[ That's not what he meant? Then what did he mean? Because it seems impossible to pretend nothing happened, much as Catherine would like to. Or rather, to pretend that they launched the ARK, and nothing else happened. She trusted Simon as much as he'd trusted her. Or... as much as she'd thought he trusted her. So much of their experience hustling through PATHOS-II seems like it's getting rewritten in her mind.
She hates the way her breathing is unsteady, and she looks uncertain straight up until he touches her arm, and then her eyes widen at the rush of guilt. Catherine doesn't feel guilt very often, largely because she throws herself wholesale at everything she does, and is more confused and hurt when things don't work out than anything else. The desperate relief, twisted in among everything else despite how they'd left off, that she recognizes. The confusion and insecurity -- she's feeling better now, a couple weeks in, but not great. The chasm of grief is something she hasn't managed to leave behind, either; she's just fighting it down better than Simon is. Its immensity and rawness as it rises up in her again startles her.
... Wait.
It's just a few seconds after Simon touches her arm that this all finishes processing, and then Catherine jerks away, taking a halting step back. ] Okay, well, let's try to use our words, because I'm having a hard enough time having my own feelings, Simon! I don't need yours!
[ She sounds as off-kilter as her breathing, frustrated and unmoored, but she's still quick-thinking enough to realize how little sense this makes to someone newly arrived. ] Look -- if you touch me, we can share feelings. I don't know how. Something with our neural implants, probably. So-- please don't.
[ At least she's still as plain and straightforward as ever. ]
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She hates the way her breathing is unsteady, and she looks uncertain straight up until he touches her arm, and then her eyes widen at the rush of guilt. Catherine doesn't feel guilt very often, largely because she throws herself wholesale at everything she does, and is more confused and hurt when things don't work out than anything else. The desperate relief, twisted in among everything else despite how they'd left off, that she recognizes. The confusion and insecurity -- she's feeling better now, a couple weeks in, but not great. The chasm of grief is something she hasn't managed to leave behind, either; she's just fighting it down better than Simon is. Its immensity and rawness as it rises up in her again startles her.
... Wait.
It's just a few seconds after Simon touches her arm that this all finishes processing, and then Catherine jerks away, taking a halting step back. ] Okay, well, let's try to use our words, because I'm having a hard enough time having my own feelings, Simon! I don't need yours!
[ She sounds as off-kilter as her breathing, frustrated and unmoored, but she's still quick-thinking enough to realize how little sense this makes to someone newly arrived. ] Look -- if you touch me, we can share feelings. I don't know how. Something with our neural implants, probably. So-- please don't.
[ At least she's still as plain and straightforward as ever. ]