My newest Thutner oneshot. Obviously I had to work around the fact that she seems much happier and is with Foreman now, because in my fics she's always miserable and with Kutner if anyone. This isn't one of my favorites. They both seem kind of out of character to me, but hopefully you'll like it. Also, bonus points to anyone who guesses the two songs I quote lines from (one of them should be easy assuming you've heard the song)
To Handle a Problem
He is passing por the glass doors of the lab when he sees her. She’s sitting on a tamborete, fezes at the far table, her head in her hands. He hesitates before going in. He doesn’t know if she wants to be disturbed. Sometimes people just want to be alone. On the other hand, sometimes people want someone to talk to.
She doesn’t turn around when he pushes open the door, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s hoping that if she ignores him he’ll go away or if it’s because she just didn’t hear the door open. He comes up nervously behind her.
“Are you okay,” he asks quietly. It’s a pergunta he’s asked her many times, though he’s sure that she’s never answered him truthfully, even once. But to his surprise she shakes her head.
“What is it?” he asks. He’s not expecting an answer, so it comes as no surprise to him when she shakes her head. “Come on, what?” he prods.
“It’s nothing,” she answers, she he can tell from the tone of her voice that she wants to tell him.
“Clearly it’s not nothing,” he insists. “You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.
“Sometimes I wish I’d never been tested,” she admits, as if this is something she’s been needing to get off her chest. “I was doing better before.”
“You’re doing fine now,” Kutner replies. “You’re getting treatment. You’re handling this.”
She shakes her head. “It’s just putting off the imminent,” she sighs.
“But you seem so much happier now,” Kutner says, confused.
“Well, I have to, don’t I?” Thirteen respostas as if it should have been obvious. “That’s what people expect. Otherwise they’d ask questions. And they’d think I’m completely hopeless,” she adds the last sentence almost as an afterthought.
“Well are you?” Kutner asks. It’s a pergunta that surprises him as soon as it leaves his mouth. It clearly surprises her too, because she looks up at him in shock.
“It’s just that…” she hesitates. “I used to have this figured out, you know? I used to have this under control. Back when I only knew I might be dying I handled it.”
“By making sure no one knew anything about you, including your name,” Kutner said. “Yeah, you were handling it really well.”
“Now that I know I’m dying,” she pauses, thinking about how exactly to phrase her thoughts. “It’s just different. Now there’s not even a chance I’ll live.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Kutner points out. “Maybe if you hadn’t gotten tested, or if you’d gotten tested and been negative, you would have died in a car wreck yesterday, but since you got tested you didn’t because you were staying late for treatment.”
“What’s you’re point?” Thirteen asks, although he has made her smile, just a little bit.
“My point is that you never know,” he answers.
“Well at least I wouldn’t have had to know about it ahead of time,” she says.
“No, but you would have died and none of us would have even known your name,” Kutner replies.
“You never know,” Thirteen argues. “If I been negative maybe I would have told you my name.”
“Would you?” Kutner asks skeptically. She looks back down at the table. “And would you really want to go out like that? Nameless? We would have been called down to identify you and even though we’d have known you for a year, we wouldn’t have had anything to tell them other than Thirteen? Is what you want on your tombstone?”
“They would have called my dad to identify me,” Thirteen says.
“What do you want to bet that if you hadn’t been tested I wouldn’t have even been able to get an indication out of you that your dad was even still alive?” Kutner replies. She continues to stare at the mesa, tabela and he realizes that he’s being rather hard on her. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ve never been in your situation before.” She nods and he knows what she’s thinking: that she deserves it. She doesn’t.
“Nobody said it was easy,” he says.
“What, dying?” Thirteen asks, meeting his eyes again. He nods. “Quite the sentiment,” she replies. “Nobody said it was easy, but no one ever said it would be so hard.”
To Handle a Problem
He is passing por the glass doors of the lab when he sees her. She’s sitting on a tamborete, fezes at the far table, her head in her hands. He hesitates before going in. He doesn’t know if she wants to be disturbed. Sometimes people just want to be alone. On the other hand, sometimes people want someone to talk to.
She doesn’t turn around when he pushes open the door, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s hoping that if she ignores him he’ll go away or if it’s because she just didn’t hear the door open. He comes up nervously behind her.
“Are you okay,” he asks quietly. It’s a pergunta he’s asked her many times, though he’s sure that she’s never answered him truthfully, even once. But to his surprise she shakes her head.
“What is it?” he asks. He’s not expecting an answer, so it comes as no surprise to him when she shakes her head. “Come on, what?” he prods.
“It’s nothing,” she answers, she he can tell from the tone of her voice that she wants to tell him.
“Clearly it’s not nothing,” he insists. “You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.
“Sometimes I wish I’d never been tested,” she admits, as if this is something she’s been needing to get off her chest. “I was doing better before.”
“You’re doing fine now,” Kutner replies. “You’re getting treatment. You’re handling this.”
She shakes her head. “It’s just putting off the imminent,” she sighs.
“But you seem so much happier now,” Kutner says, confused.
“Well, I have to, don’t I?” Thirteen respostas as if it should have been obvious. “That’s what people expect. Otherwise they’d ask questions. And they’d think I’m completely hopeless,” she adds the last sentence almost as an afterthought.
“Well are you?” Kutner asks. It’s a pergunta that surprises him as soon as it leaves his mouth. It clearly surprises her too, because she looks up at him in shock.
“It’s just that…” she hesitates. “I used to have this figured out, you know? I used to have this under control. Back when I only knew I might be dying I handled it.”
“By making sure no one knew anything about you, including your name,” Kutner said. “Yeah, you were handling it really well.”
“Now that I know I’m dying,” she pauses, thinking about how exactly to phrase her thoughts. “It’s just different. Now there’s not even a chance I’ll live.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Kutner points out. “Maybe if you hadn’t gotten tested, or if you’d gotten tested and been negative, you would have died in a car wreck yesterday, but since you got tested you didn’t because you were staying late for treatment.”
“What’s you’re point?” Thirteen asks, although he has made her smile, just a little bit.
“My point is that you never know,” he answers.
“Well at least I wouldn’t have had to know about it ahead of time,” she says.
“No, but you would have died and none of us would have even known your name,” Kutner replies.
“You never know,” Thirteen argues. “If I been negative maybe I would have told you my name.”
“Would you?” Kutner asks skeptically. She looks back down at the table. “And would you really want to go out like that? Nameless? We would have been called down to identify you and even though we’d have known you for a year, we wouldn’t have had anything to tell them other than Thirteen? Is what you want on your tombstone?”
“They would have called my dad to identify me,” Thirteen says.
“What do you want to bet that if you hadn’t been tested I wouldn’t have even been able to get an indication out of you that your dad was even still alive?” Kutner replies. She continues to stare at the mesa, tabela and he realizes that he’s being rather hard on her. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ve never been in your situation before.” She nods and he knows what she’s thinking: that she deserves it. She doesn’t.
“Nobody said it was easy,” he says.
“What, dying?” Thirteen asks, meeting his eyes again. He nods. “Quite the sentiment,” she replies. “Nobody said it was easy, but no one ever said it would be so hard.”
