.
.
"Rick?" An older woman squints at his name tag, then walks over. "Rick Sanchez?"
J-19 is at a cancer symposium, standing awkwardly at the edge of the ballroom while the other researchers chat and make small talk. He doesn't like being at these things, except half the time he's invited as a keynote speaker and he can't avoid them. The woman's hair is done up in a bun, and there is a spattering of freckles on her nose.
J-19 starts. "Diane?"
"Oh, Rick! I thought it was you."
They talk. For the longest time, they only communicated through journal articles, J-19 making a discovery and Diane and her team setting up experiments to verify his findings. "So," Diane begins. "Do you want to get out of here? I know a good spot where we can get a drink and catch up."
"Oh, I shouldn't. I-I-I'm supposed to Skype my wife later tonight to say goodnight to the baby."
"You have a baby?" Diane says, surprised. J-19 nods, beaming.
"Wanna see?" he says, and he opens his phone.
"Oh my gosh, he looks just like you!"
"W-well, I hope not. Hopefully the poor kid won't get my lazy eye or buck teeth."
Diane laughs. She pats J-19 on the arm.
"It was good to see you," she says. J-19 beams.
"You too."