fateandfortune

Knock Out's glad that she slept through the night, and that said sleep appeared to have been restful. With everything that he has learned since the data uplink completed, he grimly suspects those nights may come fewer now.

Which was why he is absolutely not saying a thing until she's had at least a chance to wake up, get herself to rights, and had something to eat.

"Kentucky," he answers her query. There's no trace of fatigue in his tone, despite having driven throughout the night. "Halfway between Louisville and Lexington. We made good time."

Outside the tinted windows bustles a new truck stop, this one considerably larger than the sleepy one they'd visited the night before. At this hour the station is active, vehicles pulling in and out of the gas pumps, people (both lone drivers and families traveling) funneling in and out of the store and restaurant. Knock Out's parked a little away from the cluster of vehicles nearest the main entrance, but other than a few casual glances at his alt mode's distinct European styling, no one appears to be paying them any attention.

"How much money do you have left?"

It's nice to see people again like this, the steady stream of people simply going about their day during a stop in their travels. She watches them while he answers her questions, her gaze drawn time and again to the small children who range from sullen to excited at whatever adventure lay before them that day. Summer family vacations — things she's experienced only through borrowed memories and never in her own lifetime.

There are so many things that she can say that about...

Kentucky isn't far from Virginia, at least; he's right, they have made good time. Taking the less busy roads seems to have been a smart idea on his part.

"Not too much," she admits, reaching into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out the remaining bills. She'd been lucky to have had any on her at all, let alone enough to still have about $25 after what she'd spent the day before. It's more than enough for coffee though, and that's all that matters to her. "Is there something else you need?"

Knock Out was just glad that Rogue had money on her at all. As an imPort, Knock Out had the same kind of electronic bank account as anyone, but it wasn't like he ever dealt in cash or physical cards. He just linked everything to his comm and paid for things by transfer.

And unfortunately despite its expense, the cellphone had been a necessity. Technically they didn't need it now, as Knock Out had cracked the encryptions, but perhaps they'd still find a use for it later.

"Not me," he returns, and the rear view mirror angles by itself to catch Rogue's reflection in the backseat. The jaunty tilt of it heavily implies that of a raised eyebrow. "You need something to eat that's not compressed polymer chains," he added pointedly.

If she hadn't had money on her... Well, they would have been finding out real quick if she could still pick a pocket without getting caught. She isn't especially proud of having that particular skill but war had necessitated that they all find new ways to survive. When they'd still been able to hide in the cities, that had meant stealing money and food and clothes to be able to take care of the kids.

The tilt of the mirror speaks loud and clear. Smiling in mild amusement, she nods at his words. "Okay, okay, you're right," she agrees. "Honestly, something not processed to within an inch of its life sounds really great right now."

Now that she's thought about food, she notices just how hungry she is. The protein bars had sustained her but little else. Real food not out of a foil wrapper is an almost heavenly thought. And yet—

"Maybe they can make up something to go and I can eat out here with you." Because she really doesn't feel like being alone for very long right now. Being alone and without him.

"Out here?" Knock Out asks, surprised. But his mind replays the events of the last day, Rogue's constant stress and underlying fear, and everything he learned overnight while she slept. Is it any wonder she doesn't want to feel alone right now, even for something as innocuous as breakfast? His voice softens.

"There's another option... the holoform. The building is well within my functional range." Some mechs could manipulate their avatars miles away, but Knock Out had neither the extended range equipment for that, nor the experience. But for the truck stop interior and the restaurant from the parking lot, and for as short a time as they'd likely need it, that was easy.

He calls the program up from its file, only to make a perturbed sound. "Wait, it's still got the design for that party. One moment, I have to reconfigure it or it'll stand out too much."

Knock Out lapses into silence for a few minutes, mentally revising the projection's parameters, and then suddenly in the other seat the human-shaped holoform fritzes into being with a ripple of suspended pixels. Rather than wearing the stylish suit that had fit the Swear-In's formal dress theme, the construct is now clad in casual jeans and a navy buttoned shirt. It's an interesting contrast to the red hair and red eyes it still sports, and Knock Out makes a few minor corrections to subtle light refraction and texture rendering before apparently being satisfied.

