Disclaimer: I do not own Enterprise or its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: Well, 'Horror Story' was supposed to be a one-shot, but when it got to its end… where Hess goes, chaos follows. Thanks to my beta-readers, and blame Rinne for the original plot-idea. And read her stuff while you're at it.
Nightmare: The Sequel
I stare into the mirror and contemplate slitting my wrists. Today is the first day of my 'punishment shifts.' I'm supposed to report to Malcolm at 0800 precisely. Or 'Lieutenant Reed' as I must remember to go back to referring to him: he now – on a technicality – temporarily outranks me. If we were talking smell, I would have to agree, but this is about seniority.
Which I'll also hand to him – if we're discussing age or decrepitness. But I refuse to accept the fact that he is a superior officer.
I'm also not doing too well, because it's been a long time since I worked a dayshift. There's a reason why I usually work the swing and night shifts: I may only sleep about two to three hours a day, but those hours are usually the morning ones. I am a night owl, and like it that way.
On the other hand, I did break his ribs, even if I had good reason for doing so. Instead of suicide, I swallow the rest of my espresso and head out the door. I don't normally drink coffee in any form, but this qualifies as an emergency. This is going to be Starfleet as it was meant to be. This is going to suck.
No one looks at me on the way down there, or when I arrive, which is pretty much what I expected. No one except my new boss, who grunts. Clearly, I've disappointed him.
"At least you anticipated one thing, and saved me the lecture." He looks me up and down and nods. "I'm glad to see you realise that I'm not Commander Tucker."
"Not by a long-shot, Sir." I haven't done my hair this morning, which is why no one noticed my existence. Dressed like everybody else, I tend to blend into the background.(1) I place the emphasis on the 'sir,' so that he understands that this is going to be entirely business. I intend to get this over with as soon as possible.
"A little more respect would be appreciated." He sounds like he did before he decided to save Commander Tucker's life.(2) In other words, he sounds like a complete and total prick.
I say nothing, but file it away for later. I won't be here forever, after all.
"If you would come with me…" He leads me off to a set of storage lockers. "Now, in your case this is against my better judgement, but all armoury officers are armed while on duty. However, first we have to qualify you with the weapons."
"Come off it, you know I can shoot. I can shoot better than you can." Maybe not the most respectful thing to say, but he's being ridiculous.
"I am going to test your skill," he says coldly. "If you could follow me…"
I'm itching to ask if he wants to test my hand-to-hand skills, too, but he's already got a pair of broken ribs that qualify me in that area, which is why I'm here in the first place.
He escorts me down to the firing range, and hands me a phase pistol. "For armoury officers, we expect more than for other officers. Now, I am aware that you qualified under general standards…"
"Just rack 'em up." If he wants to play the superiority game, I'll wipe that snotty little attitude right out of existence. While he sets up the targeting program, I check over the weapon to make sure that nobody's been playing games.
Ten minutes later, I'm still shooting, but he still hasn't said I can quit yet. So I switch to my left, and finally start missing a few. Not enough to bump me out of general qualification, but I doubt it's up to 'armoury officer' standards.
"I see we need to work on your attitude, still." He takes the weapon from me – apparently, it's still against his better judgement for me to have it. Oh well, he can't take them all.
"Unfortunately I can't give you to any of the regular teams," he shuts down the system and heads for the doors without looking at me. "They're too well balanced, and while technically you do outrank them, you are still new to the department, nor do you have armoury training."
"No, I'm an engineer." Which is why this is stupid. I am far more highly educated than an armoury officer.(3)
"We'll try to ignore that for the moment." He doesn't even try to match my pace; I have to stretch my legs to keep up with his. "As it stands, you will be working with me. I will provide you with assignments and you will do them as assigned. Is that clear?"
"As the inside of your head." There can't be too many obstructions in that skull.
"And from here on in, I will be making note of any insulting remarks. The captain has requested a report on your behaviour. A detailed report. Unlike Commander Tucker, I have standards. And that is not uniform code that you are wearing."
I stare at him. Like I said, I didn't even do my hair this morning. Then it hits me. "I am not changing into uniform code boots. I don't care if you and the captain bust me down to Crewman, and charge me with every offence humanly – or even non-humanly–possible, these boots stay." After all, my hair is one thing, but these are my boots. These are custom-crafted to my feet and contain all the features an engineer could ever desire. I would think that even The Dense Malcolm Reed would know better than to come between a woman and her shoes.(4)
"Lieutenant…" he warns.
