It takes several moments of her sitting before he starts moving, slow and careful, like he isn't quite familiar with himself. It's easy enough to box up the aches and pains, but he can't shake the idea that there are still more of them than there should be. "Not yet, you're not," he says, but he's thinking about what she's saying. There's a set to his face now, a little under-layer of stubborn determination that hadn't been there as the Asset.

It's making sense, what she's saying, which he supposes should be dubious enough considering she's supposed to be a figment of his imagination. But no, she isn't, is she? She's real. She's been real every other time he's run across her. Each one of them spools out in full Technicolor, and he flinches just a little, but not much. He's better at remembering now, better at knowing what to do with the cascades of images and sounds that would download from long-term storage. The first few weeks out of cryo had been rougher, before he'd remembered how to remember.

He can remember her tricking the Asset into turning his back so she could scythe through the air and come damn close to garotting him. Much more recently he can remember her flashing past him on the tarmac, much further back he can remember aiming through her, but there's something else...that disappears when he makes the mistake of trying to chase it.

"I wasn't gonna open my big mouth out there, no matter how bullshit they sounded," he says after a few moments wasted trying to get it back. He'll remember eventually if it's important, he reminds himself. Instead, he lifts his left hand, flexes the fingers, sets it back down, spread on his knee. "How'd I get this back, then? I got a lot of memories telling me this thing got blown to Kingdom Come."