"Well? Does it pass muster?" the holoform asks lightly.

She's never been more grateful to not have to explain things to him. He doesn't demand explanations for her weird human ways, he just goes with them. Maybe with someone else, he would have acted differently, but their relationship isn't like that. They accept each other's eccentricities, good and bad.

"It absolutely does," she assures him with a smile after giving him a good once-over. "You look good, sugar. A heck of a lot better than I do right now." She pauses a moment, glancing over at the restaurant and then back at him. "I'd be worried about your eyes but it'll be good to find out just how paranoid everyone is around here."

The red eyes are him, even if she'd only seen them that one night, but they're certainly not a normal color for humans. They're not glowing or anything though, so at least there's that in their favor. And heck, she's just glad he's willing to use this form at all; if she remembers right, he hardly ever does.

That sly little grin when she says that definitely carries over from his normal face to a simulated human one, as Knock Out always appreciates being told he looks good. She makes a good point about the holoform's eyes though; he'd just taken the majority of his own features and translated them as close as possible without concern for how much they blended in. As an imPort, it hadn't really been necessary to give it much thought. Here, though...

"I can change them," he says, and almost immediately they alter to an ambiguously dark colour. "Or the hair, or the clothes. It's all just pixels and kinetic buffers to me."

His seats fold down to let Rogue and the holoform out of the back (that's a trick, he thinks, manipulating the thing inside himself - if they weren't in a public parking lot, he'd have just dissolved and reformed it outside standing on the pavement).

He reaches out to smooth a few snarled strands of hair on the top of her head. Like the night they'd danced, there's a peculiar solidity to the holoform's touch; there's no soft give in its 'skin', no temperature. But visually, it looks like any normal person standing there.

"Ready?"

The change is much better and certainly makes her less nervous to head inside the diner. She didn't mind the red that matched his actual form but with everyone being told to report mutant sightings... It felt better to err on the side of caution. People dyed their hair all the time, someone in the diner had bright blue streaks, but eyes were a different matter.

And don't think she didn't notice that grin. She remembers all too well how he likes hearing how good he looks.

Climbing out, she takes a second to try to smooth the wrinkles out of her shirt and jeans, though of course it does absolutely nothing. She needs a full change of clothes, but for now she'll be happy with coffee and something edible. Eggs. Eggs sound wonderful.

"Let's go," she says, some part of her utterly endeared by that simple touch he'd given her hair. It's just a casual action and completely safe for him as a hologram, but the feeling is still there. That lack of fear and no second thought to doing so. For just a brief moment, she's able to pretend that he's a solid person there who knows what she can do and still isn't afraid.

Which reminds her: she tugs off her gloves as she leads the way inside, tucking them into her pocket. She holds the door open for him and then steers them toward a booth by the windows so she can keep an eye on his solid form. The waitress signals that she'll be over in a moment and Rogue just smiles in response before sliding into the booth.

"Thanks for coming in with me, sugar. It really means a lot."

"You're welcome," he replies, settling into the booth across from her. The seat didn't depress; the holoform had no weight, even though it could exert force. But while sitting, it was unlikely that anyone would notice. His eyes sweep around the diner with great interest, taking everything in. While he knew from media what such places looked like, and he had 'seen' the inside of them in the sense that he could scan through glass and brick to register the dimensions of the inside, actually seeing it was something new.

The waitress bustles over with a sunny smile and a practiced greeting, bearing a coffee pot and ready to take their orders. After Rogue gives hers, Knock Out demurs ordering food to stick with just the coffee. "I already ate," he says to the waitress, equal parts apology and charm. "Though if I'd known we were stopping here, I would have waited."

"Happens all the time, hon," the waitress answers, then promises Rogue's food will be right up and leaves them to their business. With the general hubbub of clattering plates, talking patrons, and overhead music, at least they won't be overheard.

