Transplanted Life
Saturday, January 21, 2006
I've had worse weeks. Not recently, though.
It's no fun to write about being made a complete ass of. I suppose it just goes to show that there's no sort of "gaydar" among those of us who have been exchanged; otherwise, I probably wouldn't have slept with two people who aren't totally who they said they were. And no pheremones making my brain goofy this time. This was all just me believing something because I wanted to. I'm an idiot.

So, my message of Tuesday got to everybody but Telly. Since I was way the heck out in Waltham, I missed all the "good stuff", with the Feds going to Telly's apartment, finding Mikail Korpin not there, because he's gone to meet with Telly after he got off work at the record store. I didn't find out why half the Boston FBI office was on this case until later, but they apparently got to where Telly works just after they'd left.

Korpin, I'm now told, has international warrants out for his arrest. He - and I'm throwing up in my mouth just thinking this - traffics in black market transplant organs. According to Jones, this makes everything make a lot more sense: Why would a smuggler want to hide out as a computer programmer. But if he just facilitated someone else... Yeah, that'd be more his business.

So, they finally caught up with Korpin and Telly while they were eating, but Korpin had experience in spotting police officers, and a hostage. He must have been looking over his shoulder the entire time, just waiting for the Feds to finally figure out who he was. He wound up giving them the slip, but not before using his steak knife to give Telly a nasty gash on his arm. That must have been horrible for Telly. He still hadn't put together that Mikail had been playing us for the past month - hell, playing everyone since at least August, starting with emails to see if he could fool Michelle's friends long enough for whatever he's been doing. Telly thought his sister was cutting him.

He doesn't want to see me right now. He must figure the whole thing is my fault, like I should have known Korpin wasn't who he said, or I shouldn't have been in Shelley's body in the first place. I can't really blame him. I should have seen something.

And now this guy's loose, and I hope the FBI can get a list of American contacts from their counterparts in Russian and Interpol, because I really don't like the thought of this creep being free.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
IMPORTANT: If you see Telly or Misha...
God, I hope Telly hasn't mentioned this blog to Misha. And that I had my contact information on the laptop rather than just at home. This is just too damn risky.

Anyway, Kate, Jen, Kurt, Carlos, Carter, Mags, everyone else, and especially Telly: In case you haven't heard from Agent Jones, I just got a call from him, and he said said they just got the "advanced" bloodwork back from Misha's physical.

There are no nanomachine remnants in his blood.

They tested every sample they took. And sure, it's been two years, but every blood sample they've taken from me, Carter, Sam, and even Alexei has trace elements of spent nanomachines in it - even me, who has gone two years without having them used on me. And even if it were just a case that the formulation he used doesn't enter the bloodstream, wouldn't that mean Sam wouldn't have nanos from that exchange, either?

Telly, if you're reading this, Misha is not your sister. If any of you see Misha, call the FBI immediately, and keep your distance.

Sunday, January 15, 2006
$ = :)
Yeah, it's shallow, but seeing your paycheck half again as large as your last one is just really awesome. Well, not half again, three-quarters, because it only covered the first week, but when you double it to figure out what it would be in comparison... OK, I'm a big nerd. I'll get my last paycheck from the warehouse in the mail sometime this week, so I'll be back ahead of the game then.

It is not yet time to start buying frivolous things at an accelerated rate - or, if you ask my friends, a more accelerated rate - but it's still a good feeling. Besides, it's been tough picking up the check when I have a night out with Misha.

Yeah, I know. Kate laughed about it last night, when she saw me buying both movie tickets, because at first she was going to snort, but then looked at us and Carter and figured that maybe, in a way, this was the natural order of things. Misha looked embarrassed, saying that it was only temporary; when he's got a job, he'll be picking up more tabs, but until then. Kate says why, you've got a pretty good situation going on here, but he laughed it off, saying that it's part of the whole peeing standing up deal - if he likes one part of the new arrangement, he's got to go with the rest.

I have to admit, though... I like picking up the tab. Sure, when I first started going out with guys, it was more a "the world owes me some restitution" thing, but even after I got cool with my body, I still accepted that the guys were going to pay the bills, and I understood and was OK with it. When you're a guy, and you're out with a girl, you're bigger and usually a bit older in most pairings, and there's this knowledge that she has likely spent more than you on her appearance and such. So you pay and it's the right thing to do.

And, okay, I've been a girl for two and a half years, and even if I'm able to feel some wind because there's a few inches of bare leg, or I can taste my lipstick, or the clicky heel sound is in tempo with my steps... Thirty years of training is tought to ignore. I still want to be the guy, even if I know there is a perfectly good reason for my date to be paying for everything. The new job just encourages that line of thought; I feel like I'm finally able to pull my own weight.

I'll have to dial that urge back a little; Misha's been hitting every Help Wanted sign in town and is trying to work out a way to present his hospitality industry resumé to get a job in that area without having to go through an interview process even more insane than mine (I've already put him in touch with Mo, in case she knows of anything). Of course, he's got to get some new paperwork, which the Feds are working on, so that's making it difficult - his body was born oversees and thus doesn't have a social security number, and I'm kind of using the one she instinctively writes on forms. He's lucky that Telly and his roommates are good with him crashing there.

But I'll miss it, even if it does mean more money in the bank for me. It feels good to be responsible.


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