So, I started dating Sharon Hitchens.
Wasn't she your student?
Well, sure, years before this! It was 2003. She was 21.
And that made you how old?
Let's say I mumbled a number so it sounds less bad.
No, it sounds bad regardless.
Moving along... the dating wasn't the important part. I was well over things with the Andriesen sisters by this point. Or I should say, they were well over me. I don't blame them. I was a prick.
"Was"?
You could at least compliment my capacity for self-reflection.
I'd compliment you for not dating someone who could be your granddaughter.
You won't like the rest of this, then.
We were in her room at the Magna Black compound. She had a nicer room than me. The kids generally did. OK, she wasn't a "kid" anymore. I didn't need a nice room, anyway. I had Inferno and my base under Key Trofeo, plus the couple dozen safe houses, etc. A posh suite at the compound didn't rate very highly.
She slept in this elaborate pink canopy bed. It always smelled like roses, which I later found out was due to this spray she used very aggressively so it always smelled that way. People would know I'd spent the night with her because I'd smell quite overtly of roses the next day.
No shower afterward?
What can I say? I like having it on me for a while after.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
So this particular night, we were all over each other--
Oh my God.
Hey, this is what I'm paying for. She had a thing for old guys, and if I wanted to sidebar into the whole thing with her not having a father in her life, I could say it's not hard to draw a line from one trait to the other. My type was usually older, closer to my age, but she made the first move.
Which you should have turned down! This is messed up, man.
I'm telling a story, here. If I'm going to make things up then it's not my story. You're getting "warts and all" with this shit. If you want to consider this a wart, be my guest.
More of an invasive cancer, but go on.
We were in her bed and it went from making out to doing the deed in about 10 minutes. I thought she'd be more comfortable at her place, and I was right. It was all over about five minutes later. One thing about being a cyborg is you know exactly how long everything takes, for better or worse.
Sharon looked disappointed but didn't say anything.
No shit, Sherlock. What a letdown.
Sorry, did you want something steamier?
No, but clearly she did.
She went to the bathroom to clean up and I took a few minutes to scan the global headlines in case I needed to make a quick exit and go solve some international crisis. Unfortunately, there wasn't one. So, she came back a few minutes later, said she was pretty tired, and that I could take our takeout leftovers with me if I wanted.
Not exactly one to give hints, I see.
No, she was pretty straightforward. Always liked that about her. I asked if I could use her bathroom first and she didn't look thrilled at the prospect of having me in her room for a few more minutes, but she relented. I went in and took a quick shower. Of all my different facilities, and even with my bedroom at the compound, it's hard to find a shower with good heat and pressure. Seems like you either get one or the other. She was lucky enough to have both, and in some ways I hung around her just so I could use that.
Truly, a knight in shining armor.
So, I hopped out of the shower to somebody saying my name. It was my voice, but it wasn't me. I'm standing there, buck naked, in front of the Director.
How did you know it was him? With there being ten billion of you running around, I mean.
We'd spent enough time together that he just had a look and I could tell instantly it was him, even when he'd aged a few years in between. Anyway, him being there shocked me so badly I almost slipped. I had this lovely vision of falling, hitting my head on the lip of the tub, and dying of a brain bleed. That might have been nicer than what he had in store for me.
This oughta be good.
Once I got my bearings, I looked right at him and I said, "The fuck do you want?" I knew I hadn't hit any of his time buoys or broken any of his precious "temporal mandates," so he didn't have anything on me. I hoped it was a social call. It was not a social call.
"Did you just make a deposit in that juvenile in the other room?" he asked, which might be the most insane thing anyone's ever asked me.
"First of all," I said, "She is old enough to drink. Secondly, it's none of your business where I make my 'deposits.'"
My nausea is returning.
"It's my business when the future of humanity may be at stake," he said all ominously.
I instinctively rolled my eyes. It's always shit like that with him. "End of the world" this, "annihilation of humanity" that, "the timeline's been whacked with a whiffle ball bat," etc. I asked him what proof he had, and he said he would show me.
It wasn't a question; he wasn't asking. He just grabbed my hand and we were somewhere else. I later realized this was some mind palace shit and we hadn't actually gone anywhere, he just wanted to make his point directly. We were inside of the lobby of the public annex of the Magna Black compound. It wasn't exactly the same, but I could tell.
"Twenty years from now," he said, "The child you just created is going to walk in here and blow away almost the entirety of the Magna Black leadership."
Wouldn't be the first time I heard such a story, won't be the last. This redhead who's the spitting image of Sharon walks in with some kind of futuristic rifle and just tears through the place. She's got dead eyes like she doesn't give a shit, or maybe she doesn't know what she's doing.
A woman can't decide to go on a killing spree? Not very enlightened of you.
I don't think killing sprees are too enlightened, either. Before you call me out: I never said I was enlightened.
The Director made a nice pyrotechnic show out of my supposed kid--Arianne, he later said her name was--wiping a bunch of people out. It was a gruesome scene, even by my standards.
"This is a record later found in the burned remnants of the building," he explained. "She disappeared after this. Nobody knows what happened to her. And not that I especially care about the fate of Magna, the knock-on effects of this incident are... undesirable, to put it mildly."
I got all defensive. "How is this my problem?"
"This is at least 50% your problem," he said, which is a very Robert Maxwell argument to make.
I asked him what I was expected to do about it. I'd already fucked Sharon, and I guess not talking about birth control methods or anything really screwed me over there. Frankly, I didn't think I was shooting anything viable, either. You know how much radiation I've been exposed to??
I'm gonna cover my ears if you don't change the subject.
OK, fine. The point is, I couldn't make this not happen, not without time travel shenanigans, which seemed over-the-top for this situation. Not the mass murder part. I get why that was an issue. But like, what's the angle? Go back in time an hour and tell myself, "Don't put it in there?" Or maybe, "Wrap it?" It's comical. Plus, some part of me felt bad that I would have to wipe my own kid out of existence, or at least diverge her into a timeline where I'd never see her.
I talked it out with the Director and he came up with a plan. He'd take both of us into the future where Arianne is a little kid, and he'd snatch her up and send her to the future where he could look after her. Then, the massacre would never happen at all.
After that, he'd merge me with the version of me that existed right before I started dating Sharon, and then I could just... not do that. We briefly considered sending me back separately so I could talk him out of it, but we all know how stubborn I am, so we both thought it was better just to replace that variable altogether. The Director also didn't want yet another version of me to keep track of. I can't say I blame him. I'm a stinker.
It's cool how you just wipe out other versions of yourself on a whim.
They still exist, sort of! We're in the same body, after all. I'm just the one in the driver's seat. If there was a better way, I'd do that.
So, we pulled the whole thing off. He showed up a few weeks later to make sure I wasn't making eyes at Sharon. I absolutely kept my eyes to myself. She threw herself at me during a cocktail party and I had to awkwardly tell her I wasn't interested. She cried. It was all very unpleasant. I'm weak. You think I can just say "no" to women like that? I'd need an iron will for that. I definitely don't have one in that department. I crumble. But I held firm and Sharon eventually found someone else to work out her daddy issues with, and the future was saved from our murderous progeny. If I had a nickel for every time I had a situation like that, I'd have... at least 15 cents? I guess that's a not a lot, but it still happened 3 times. Maybe more, depending on what other versions of me went through.
You really thought you'd slip a Phineas and Ferb reference past me?
Of course not. That was a little treat, just for you.
I don't think it makes up for me having to imagine you doing the nasty.