"I am nowhere near practiced enough with this thing to feign eating," Knock Out gives a faint grimace, before she can ask.

Even just the smell of the coffee is enough to soothe Rogue's rattled nerves. Coffee and chocolate, the two foods she'd missed most during the war and had indulged in daily after she'd come through the portal. They were things that Hux had enjoyed as well, which made living together all the easier. Their backgrounds and worldviews had been completely opposite at times, but they could still sit together and enjoy a cup of coffee and a giant plate of brownies while discussing their differences.

Wrapping her hands around the mug of coffee, she lets the warmth of it melt into her, letting herself relax that last little bit. It's dangerous to let her guard down at all until they know what they're dealing with but... she just wants to pretend for a little while longer.

"If you ever want to practice, I'd give my unbiased feedback on the performance," she offers, silently urging the coffee to cool faster. Pitching her voice slightly lower to be sure it's covered by their surroundings, she elaborates. "I had a student once who didn't need to eat. He couldn't most times, actually. We had to help him learn how to fake it and figure out ways to pass for normal when absolutely necessary. It was so frustrating for him but I was so proud of the way he kept trying until he got it right."

There's an almost sad wistfulness to the words and she lowers her gaze to the table between them.

Knock Out hasn't really considered how much use the holoform might get moving forward, in light of everything. That seems like a problem for later, a frivolity that he'll be able to think about when things go back to normal.

"Mm. It's wasteful, that's all. Basically it just involves holding the food until later when it can be dropped." Given the holoform's ability to blink in and out of existence, that was probably meant literally. "Why didn't he need to eat?" he queries, interested.

As promised, the waitress returns with Rogue's breakfast plate before long and retreats again.

Knock Out's gaze slides out the window to the parking lot and holds for a moment, like he's zoning out, before he seems to snap back to the present. "Sorry. Someone was walking past me. I'm splitting my attention in two places and it's strange."

Wasteful. Dropping it. She's piecing together how the whole thing works, filing away the logistics they might have to work with one day for who knows what reason. The world is always changing, after all. Every world, not just this one.

Rogue struggles for a moment to figure out how to explain without using any words that someone might overhear and get them into trouble, using the moment to take a few sips of her coffee. Then, just as she's about to answer, the waitress appears with her omelet and fried potatoes. Her mouth is practically watering as she thanks the older woman and grabs her knife and fork.

Again, she's about to answer his question when she notices the way he's staring out the window. She studies him as he does, puzzling over it before he explains without prompting.

"It's okay, I know you don't do this often." Again, she's struck by how grateful she is for this moment. "But about your question — I guess I never really talked about the school I taught at, did I? It was a school for people like me. I ended up there when I was seventeen after I left home. I finished out my senior year there and eventually ended up teaching there myself. I wanted to help give those kids as much of a normal life as possible."

"No, the details never came up." Rogue had never volunteered to elaborate on her teaching, and Knock Out had never pressed for more, figuring if she wanted to share, she would. But learning that, it fits. Immediately, easily, it fit everything he knew about her. That she would go into a profession dedicated to helping others, especially those who needed it the most.

In order to occupy his hands, and to make it at least appear like he's interested in the coffee that was poured for him, Knock Out picks through the condiments in their tray on the table. Sugar went in coffee, that much he was definitely sure of. But his scanners aren't in the holoform, so he's hovering an uncertain hand above the salt shaker because he can't tell what's what. White crystal granules? Close enough, right?

"I'm not surprised. You always put other people first," he says, and it sounds a lot like fond exasperation. She's basically the complete opposite of him.

When they'd first met, she'd still been so new to that world at peace that it had hurt to talk about the world she'd lost. The war had haunted her every moment, waking and not, and to talk about the life she'd had so violently taken from her... Well, now it's easier in some ways, despite their present circumstances.

