can remember a time when much younger men whispered and made bets among themselves about just how old 'the general' really was, and he'd quietly had his fun with that) but in his manner there is an unhurried dignity, that something ancient, that tells as much of the truth as what lines are visible on his lined, leathery face.

"It is tempting to compose a litany of warnings. Do not go here, but there. Be certain that you stand in that spot, in place of your friend. Here is the truth that will otherwise be found too late. Stop these people; they go to their deaths." He says these things quietly, but easily enough. Most of the wounds aren't fresh, and he has made his peace with them.

They will shoot you in the back, and you will bear the scars of it for the rest of your days. That one is newer than most, and he does not say it.

"But I cannot tell myself that is wisdom, and I am not certain it would be right. So I suppose if I were to say only one thing, it would be 'for every dear thing the universe takes away, it truly will give two more in time.' I was taught that sort of thing in my youth, but, well." The lines around his hidden eyes betray a smile. "Sometimes learning comes before understanding."

It is the curious man's gait that attracts Spock's attention first. The patience in the steps of this fellow robed man with the weathered skin. His unusual breathing apparatus is noted, as is the accent with which he speaks the Galactic Standard. The Ambassador is quite certain this humanoid is not of a species known to his world. His galaxy, even.

He gestures demurely to the empty spot next to him on the aged bench.

"It can be impossible to predict which warnings would be of any real value, considering your very existence in your young self's past would have altered the very nature of his future. This much is true."

He bows his hairless head slightly in gratitude and takes the offered seat - a bit slowly, a bit carefully. His body has never been quite the same since Cato Neimoidia.

"Indeed. It would be a terrible responsibility, and one I would not hope for. I am only one man, and not wise enough to bear it." These words, like the others, are without bitterness, for he has also made his peace with them. He is a Jedi; who, indeed, is he to say that he knows better than the Force how all things should have happened?

But even so. Plo sighs into his mask. "And yet the universe does not stop to ask us what responsibilities we are ready to bear, does it?"

How many decades had he spent shying away from his own? I do not think I am suited, Master Tyvokka. That's all.

"So I suppose that I might meet him, if he is there to be met, whether I hope for it or not. And perhaps the best thing to say would be nothing, though that too would be a terrible responsibility. It is an odd thing to contemplate."

"And yet what such individual would be wise enough for such things?"

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow as he asks, though he has the manners to wait for his companion to sit before he speaks up. There is not a hurry when it comes to casual conversation after all.

"Your logic is sound. For what advice could you offer that would not deprive the man of your own life experiences? And yet, suppose he comes to you. Whether he mistakes you for an elder or otherwise. Surely you cannot say nothing then?"

Edited 2017-06-21 13:26 (UTC)

"Then?"

He hums in thought, a deep rumbling hrrrmh. "It is difficult to say. My beliefs have always been as they are now, for all that I was once much younger and had only a younger man's understanding. I like to think that if he knew me for what I am, he would know why I shunned him."

And a younger Plo Koon would know him, of this he is fairly certain, no matter how surreal it is to consider this question as an actual scenario. The flesh and the bones may change, but the Force never does. Oh, a presence may age along with one's heart, like certain leaves turning their colors with the seasons - but in the Force, once familiar, one always knows.

"But those beliefs also demand working against suffering, where one may do so wisely, and so on some level I could not hold him at fault if, knowing me for what I am, he were to ask. But I hope that I would not answer, and that he would forgive me." It would be hard. It would be unspeakably hard. To be a Jedi is hard; that is simply the nature of it.

"Yet those are only my people's beliefs. I do not hold others to them. And you? What would you say?"

"I am not so strong, nor wise. And the situation that lead me to that time would have meant our meeting would be inevitable at some point or another."

Knowing what his younger self would have prioritized above all else. Knowing what he would be deprived of if the aged Vulcan did not intervene. With the timelines already forever altered, there is no way of knowing if his decision had been the right one. He has seen logs of the crew together though, and he feels he made the right choice.

"I told him to leave his peoples' troubles to me as I was partially the cause of the situation we found ourselves in, and urged him to stay on as his ship's chief science officer. I could not take what would become his family...away from him. And I know myself, I would have done so. Without hesitation."

Past tense. Both eyebrows go up; the topic has evolved from a figure of speech to a serious hypothetical to, now, a plain fact after all. If the man is to be believed, of course, but it does not seem that he is knowingly deceitful, at least without prying excessively. Plo has never heard of such a thing - and yet, why not? Once upon a time he had never heard of other realities either, other physical realities behind doors long kept secret.

But other worlds are in their way wonderful. This? A terrible responsibility, yes, and an ever more terrible thing to contemplate.

