we have some promises to keep

[attitude]

When Faye cuts across the path outside the Compound on her way back to the clinic, she wishes more than anything that she could cut the thread of tension that winds deep in her stomach. That niggling sense of dread that tells her that what the doctor has to report might not be at all what she wants to hear. She would give anything to not give a damn, to be content to solve all problems with a painkiller or two— sadly, the desire for self-preservation seems to outweigh, and before Faye steps into the building, she finds herself shaking out the nerves on the steps, a deep breath slipping between her teeth before she pushes inside.

She can do this.

Nothing can get worse than waking up to discover that you've missed fifty years and don't remember a thing, right?

Right.

It doesn't help that she's aching all over, groggy to no end, and that all she wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. One wouldn't know it by her outfit though, a devilishly red halter looped around her neck and shorts that show off the length of her legs, skin still relatively pale in spite of the sunning she does every week.

She saunters in, and maybe she looks twice as confident as she feels.

"Hey," she greets, happy to have found a familiar face. "So... as requested, here for the results. Sorry for making you come in off hours."