Template:Featured Articles/29-2021
 Doug's mental connection to Emma was deep and nuanced, the product of long experience with each other. The downside to that was that it was very hard for Doug to hide anything from Emma without shutting her out completely. ~You're not going to like it,~ he sent through the mental equivalent of pursed lips, clearly reluctant but also resigned. ~The nanites are keeping everything out of the secure areas, right? Well, they can't exactly keep themselves out...~ ~So you’re using them as camouflage?~ mused Emma. ~It… carries risk, of course. Is there anyway that I can help? Put your mind in a box? Provide rousing moral support? Deliver painkillers and martinis when you’re on the recovery couch?~ She deposited a picture in Doug’s mind, of her wearing a wisp of something that might charitably be called a waitress uniform delivering a cartoonishly large martini to a prone Doug on a red velvet chaise lounge. Doug's thoughts were amused. Emma adopted a submissive state like that for approximately no one. But she'd been deeper into his brain than anyone else, and this particular idle fantasy was certainly something drawn from his own subconscious. ~I never say no to painkillers or martinis,~ And while he enjoyed the thought of Emma in something frilly and brief, he locked it away much as she had all those years ago. ~As for the rest, I've given it a start...~ There was a sensation of a hallway, doors closed or closing. ~But a bit of assistance is always appreciated.~ ~Then a bit of assistance shall be provided to my favourite Knight,~ replied Emma. ~And, to pretend to a modicum of modesty and humility that you of all people know is just a charade to cover my staggering ego, I am fairly certain that if there's anyone who knows the important bits of Doug that should be kept, it's his Queen.~ She sent another cartoonish image, her looking at a Doug dressed all in white and reaching her hand into his head and rummaging around, then drawing out shiny strands and popping them into an extremely stylish Dior handbag. ~Did that feel like an important bit?~ she asked as she popped another shiny strand into her bag. It wasn't entirely clear who knew him better after all these years - Emma or Marie-Ange. Emma had been in the depths of his psyche, but Marie-Ange was the one who'd shared the casual intimacy of a dozen or more years as friends, lovers, teammates. Doug was grateful for the lighthearted tone Emma had struck, because the parallels to Mastermold were all too obvious, and he was not the person he had been then. This time he was older, wearier, and without any illusions about the likelihood of coming back from the very threshold of death's door after so many times flirting with it. But at the root of it all, this was who he was - doing the hard thing no matter the cost just because it needed to be done. And if there was even a small chance that he came out the other side of this, he knew that Emma and Marie-Ange would be the ones to put him back together. ~I mean, I can probably relearn all the words to Dragostea Din Tei if I have to,~ he sent back. ~Darling, I’ll learn the lyrics for you and put them back in your head in a box with a bow on it, once you are home safe,~ said Emma and finally shut the bag she was carrying. ~All your treasures put away for you. Now go, be brave and true and save the day like a true Knight should and come back after and regale your Queen with tales of your adventures.~ For a moment, Emma showed herself in her full regalia in a stand, with Doug in full armour on a white steed, offering her a favour at the end of his lance. Then for a moment she let herself be serious. ~Be safe,~ she whispered and pressed a psychic kiss to his brow. ~Thank you, Auntie Em,~ Doug sent down the closing connection. The door to the secure labs loomed in front of him, flecked with a writhing mass of gray and gold that swirled and surged. |
