If you aren't a police officer now, what would you be? she asks.

 

They're nearing the tenth-hour mark and she might have grown more restless than he took note of because during the last hour she had stopped trying to talk him into conversation and stuck to an animated monologue about almost anything and everything. It might have to do with her third cup of coffee or the excitement that in a couple of hours this would be over and she'd be having breakfast - Seriously, who gets that excited over eggs and sausage and more coffee? - but he couldn't know. He wouldn't ask. During the course of the night he'd realized it was better to let her be or tempt being wrangled into verbal exchange he does not have the energy or patience for. There was a time he wondered if doctors are generally this energetic. Does it come from constant anticipation of being called into emergencies? Again, he wouldn't ask.

 

When the occasional silence in between her self-talks lengthened uncharacteristically, he looked over to check if she hadn't talked herself to incapacitation. Imagine his surprise when he finds her watching - all playful look and dimpled smile - clearly expecting to draw his attention. He frowns on reflex.

 

It was a strange question on its own, made more peculiar because upon thought he realized he has no ready answer. From childhood he had aspired to be like his father - principled and brave. Time only served to fuel the desire more until it came to fruition. Because he had nothing to say, he shrugged.

 

Come on, you didn't want to be an astronaut when you were young?

 

No.

 

An architect?

 

Bad at drawing.

 

Stamp collector?

 

His lifted eyebrow did not seem to deter her inquiry. Facing the street again caused him to miss the comical face she made.

 

How about a singer? You can sing, right? I doubt you're the ballad type. Maybe more hiphop? Loud beats. Something.. What's that again? She was snapping her fingers, no doubt with a frown trying to recall and then jerks from her seat, YG material. Yeah, they'd definitely scout you.

 

Because he's turned, she missed when his lips faintly quirked. It lifted a little more at hearing her comment that a known rival company would only make him Pretty and that It's not like you aren't that already.

 

Still, he keeps to his silence. She seems to adapt his demeanor after a while and settles in her seat, socked feet lifted under her. The occasional sounds of her moving keeps him from checking back. That might as well be, as there had been enough distraction from her than he had been prepared for tonight. First is the whiff of her - vanilla - that remains in the cramped space despite coffee cups and boxes of takeout. Then the talking, and it's not like she's spouting nonsense. Her topics can be varied and fleeting but enough to spend thought on. The worst, however, are those damned dimples. Every time she smiles, his eyes are drawn to them. It's maddening how base his reaction is.

 

I'd be a travel writer. Or host a travel documentary. Go to places and see the sights, taste the local cuisine. She offers moments later, her voice with a hint of a smile to it. The idea amuses him because it isn't difficult to imagine. She could certainly talk her way into people and her taste in food is always agreeable - minus the oatmeal. Or a figure skater. A ballroom dancer. Or a pastry chef!

 

Her exclamation makes him sigh. What happened tonight only pounded the fact more that his partner can be a little detached from reality.

 

But you know what I wish I could be? The out-of-this-world-crazy version of me I'd like? She sighs dreamily. A time traveler.

 

It is peculiar, he thinks. He could have thought of other things, but apparently they're at the 'beyond Earth' category and he supposes this one would qualify. The why though is still unclear. He waits.

 

No, let me reword that. It's inspired from the idea of a time traveler, but what I really want is to travel to the other universes. You know about that right? The theory of multiple verses?

 

He still doesn't face her, but there's a subtle nod that makes her smile.

 

Imagine, that there are a million universes and in each one of them there's a version of you different from the other. You can be good or bad, alive or dead, human or not. Rich or poor, happy or sad, loved or taken for granted. The person you love here can be your mortal enemy in another universe. Friends can be family or the other way. You can be the wildest version of yourself, because there might be a universe that's just all about chaos. I can be Queen in one and rebel in another.

 

Or a dog who insistently barks, he drily adds.

 

She glares, and there's no hint of shame when she spouts, Then I'll make sure I'm rabid enough and find you.