"So it actually came to pass...?" he says, quiet. "I do not envy you the experience."

A second sigh. "I wish that I had something reassuring to say. It is all...rather enormous to think about." And to say well if the damage was already done is taboo, even if said to one who is not a Jedi. "I hope very much that all things turn out as they were meant to, in the end."

"A complicated situation, to be sure."

To be back among long deceased comrades, and yet to not belong with them. Among them. To watch his home planet and the millions of lives on it destroyed because he had not been quick enough to save another. Unimaginable pain and sorrow. Spock is not certain even the Kholinar would have been able to stop anyone with a beating heart from the pain he felt at watching Vulcan be destroyed.

"I made it clear I would not interfere with his life or decisions. That I would dedicate myself fully to helping our nearly extinct people. It has been....difficult. To say the least."

He'll recognize her species pretty much immediately. The deep green skin of an Orion woman, she certainly recognizes the fact that he's a Vulcan. Delia's certainly seen enough people from their reality here and there--a few Ferengi merchants in the underbelly, a Klingon Restaurant here, a Bajoran cake shop there.

"Ungh. Time Travel always complicates things in an ugly fashion that's always a pain to deal with." Delia folded her arms low, shifting her weight slightly.

Whether she recognizes Spock, she manages to give no sign at the moment.

"As for meeting my past self, I probably could warn her of some things and not... damage the timestream too much. Avoid a few people here, an incident there. And maybe confrontation or two that went badly."

Strange.

To see another species with which he is familiar aside from human. Ambassador Spock offers a polite tilt of his head to the Orion but says nothing of the long odds of such a meeting out loud.

In time, perhaps he will begin to glean more details on how this nebulous overlapping of spaces and times functions but there is no rush. He would rather hear her opinions on the presented query for the time being.

"You have experience with it as well? Did it work out favorably for you and the time you were trying to alter?"

Long odds or no, Delia's never one who wants to actually hear the odds until after the fact. Simply to know how absolutely ridiculous something is once she's actually done it.

To say she's... unconventional is putting it mildly.

Still, she's relaxed. Calm. Casually dressed in loose pants and lightly made, flowing top.

"A little bit of experience, yes," She made a face, "More of an accident with the warp drive than anything else. Fortunately we didn't really do any damage to the timeline as far as I can tell, and managed to avoid showing up on anyone's sensors or raising too many questions before managing to return home."

Still, though, she had to submit a report on it. And writing reports is always a fantastically annoying task.

"But I've read and heard about other incidents, and I'll be damned if I get swept up into some kind of temporal paradox or some other mess."

She said, while standing in the Nexus. The paradox of paradoxes to ever paradox.

In some ways Spock wishes his own treks into the past could have yielded such benign results. Words cannot express the magnitude of his shame that Vulcan's destruction in the timeline he currently resides came as a result of his failure to save Romulus in his own time.

The what if's and could have done's are enough weight to crush the galaxy's mightiest into stardust. It is illogical to dwell on them. This Spock knows well. What is done is done.

"I have had to make a rather more direct interaction with my own past self. The timelines were damaged before I even arrived in the alternate past I now reside in. There simply was no way to hide myself if I wished to help where I could to ensure the continuation of my people."

It helps, of course, when you work for the Klingons and you have a sophisticated cloaking device that older sensors can't penetrate with their narrower scanning bands. Delia doesn't come out and say it, however, as her relationship with the Klingons is...

Complicated.

Still, Delia's eyebrows raise at the Vulcan's admission that he's interacted directly with his past self, and the universe didn't implode or anything.

~~Damn it. She owes Strix fifty latinum. Figures her theory was right.~~

It makes her think, though, for a minute, about what he's said. "If the timeline's already changed, from.. what very little I understand about the theory when my Engineer goes on-and-on," and on is the implication, "About it, it kind of ripples outwards like dropping a stone in water. Information you have might be helpful, but it might also not be relevant due to alterations both ways."

Especially in Spock's case, where his timeline already involves time travel to begin with. Which is already headache inducing to think about when she's starting to realize who he is.

Ungh.

Stupid time travel.

Edited (phrasing, typo) 2017-06-17 15:10 (UTC)

That very assumption has helped the aged Vulcan keep mum on more than a few things he had not wished to disclose to his past-companions. It is a bit of an unfair disadvantage when one knows intimately how someone else thinks better than they do thanks to years of experience.

"You would be correct. The best one can do in such a situation is to offer as little but as accurate advice as is necessary when such things from my past do factor back into the present of the new timeline to avoid further destruction and to allow their lives to play out as they see fit at all other times. The past self I have met will never become me. Our lives have gone on divergent paths in ways I cannot begin to forsee."