"You can have these boots when you take them from my cold, dead feet."
"You are getting damn close to insubordination." He stops and turns on me.
I stand up on my toes a bit so I can lean in close to his face. "Do it. Just try it. I will make your life so fucking miserable that you will be begging God to send you to Hell just to get a break. Nobody touches my boots, Mister."
"That is insubordination." He leans in as well – being taller gives him an advantage in the looming game.
"Bite me." If I'm going to be busted, I'm going all the way.
And odd look comes over his face and he backs down. "Don't ever try that again."
"Weenie." I mutter. I fail to see how he ever gained the rank of lieutenant, not to mention in the most militaristic branch of Starfleet. Then I realise where I've seen that look before. He better stick to the rules, because if he calls me by my first name in front of anybody in the crew, I will have to kill him.(5)
Fortunately, he doesn't seem inclined to call me anything. He just hurries back to the armoury without even checking to see if I'm following. I do, mostly because you never walk away in mid-rattle.
As soon as we get back, my strategy is in place. I beat him to his desk and sit down, pulling out the paperwork. A quick scan confirms my suspicions. This is going to be a cakewalk.
"Can I make a suggestion? Your inventory controls are off – I don't see a hard-count here for the last two weeks." Hard-counts are nasty, but necessary. There are too many scams that can be pulled when you rely solely on computer inventories. Two weeks may seem like a short time between counts, but the trick is to do one small section at a time, rather than shutting down the entire system for a few days.
"Excellent suggestion. Why don't you get out of my seat, and get on it?" He sounds like he thinks he's one-upping me… but it was what I had in mind. Inventory is the basis of everything – quartermasters rule the world. Not only that, but Malcolm is the kind of guy who likes sitting down with some paperwork.(6) Now, after the hard-count comes the paperwork for it, and then I can hardly be faulted for doing a little more. This train of thought reminds me of some other paperwork I need to get done as well.(7)
I grab a padd and pretend to take notes as he walks me through the different storage areas as though I don't know where they are. When I'm done with the forms, I forge Commander Tucker's name to the bottom(8) and put the padd in one of my pockets. Then I pull a notebook and pencil out of another one, and start scribbling.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
"The job." I hold out the padd and show him the beginning grid I've assembled. I'm quite willing to let him think that it's for his hard-count, but in reality, it's a schedule for Engineering. After all, I never specified which job I was doing.
"That seems a little inefficient." I can't believe it; he actually wrinkles his nose. If he thinks he will get sympathy from me by equating himself with a rabbit, he's sadly mistaken.
"I find it easier." That's because the scheduling program has so many bugs that supervisors have been known to develop ulcers when the seniority lists change.(9) So rather than destroy Rossie's health – he feels the same way about Commander Tucker and paperwork as I do – I'm re-working the schedule to accommodate my absence. Which is why it takes priority over anything from the armoury: I have to slip this to him before lunch, before Captain Archer starts asking for it. Which gives me a strategy to work with, if this farce goes on too long: I'll protest under grounds of cruel and unusual punishment. Not mine – I'd never give them the satisfaction of giving in – but Rossie's. He's got such great leadership potential, and Commander Tucker and I are enacting a delicate training program to solidify that potential. It would be a shame to see such a potentially stellar career cut short because of someone's stubborn inability to see that it was his irresponsibility in running around in a drug-addled state that caused this whole situation in the first place.
But you can't get anywhere when it comes to Captain Archer, especially when blaming him. Even when he's wrong, he's right… it must have something to do with being the son-of-a-bitch in charge. In the meantime, I'll just have to make do with torturing Malcolm. After all, if he weren't so fragile, I wouldn't be here either.
Unfortunately, I don't get a chance to do much, because a certain armoury officer has decided not to trust me alone in his armoury. Instead, he stands and watches me as I begin a count of circuit boards, tossing the occasional one into a separate pile where it can help balance out the magically short Engineering counts.(10)
"What's this?" He nudges the Engineering pile. "You're supposed to count them, not play cards."
