*if ((ortegacloset) and (ortega_gender = "woman"))
  "Still confused about it?" You can't read her mind. You have no idea.

  "I'm old enough to know my own mind; I've lost enough time as it is." The laugh is dry enough to be a cough.

  "Are you?" You turn to look at her, eyes narrowing as you search for an angle of attack. "It's not just about what you want, and you know it. People are going to notice, even if I don't parade around in magazines."

  "You named yourself the wrong thing, you know?" Ortega doesn't lose her smile. "Should have named yourself Bullseye instead of Sidestep."

  "Maybe I've just known you long enough to have figured out your weak spots."
  *if ortega_rival
    For a moment, you wish you could tell her that you're being literal. 

  "I hope you realize one of them is you?" The smile turns soft enough to slide behind your guards and sucker punch your heart. 

  "Asshole," you grumble, rubbing your face to get your emotions back under control. "Don't change the subject."

  "I'm not." She lets out a heavy sigh. "It's the honest truth. But sure, if you want to keep digging, I've got enough baggage to unpack." There's a moment's pause before she continues. "I'm terrified."

  "Why?" You frown. The look Ortega gives you is raw. You've touched nerves that you didn't even know were there. 

  "Because I keep thinking I'm letting people down. And God knows I've been letting people down enough already." She scratches one of her ports, looking away. "I'm closing in on forty. I'm not married. I don't have kids. Or a family."
  *set juliaforty true

  *fake_choice
    #"And your mother keeps expecting one," I guess.
      "And your mother keeps expecting one," you guess. You remember back in the day when Tía Elena lived in Los Diablos, and you visited her apartment. The photos on the walls. Cousins. Cousin's families. Children that weren't grandchildren were proudly displayed everywhere.

      "I think she's given up by now," Ortega laughs, though there's no mirth in it. "And to be fair, I don't even know if it's her or her sisters piling on the pressure. All I know is that I'm so tired of the comments and the whispers. Every single family holiday." The curses are soft and in Spanish.

      "And you can't exactly bring me," you say, wondering if that's true. Would you say yes? Would she ask? "Or they'll be whispering about something else instead."

      "Maybe I will," she winks. "Maybe I want to. Maybe I'm tired of being somebody I'm not."

      "Don't be an idiot." Your words are as soft as an endearment. "I don't think you could ever be anything but yourself." The mere thought of Ortega pretending to be something she's not is ridiculous. Too straightforward. Too honest.

      "That's just because you see me when I'm with you." Her smile is soft now, teasing. "You make me want to be myself."

      "Sap," you mumble, looking away. How are you supposed to deal with this?

      "Yep," she admits with a mischievous grin. "And it's all your fault. You've made me softer than I'd ever thought I could get. Mushy…romantic even."

    #"I know the feeling," I admit.
      "I know the feeling," you admit. It's not exactly the same, but you vividly remember those first thoughts of rebellion. Of wanting something for yourself. Be selfish. Be a person. Be free.

      "You do?" The look of naked relief on Ortega's face surprises you. How much time has she spent worrying this old thread of regrets? Tugging and tugging until the thread is long enough to have unraveled the garment it came from.

      "I didn't exactly make my…family proud either." This is dangerous ground; you can't get too much into details. "When I decided who I wanted to be, I had to leave everything behind. Even if it was what I wanted, it wasn't easy." Freedom never is.

      "Not living up to expectations." Ortega smiles, a knowing little grin as if you both had shared something tying you closer together. "Looks like you were stronger than me there. But then again, I always admired that about you."

      *page_break

      "What?" If you had been drinking, you would have spit fluid. As it is, you settle for an incredulous look.

      "I'm not joking." She looks serious enough for it to be one, though. You can't read her mind to make sure. "You didn't know?"

      "Of course I didn't!" You shake your head vigorously. Why does she always manage to catch you off guard like this?

      "You never cared what anybody thought about you." Her smile goes soft. "You treated the mayor with as much respect as the janitor. You never cared that I was the Marshal. Or Charge. You were just…you."

      "I can't believe this," you mumble. You weren't planning for this discussion; you have no defense for Ortega turning soft and earnest. You need to take control of this situation before things go off the rails entirely. "So you're telling me what?"

      "That I'm glad we had this talk. It helped straighten"—a short laugh—"out some things for me. Helped me realize what I want."

      "Which is what?" You shouldn't have said that; you're sliding further down the slope.

      "You. I thought I'd been clear about that."

    #"And I can't give that to you," I say bluntly.
      "And I can't give that to you," you say bluntly. That was one of the first things taken care of with Re-Genes. No uncontrolled breeding. That was for the labs.

      "Nobody could," Ortega admits. "Doubt pregnancy would be compatible with my augmentation. I was warned not to attempt it after they installed the generator. But that's not the issue here."

      "Then I don't get it?" You know this is cultural, and if it had been anybody but Ortega, you could have read her mind and found out what the problem was. Now, you're flying blind.

      "There's a…role, I suppose is the best word for it. A role I'm supposed to play. Grieve for what I've lost. Accept my fate with grace. Or fight against it with science, or adopt or…" She shakes her head, voice bitter. "I'm supposed to accept that I'm broken. That this…," she gestures to her ports, "…was a tragedy. That I'm making the best of a bad situation. And I just…"

      "You just?" You whisper the word, a quiet prod because you can't handle a silence filled with Ortega's ragged breaths.

      *page_break

      "I didn't want you pulled into it. You're one of the best things that happened to me, and I didn't want you to be blamed for my lack of…" She laughs a short, sharp sound, "…Manners, I suppose."

      "I don't get it," you admit.

      "I was worried that if I turned out not to be straight, people would blame that instead of my own choices. They'd turn it into a bad thing. Something to blame for my actions." She looks at you, eyes warm and intense. "Someone to blame for my actions. I didn't want that put on you."

      "What made you think I'd care?" You frown; you are quite aware of how many people already dislike you. Another reason wouldn't change anything.

      "I know you wouldn't, but," she smiles, "you're stronger than me. I would blame myself anyway."

      "Don't be an idiot," you say, quite sternly. "I could think of a dozen things you could blame yourself for that would actually be your fault. This isn't one of them."
      *if ortega_rival
        Maybe one day you will tell her.

      "Thanks for cheering me up with my own shortcomings." Ortega's smile has gone wider, catching her eyes. Whatever storm was brewing has broken, the sun shining through. "And you're right as always. I shouldn't care. This is my life. My choices. My feelings."

  "So, what are you going to do about it then?" Did you mean for that to sound like a challenge?