But when familiar foes do arise, ones that brought his companions to the brink of destruction in his time...then he has broken that vow and done his best to help them. It feels as though they are owed a better chance after everything they've already been made to endure.

"It is a very lonely life to be stuck in an alternate timeline, in any case. But not altogether without reward."

"Admittedly, seeing how things play out differently, with the same people, but circumstances changed, is something of an interesting thing to bear witness to." Delia admits after some thought, tapping her chin with her forefinger in thought.

"All the same players, but a different game, and altered rules to boot."

"It is, indeed. While the suffering that has been caused by the alterations to the timeline cannot be fixed, I cannot help but to watch the people who were once my crew carry on in spite of the difficulties they have faced."

Though sitting in James Kirk's hospital room every day for months while he recovered from his untimely demise at the hands of Khan Noonien Singh was not pleasant--far from it--the things this new Enterprise has accomplished in so little time brings Spock hope for their futures.

"Even if their futures will not be exactly like my past, I am proud to call them my friends."

The woman in the black robes is an interesting contradiction. Spock's time among humans has probably taught him more than a few things about their body language and how they carry themselves. To say nothing of the constant thunderstorm of their emotional states. Changing from A to B to C all without missing a beat.

But here, we have a human woman who is clearly full of passion, but possesses a nearly Vulcan like control of her emotions. While her stance is relaxed, it's still closer to a parade rest-esque stance with her arms behind her back, one wrist clasped by the other hand.

She also stands out for another reason: The gray, hooded robe she's wearing, although the hood is down for the moment, simply for the fact that it's too warm for her to wear full-on black, or anything too heavy (Not that she's complaining, mind you, Dia's always preferred warmer months to colder). There's a long handled weapon strapped to her belt, as well.

"Frankly, I'm not sure my past self would believe me." Her accent is closest to British-English, "I'd more likely be attacked by her because she'd believe it some sort of trick by my former Masters."

This is an fascinating turn of events. He has seen many different types of Humans while taking his stroll through the Nexus, and this one in particular feels to be a different category all on her own. He is vaguely certain she is not of his world, nor of many others he has caught glimpses of.

For one, her augmented prostheses are of metal alloys rather than a bio-synthetic that regenerates or mimics the natural biology. She keeps them covered, but it is their faint sound that catches the Ambassador's attention. For another, her demeanor is familiar in a way no human has been before. If he did not know better, he would have suspected she had spent decades with Romulans or his own kind. Not even his late mother had ever come so close to embracing their ways.

"There is that. A common complication, when attempting to interact with any individual from the past. Though perhaps less so the attack you speak of. Is that common practice among your military? Are you a soldier?"

Indeed. Life among the Sith would have a lot in common in living with Romulans. As the Romulans themselves would make extraordinarily good candidates for them, if one universe bled into another, leading to them being Force sensitive.

But that's a theory for another day.

Still, she tempers her passions with her own sort of logic. Trained heavily in the art of compartmentalizing and using her emotions, it's the sort of teaching that doesn't go away, even after being away from her former Masters as long as she has been (which, comparatively to Spock's age, isn't long, but Humans did always do things at faster rates ~~"hold my space beer and WATCH THIS."~~).

"Something of... a former," frown, eyebrows furrowing. How do you describe the Sith in a way that the uninitiated would understand immediately? Spock's clearly not from her universe, as she doesn't recognize his species (although to be fair, as big as her Galaxy is, she certainly wouldn't recognize every species either), "...Militarized cult, I believe would be the closest way to try and describe it. Paranoia runs rampant among them, as does control, and use of fear. I embraced it, until a few years back, when they inevitably betrayed me and left me to bloody die. As such, my past self wouldn't take kindly to my attempts at interactions. Nor would she particularly be inclined to believe me, given how much my path has changed since then."

Although nowadays, she'd probably be able to kick her past self's butt into gear.

"Power struggles do tend to breed corruption."

Even in a time of peace there are those that yearn for control and seek the destruction of others. How many times has the ambassador seen those very same motivations play out?

Far, far too many for his liking.

"She would assume you an enemy, or some sort of a trick devised to lead you astray. I am fortuitous then, that my past self surmised my identity and was willing to listen."

"They do at that, and it's not an experience I recommend living first or even second-hand, since you'll inevitably get yanked into the middle of a complicated mess." Dia made a bit of a face at the memory, but she took a slow breath and let it pass.

Dia has, for her part, seen far too much for her liking. A council that struggled against itself. An Empire with no real control, held in place by a stalemate with the Republic.

"You seem the sort that would understand that sort of bloody weirdness, whereas my past self wasn't nearly as... accommodating to it as I've been recently."

