(Untitled)
Oh, hey, Chicago. Alex Drake has briefly come out of hibernation, and really wishing that she had that hooker coat with her now. She's decided to venture out before she goes completely mad from spending too much time in her room in the Kashtta. (It probably doesn't help that she spent most of December wandering around the place and trying to refine
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"Yeah." Alex shoves her hands into her pockets; Gene seems to be a tricky subject with them. Except it isn't, really, because he's the Gene from Sam's timeline, so she's leaving well enough alone. (All right, she might've visited the hospital. Once. Because she's Alex, and she has Issues.) "Bit ironic, that. Makes you wonder if constructs can have constructs. Layers upon layers, like some matryoshka doll."
...Gene is probably not some film noir-esque private detective in his coma, Alex, and Sam probably doesn't want to talk about it.
"Spaceship?" Yeah, okay, she's been really out of it. Practically in a coma, one might say. Or, y'know, being a hermit. With friends. "Any little green men involved
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Gene wouldn't punch Alex for asking stupid questions about his coma. Just shout at her a lot.
"It did not have little green men. It did include a life-size Han Solo and Chewbacca made entirely out of chocolate... Did I mention the spaceship was the Millennium Falcon?" Yeah, that's one of those bizarre things that you really just have to... share with people.
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She laughs, but it's a little bitter. "After the reaction I got when I tried to explain to him that I was from the future? ...Back home, that is, not here. Only time I'd ever heard him so much as mention you. And then he called me a frigid bitch and threatened to shoot me." Boy, Alex, you sure know how to ruin a mood, don't you?
"Anyway, Sam, I think you're just taking advantage of the fact that he won't hit me because I'm a woman," she finishes, her tone suddenly lighter. (...she's pretty sure he wouldn't, anyway, since hedidn't the last time she punched him.)
Alex thinks about this for a moment. "Well, chocolate sounds better to be frozen in than carbonite. At least you could eat your way out of it." She's also very sad she missed the chocolate, especially if there was eating involved.
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He pauses a moment, and then turns to give her a quick smile, and for once, it actually seems genuine. "And do you really think I'd take advantage of that fact? I just thought you might be curious..."
And so would he, and of the two of them, she's a lot safer asking the question. It's still not taking advantage, it's just... gently encouraging.
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She smiles back at him, amusement plain in her eyes. "No, actually, I don't think you would. If there's one thing I learned from your tapes, it's that you took more than a few lumps in your time. Besides," Alex adds lightly, "if he did, I'd just hit him back."
Yeah, Alex, punch the bloke just after he comes out of his coma. That sounds like an excellent plan and clearly won't result in having appendages gnawed on by large felines.
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"I'd appreciate it if you waited until you were certain it wouldn't put him in another coma..." He has to wonder if it's stranger that Alex knows... more or less everything about his life in 1973, or that it doesn't much bother him that she does. The fact that she got a time-travelling coma of her own might be some part of the "not minding" bit...
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Well, Sam, maybe you shouldn't have put everything in your tapes. Just sayin'. "Yes, well, I'll be sure to bring a bottle of scotch in with me - I'll hide it under my coat or something." Or possibly fortifying oxtail soup, though she hardly has any idea where she'd find some in 1980s London, let alone Chicago. Americans are rather finicky about which parts of animals they eat, it seems. (To be fair, so is Alex.)
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