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He winds down eventually.
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He can just lie here and be petted for a while, if she doesn't have anything better to do.

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The autopilot is working fine. She could be reading, but at the moment that interests her less than the possibility that her boyfriend will explain the problem.

"Did you hear my question?" she asks after a silence.
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"Which...? The one about you suppressing your emotions? Yeah," he says. "...It's complicated."

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Pet, pet. "I am willing to listen."

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"It hurts to see you like this right now because I feel like you're doing it because you have something nasty waiting for you when you stop, and even though you're not feeling the nasty, I'm still imagining it," he says. "It'd still hurt if you were feeling it, just - differently."

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"You are correct about what will happen when I stop, unfortunately."

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He nods.

He sighs.

"There's more," he says.
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"Please, go on."

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"...When you have feelings, you have feelings about me," he says. "I love you. It's hard to be around you when you don't have feelings about me. But - I don't know, I can't honestly say that watching you suffer would feel like an improvement."

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"Both my current emotionless state and my subsequent distress will pass."

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"Believe me, I know," he sighs. "And so will me crying everywhere."

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Isabella hesitates.

And then she says, "When I cease my suppression, I expect, among other things, to be angry at you."
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He doesn't really have a response to that.

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"It will likely be transitory, but as you are already under stress perhaps I could postpone this event longer than planned."

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"Putting it off won't help me any."

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"Are you certain?"

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"Yeah."

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She nods once.

"I had planned to stop today. I have disliked the results of more prolonged suppression in the past."

She takes a deep breath.

When she lets it out again, she's herself. She isn't crying, screaming, ranting - but there's light in her eyes again, and her body language isn't so intensely measured.
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Lalita relaxes noticeably.

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"I had no idea what was going on," she says in a low, snappish voice. "I was on the other side of the wall from you, but I didn't know that. You'd worked out a deal with them, but I didn't know that. You could get us out at any time, but I didn't know that. If I had known any of it I could have screamed the first time he touched me. If you'd - if you'd summarized the situation in Vulcan through the wall, perhaps in song to make it sound like you were entertaining yourself - or knocked on the wall in Morse code - or whispered to me the least bit of translation of anything that was said while I was still present - I could have been spared days of torture."

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"I didn't know that," he says, with a hint of his earlier sobbing coming back to haunt him. "I've been down this road before, but never with somebody else. I know how to handle it when it's just me. I didn't know how to handle it with you there. I got it wrong. I fucked it up. I'm sorry."

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"I thought they were hurting you, too. I didn't know. I still don't know; maybe you just had time to heal."

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He shakes his head.

"No, he just fucked me," he says tiredly. "That was the deal. I play along, and nothing bad happens to you."
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