"Maybe because no one ever put me first," she says after a moment, watching his hands and guessing what he might be trying to achieve. She usually prefers her coffee black but this time she reaches over to pick out a pack of sugar from the little container, ripping it open and carefully dumping it into her mug. A pod of creamer follows and she stirs both in with her spoon.

"Someone should have," he answers absently, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He mimics her, taking the sugar packet and opening it - not as gracefully, human fingers are so blunted compared to his own digits - but without spilling it everywhere. It's not like he's actually going to be able to drink the end result, but at least now it doesn't look untouched.

He gives her eggs an evaluating look; just because it didn't look appetizing to him doesn't mean much. "How is your breakfast? And what else will you need from the store? There's still a lot of driving to do once we leave here."

That absent comment cuts straight to her core. To hear him say it, to hear anyone say it... It means more than she could ever say. Even if she still doubts it herself in her darkest moments, even if so many memories try to convince her of the opposite, she'll hold close the knowledge that he thinks so.

"It's good," she answers, spearing another piece of egg. With a glance back to the store, she calculates how much money she'll have left after this. "I'll refill my water and probably get a toothbrush set. Maybe a tourist t-shirt if I have enough. Next best thing to a shower and full change of clothes."

Knock Out's gaze unfixes again, looking down at his coffee cup without seeing it as his attention is shifted to his actual form in the parking lot. It lasts a few moments this time, and then just as suddenly he's back again.

"Helicopter in the area," he explained. "But it's registered to Fish & Wildlife Service. It's nothing we need to be concerned about."

And then, picking up the conversation heedless of the interruption. "There are showers here, I saw the sign when we came in. Spend what you have, I'll work on getting us some more money for the next time we stop."

She doesn't think anything of it when she sees his attention shift, but when he comes back and starts talking about a helicopter... The fear that spikes is beyond her control. Even when he assures her there's nothing to worry about, she can't help but do exactly that. What if the registration is a cover-up? What if—

No. No, she's not going down that path.

"Okay," she agrees, the word a bit flat, like the wind's been knocked out of her sails. "Thanks." Finishing her mug of coffee, she reaches over for his, both needing a second cup and not wanting anyone to notice after the fact that he hadn't actually had any himself.

Knock Out settles the holoform's hand on top of hers when she reaches for his mug. He knows how her power works, or at least the basics of it, but this construction of bent light and compiling algorithms has nothing to fear from her touch.

"Rogue," he says, calm but firm. "It's fine. I'm keeping an eye on it."

Of course he knows. She shouldn't be surprised and yet she is, a feeling that overpowers her usual automatic response to having her hand touched. So she just stares at him for a moment before nodding and lifting the mug, taking a large gulp of the too sweet nectar as the waitress arrived with their check.

Counting out enough bills to cover the check and provide a decent tip, she drinks down about the mug before sliding over to the edge of the seat. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. I shouldn't take long, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes."

He nods, assurance that he'll be right where she leaves him. While she's getting herself attended, Knock Out makes a slow circuit of the store, resisting the urge to touch everything. So many tiny things that he's never seen up close before, and knows only from downloaded pictures and abstract references.

(He does allow himself to play with a few things. A petite wind chime, a set of scenic magnets, a bracelet made of fake seashells. For a few minutes, he can indulge and pretend everything is fine.)

He stops in front of the ATM, frowning at it, and with a quick glance around to make sure no one's looking, rests the holoform's hand on the screen. Immediately the display fritzes and jumps, but he has no way of delivering code like this. A hard line, then? Something to think about. Knock Out pulls back and the screen smooths out as if nothing had happened.

Standing in front of the large window that overlooks the parking lot, watching the steady hum and flow of traffic coming in and out, watching himself sitting in the morning sunshine, Knock Out is trying not to let his own thoughts wander. If what he suspects now to be true really is -- that this is some bizarre, abnormal exPort -- the news isn't good for Rogue or him.

And he can't fix it. The idea is enough to stutter his spark rotation for the swiftest of seconds.

