"If you could recall them clearly, I would be more surprised. And you'd have a lot more voices shouting you down in your head."

She exhales, one hand toying with the bunny's soft ear. "There are parts of my memory that are absent, or smeared together, until I couldn't give you a decent idea of what happened in that stretch of time. And whether that was induced, or something like those book characters who go through grief and forget who they are, I couldn't tell you. I bring it up to tell you that I understand, in a way."

But this conversation isn't about her. It's about Erin, and grief, and that ever moving goal, and the way that things want to bite into your ankles, so many thorns and knives.

"You're so quick to tell other people to not hide if they're not fine. To tell me not to neglect my own needs, to encourage me to express what I think. I think, what about your needs, Erin? And if you say they aren't important I'll....I'll call the ship down on you again and get electrocuted again if I have to."

An empty threat, because she already promised people she wouldn't use the power frivolously.