"Any commentary I provided to his faculties would seem entirely too self serving. Given the situation in which we were made to meet, however, he had already been forced to accept that some fluctuation and change to his own timeline had already occurred. My presence was only logical given everything else already witnessed."

Doubtless at the time he would have preferred to see the elder Spock than his now-captain. A misguided desire Spock was not willing to cater to. He always was able to work his best when working alongside James T. Kirk.

"Had your past self been made aware there was in fact a time distortion, perhaps she would also be more amenable to understanding what use you could be to her."

"Oh yeah, I heard meeting myself in the past would screw up the whole timeline. Comes with running the Resistance."

Derek took a deep breath on the cigarette in his hand.

"Well, it would create an alternate timeline yes. In that regard whichever timeline you influenced would indeed become unpredictable by either party due to the consequences of said changes applied."

The old Vulcan will be quite happy to stay seated upwind of the smoke the man is exhaling. He isn't as resilient to that sort of thing as he once was.

Derek put out the cigarette as it slowly fizzled out "Sorry about that, stranger."

"Right. You never know these days back home with Skynet crafting a whole different problem in different timelines all the time."

Of all the questions to resonate with a person who tells themselves that they regret nothing they've done, this is certainly one that challenges it. Amelia tries to ignore it as she hears it, to keep her head down as she walks past with her bag full of books and her hands held firmly at her sides. But as she tries to walk away, her feet find a return path and land her straight in front of the newcomer instead. She looks up from the ground to meet Spock's gaze for a moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest, almost as if bracing herself for the cold gust of wind her fully covered frame is surely expecting.

"I'd tell that child to stop pretending to be an adult and let things happen as they will. And when she doesn't listen, I'd tell her to be ready for the day she gets what she wants and to understand that it's enough and she doesn't need to do anymore than that."

Somewhere in her mind she knows that her teenage self would never listen to this kind of advice. But if she could somehow manage it? Could prevent herself from ending up in the Nexus so she could finish all those things she didn't realize she'd started on her world? It would be worth the try.

"You bear quite the weight on your shoulders, Miss."

The elderly Vulcan has not moved from his position on the bench, content to bask in the warmth of the sun despite being clad head to toe in thick robes. In his age he prefers more and more the temperature clime of his own home planet. A truly distressing preference considering it simply does not exist in the time he now resides in.

"You would press caution and inaction on yourself. Curious. Most, I feel, would try to do more with their time. And yet you would seek to do less. Do you regret your actions so much?"

"I regret nothing I've done." A very contradictory statement, considering what advice she'd give herself. "I simply don't think anyone should have to live through the same things I have. Even if I would end up a different person than who I am now, I wouldn't wish those hardships on myself - or anyone, for that matter."

Is it selfish to want something better for yourself, even if you're too scared to try for it? Amelia's not certain, but if she could keep someone from having to experience all those same things she did? She would, even if it only affected her, personally.

"A lack of certain actions only opens the door to others that one might never have considered. Giving myself options I never dreamed of would allow the girl I was to become more than who and what I am now." She could be the lady her father always wanted, or at least give in and start a family of her own to carry on their business. It's not what Amelia ever thought she could have, and so she convinced herself that she didn't want it. To be allowed to do those things without fear of losing her footing in the world? It's a pleasant daydream.

Her head tilts to one side and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she regards Spock. "Is it strange to want something like that?"

"No, not strange. Simply a different point of view. You would offer yourself a chance to be someone else, with no guarantee it would work."

He had encouraged much the opposite in his own younger self with a similar guarantee that his experiences would not be the same as the memories he holds most dear in his aging Vulcan heart.

"And what of the bonds you've made? Would you give the same advice knowing you would be depriving them both of such things?"

The smile she had falters as she considers that. Would she have met those few friends she had back home if she hadn't become a rogue in the way she did? And if she had, would they still have had the same relationships? It seems unlikely, and while that doesn't bother her for most of them, the idea of never having met or befriending Nathan hurts her.

...but would it really have been so bad to not break her own heart over someone she never would've been allowed to be with back home? She could've fought for him, sure, but he never would've accepted her like that. No one accepts her like that and the best she could've hoped for was friendship so it doesn't matter ...right?

Dreams this hurts her head. And she hasn't even tried to think of all of those people a different version of herself would miss out on by not coming to the Nexus.

She takes a deep breath and shrugs her shoulders a little, shifting her weight from one foot to the other to give herself a few extra seconds to think before speaking. "It's the same for them as it is with the other experiences. If that girl missed meeting some people I know now, she would meet others I've never thought or dreamed of. There's a possibility for more joy in a life that doesn't lead her to being me." Joy that, as a sinner, she couldn't know even if she'd stayed home. "She deserves a fresh start, even if I don't."

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On Second Chances

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