Let's Not Make a Thing Out of This.

“No, Sulli, you may certainly not have her number. Why not? Because she’s my sister, you goblin. You think I want to be related to you?”
“Whaaatever. I’ll just get it myself,” Sullivan Gul tosses his head, spins on his heel, and walks away from Harlan’s quarters.
“This fucking guy,” Harlan mutters, slapping the entry pad on his door. The door retracts into the ceiling and Harlan steps in.
This is all so stressful. First, there’s something weird with his sister, beyond the obvious robotic element. She’s just so- so, rigid. Harlan doesn’t remember her being like that. In his memory, his little sister is a rambunctious, vivacious little monster. Full of life and fairly bouncing off the walls.
He drops down onto his bunk. Maybe he’s been away from home for too long. Perhaps it’s time to call home. He looks at his netlink for a few moments, before deciding he’s just not ready.
And, on top of it all-
Bloody Ori Alon. That’s some luck. He heaves a great sigh, and stands back up. A sudden hunger grips his stomach and he realizes that it’s been some time since he’s eaten. He opens the door to the living corridor, and, not paying attention to where he’s going, very nearly runs right into Ori.
What luck, indeed.

She had been in the cave. She had been with her crew, wandering through that hellscape created by Fay. Then, she had been...somewhere else. Somewhere she didn't want to think about. It had been so real. And the little girl had offered...something. Something she had refused, her heart breaking to do it.

And then she was here, back on the Gina-Lee. In a mild panic, she had made inquiries and learned her crew was fine - they had gotten Fay and handed her over to Navet. They'd be returning soon. So she waited, and thought, and worried, losing herself in a cacophony of worry.

Now, she is brought back to reality by a jostle. Blinking, she focuses her gaze, her mind.

Harlan.

"Oh," she sighs. "Lovely. Come to fling more bigoted insults at me?"

His temper immediately flares, like a spark dropped in a gasoline filled bucket. Totally unbidden, yet burning all the same. Rage and, within that white-hot ball of immolation, a growing shame. Shame for his current and his past behavior.
“I – you - you can’t – This is my-!” he sputters, before taking a big breath through his nostrils, inhaling the oily stale air of the recycled atmosphere and-
Something else.
A scent.
A scent that tightens his gut and brings to mind flowers, brass, and-
Sweat
Oh, help me, he thinks. Olfactory tendrils flick quiet memory spots in his brain, and he blinks, hoping it won’t show on his face and-
Whatever
“I. . .uh,” he begins, wildly hoping to find a thought along the way, hoping his mind will follow where his leads. “was just. . . going to. . . .” He shakes his head. “I guess I should apologize.”

(Finished in chat.)

"You needn't do anything that will compromise your patriotic self-righteousness," she replies, a little tartly. "I know the playbook; I follow that playbook, myself. We both hate the GAF." She sighs, faintly, thinking of Fisher. "That is, we hate what happened to our countries and their military when the GAF formed." Narrowing her eyes to observe him a bit more carefully, she frowns a bit. "Is that what it is? Or is it something else? Something you'd like to discuss with me?"

"Self-righteousness!? You've gotta be-" He clamps his mouth shut, letting the fury, always there, sometimes quiet, sometimes hidden, but always waiting, pass. "Listen, captain," the word is aggressive, "don't act like we're the same. It was your people who. . ." He cuts off again. This is just a repeat. He grinds his jaw for a moment. "It was just a shock seeing you again. And I thought seeing Fisher would. . . ." He shrugs. "I let my emotions run. I shouldn't have."

Ori shakes her head. "If it's any consolation, I'm now a civilian just like yourself. And to sweeten the proverbial pot, I was dishonourably discharged. I won't apologize for what The United Kingdom did to you during the Campaign, and I certainly don't expect you to apologize for the United States' war crimes. We were both dedicated and dutiful, and we aren't any more. It's as simple as that." She takes in a slow breath. "I should have warned you that I was the Fairburn's captain, but doing so would have...raised questions, especially from Fisher." A brow goes aloft. "I assume you'd rather she not know about -" A woman who rarely fumbles, she seems to be groping for the correct word or phrase, - "...us."

This elicts a wry grin, though it seems like the muscles haven't been used in a while in that form. "A fair assumption, yes." He looks up and down the corridor. Empty. He's not sure where the rest of the crew is, but he knows that he's famished. "I was going to raid the mess a bit." He gestures down the hall. "I think we'd better get this sorted out and arrive at some sort of understanding." He tucks his hands into the pockets of his gray jacket, an oddly boyish gesture. "And, yeah, I have some questions about this whole mess that has been dropped on my - on Captain Tanaka's door step."

She follows him into the galley, brows knit as she mulls things over. "None of this was what I wanted, or expected. I think I can safely say that's the same sentiment my crew would offer. What we've been through has been extraordinarily personal, so I'm not sure how much I can divulge without express consent from the crew. As for an 'understanding'...I'm not sure what that would look like."

Harlan tugs open the cold storage and grabs a frozen casserole. He throws it into the heating unit, and while it heats, he grabs a mug and puts it under the coffee spigot and fills it. "All I know, well, not all I know, but what I do know is that Fisher has changed, and I don't know if I like it. I don't know if it is something to do with her accident or this weird clones business, or something else." He grabs his food and drink and sits down at the metal table. He pulls a plastic reusable utensil from the casserole and points it at Ori. "And I don't like any of it."

Leaning against the wall, she folds her arms and frowns. "May I posit something, something you also may not like? Perhaps your feelings about your sister are utterly inconsequential in the face of what she's been through, and that your complaints are not only entirely petty, but unhelpful to her." She keeps her gaze on him steadily. "Perhaps what you like and don't like matters not a whit. Not when held up to her own experiences. Fisher is remarkably resilient, but she likely could use a big brother who, instead of grousing about her 'change', comforts, helps, and accepts her."

This time the anger is more manageable. More like a cold irritation than a volcanic rage. He tries a forkful of casserole, grimacing. "You know, sometimes I think that Jaig isn't the best cook this side of the spiral arm, at all." He takes a sip of coffee. "Well, I can't know that, can I? Since no one will tell me what's going on here. But I do know that she hasn't given me more than four sentences since she got here. I can't be of any help, unless I know what the deal is."

"Why not?" she asks pointedly. "Why is understanding a requirement for love and support? We've told you the bare bones - we encountered something on our mission that was...difficult and damaging. Fisher found her clone, or her future or past self, strung up and burned away of all biological humanity. It was a terrible shock. We're now trying to learn more about what is going on, and are on the outs with Isely because we don't believe they have our best interests in mind." She sighs, the sound sharp, and moves to claim a seat opposite him. "To hold your love for Fisher hostage until she spills her guts, as you Americans say, isn't very admirable, Harlan."

He shrugs. "Maybe," he allows. "It's all a very heavy load, all at once." He tries the casserole again and winces. "Still sucks." He pushes it away. "Hafta recycle this. Unless you want it. Maybe it's closer to what you're used to back home." A second wince. "Sorry. That one just slipped out." He takes a drink of coffee. "Well, all that in mind, what's your plan now?"

She refuses the casserole with a tight little shake of her head. "No, thank you. And I really am very grateful - both to you and Captain Tanaka - for taking us in. It is an imposition, and I do acknowledge both the emotional weight and the awkwardness for you. As for our plans..." She considers. "I think we're going back to the coordinates given to us by Isely to take care of some loose ends and then, perhaps, joining up with the Vosch while we decide the long term." Leaning back a little, her mouth upturns at one corner. "And I think this is now, officially, the longest conversation you and I have ever had." The smile fades. "Would you like to talk about that?"