But for Rogue, at least, he can hopefully mitigate the worst of it, for as long as he can. Treat the symptoms, even if he can't cure the cause. Break the problems down into manageable, solvable elements. Target what could be done, not what couldn't.

(He is a medic. This is just another kind of triage. Focus.)

He's recovered some equilibrium by the time Rogue emerges, enough to give her a smile. "Shall we?"

It's funny how thoughts can wander so completely while one is in the shower. With nothing in particular to occupy the mind, thoughts flow like the water, here and gone and on to another subject entirely. Explaining her gloves is going to be a problem but she can't go without them. What if the nanites still work and her powers are controllable here. She can't risk testing it, even when they are so close to De Chima and hopefully their answers. Does she have enough money left for a third cup of coffee to go.

The hot shower was exactly what she needed. The soap wasn't the highest quality but it got her clean, and with a quick brush of her teeth, she actually felt human again. Combing through her hair with her fingers because she'd rather spend those last dollars on another cup of coffee, she returns to Knock Out now dressed in the cheapest novelty t-shirt she'd been able to find, a plain white with I ♥ KY emblazoned in red that had been 75% off, and carrying a paper to-go cup.

"We shall," she responds with a smile of her own, her hair leaving wet spots along the back of her shirt. She probably looks like a drowned rat but she's really not the least bit concerned about it at the moment.

The sky is cloudless and the day promises to be warm as the temperature is already climbing, reflecting off the black pavement of the parking lot. Letting the holoform dissolve back into pixels once it was inside the cabin, Knock Out waits until Rogue is settled and then pulls out of the truck stop.

But rather than merge back onto the interstate, he takes a paved secondary road that runs parallel for half a mile before it turns away into farmland. Like Iowa, the landscape is beguiling with long sloping hills and endless green, and they quickly leave the signs of the main thoroughfare behind for quiet countryside. There's less corn here and far more open fields, bisected by dark fences following the natural rises of the topography. Barns dot the vista, as do dark stands of trees, and many of the fields are occupied by cattle or horses.

It doesn't take long before they're in a much more rural area, and the only vehicle around. There's no point in putting this off any longer, much as Knock Out wishes otherwise.

"Early this morning, I gained access into the satellite data network," he begins carefully. "I've spent the last few hours catching up on things. Documentation regarding mutants started appearing about fifty years ago, and has... accelerated substantially since."

He has a better idea of why Rogue is so frightened, now. There's still a lot more information to go through, but he has more of a grasp on the severity of their situation. With no traffic in either direction on this small road, he pulls over to the shoulder, two wheels resting in the gravel, engine idling quietly in park.

"I also took a more focused scan on both of us. I'm not detecting any of the Porter nanites in either of us, and our Registration tattoos are gone."

He lets that statement hang in the air, but there is no way to soften what he has to say next. "My cartographic data was updated. Rogue... De Chima isn't on the map. None of the Porter cities appear to exist at all, and I can't find any kind of reference to imPorts anywhere."

There's something comforting about being back out on the road, away from prying eyes and the dangers of being noticed on the busier roads. The open fields are beautiful in their own way, reminding her that life exists here, that this isn't the world she'd left behind. Even when Knock Out begins explaining what he'd pieced together from the data he'd accessed, she had hope that this was just some strange nonsense of the Porter.

That hope shutters as he pulls off to the side of the road, something in her cowering in fear at whatever words might come next... and then ratcheting up to full-blown terror as he finally gets to the point.

She's quiet for long moments that stretch into the quiet that surrounds them, her gloved hands resting on the wheel. One deep breath, two. Again and again, though they're not as even and measured as they should be. That fear rises, threatening to drown her, and then it kindles something else within her.

"Early this morning," she says in a low voice, repeating his earlier words. "It wouldn't take you hours to figure out the cities are gone, or our nanites. You knew when I woke up and you didn't tell me."

There's no question to the words.

"Yes," he answers evenly, despite recognizing that she had not framed it as a question. "I knew. I also knew there was no point in telling you before other needs were met. I prioritized."

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