"Those are ours." I look up at him, with my most serious expression. "Or rather, they belong to Engineering." I pick up a padd, open a file and hand it to him. "That is a CST-3621947, Temporary Transfer of Common Supplies form. It should be filled out every time you require supplies from an Engineering stockpile. What you should not do is ask Commander Tucker for supplies when he is busy, and take his distractedly waving hand as permission to help yourself to whatever you like."
He drops the padd on my head; it bounces off and hits the floor.(11)
"And that is assault, as defined by section 240 of the California Penal Code, which is the code in effect as this ship is based in San Francisco. Fortunately for you, I am going to take that as an accident and will forbear from pressing charges…"
He turns and walks away, his fingers twitching. This is going to be easier than I thought. Suddenly he reverses direction and comes back, leaning in close again.
"You might want to remember that you are on probation, Scarlett." He murmurs it right in my ear. I lose count, and turn to him.
"I thought I told you never to call me that. And now I have to start over again, because I can't remember where I was."
"I'm sure you'll manage." He's so close, that our foreheads are almost touching. I should kill him. I should just reach out and throttle him, or at the very least, drop him on his ass. But I don't.
"Malcolm, get out." It's all I can think of to say. I don't know what it is, but there are times when he limits my vocabulary.(12)
"It's my armoury, Scarlett. I decide who comes and goes." He taps me on the end of the nose, normally a dangerous move.
"I could bite that off, you know."
"You could try." His bravado isn't convincing me, though. He's scared I might actually do it.
"You're screwing up my count. Now get out of here, or people will get ideas."
"It won't hurt my reputation." Given what his reputation is, probably not. It's rather hard to wreck what doesn't exist.
"Malcolm…" Unfortunately, it's hard to be threatening when you're four-ten, and can't use your hair to add any height.
"We'll continue this later." He leaves, and it's all I can do not to throw something at him.(13)
I wait until he's gone, then tiptoe over to the door and listen. It's all clear, so I sneak out and down the hallway. Then it's a matter of walking normally – after all, when nobody notices you, it's fairly easy to sneak.
I slip into Engineering, and across to Commander Tucker's desk. He's not there, so I get to work on the important things. Or I would, except…
"Can I help you?"
"No, I know what I'm doing."
"Excuse me but…"
"Yes, I know this is Commander Tucker's desk."
"Pardon me, but…"
"Does anyone around here pay attention anymore?"
The crewman who asked the last one blinks. "Um…"
"Pay attention to the voice. Look at the uniform. What do you see?"
"You're a Lieutenant?" This guy could earn the Witness of the Year award.
"Congratulations. Now what Georgia-born lieutenant would be sitting in Commander Tucker's chair and playing with the paperwork? Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone before I'm busted just for doing my job." I'm usually not this impatient with the crew, but I've had a morning of Malcolm and I can't quite handle it.
"Are you okay, Lieutenant?" This from Rossie, who was smart enough to keep his mouth shut until I finished removing the other guy's head. While his eyes may not believe it's me, his ears and survival instinct confirm it instantly.
"No. This reassignment thing is killing me. Now, here's the revised schedule, the T-222's, the M-386's and the HSMR3-98's." I hand him a stack of padds. "I've signed the important things, and initialled the rest – it should do. Remember, he needs his coffee in the mornings, or he's incapable of functioning. Be very nice to him before nine, you can slip in some abuse by noon. Make sure he eats on a semi-regular basis, sometimes he forgets and then he gets nasty when his blood-sugar drops. If he gets cranky – as opposed to nasty, you'll soon spot the difference – start taking over things for him and try to ease him out the door so he can get some rest. Now I've set a password protect on all the paperwork files – if you see him trying to hack into anything, let me know right away. Do not under any circumstances let him be 'helpful.'"
"Yes, ma'am." Rossie looks a little nervous. "What should I do if he orders me to?"
"Any circumstances, Rossie. Break something if you need to." I pat him reassuringly on the arm. "It's only for a few days. You'll be fine." I remember something else. "Oh, and he'll probably drop by with the minutes for the last H&S meeting… get them away from him and over to me as soon as possible. And wish me luck… that man actually expects me to get through the shift without shooting him." (14)
"Good luck, ma'am. And Captain Archer says that if he catches you here, he's going to throw you out the nearest airlock."
"Well, let's pray he doesn't catch me." I leave Rossie with the paperwork and head back to my confinement.
Captain Archer doesn't catch me, but guess who does. "Scarlett… and just when I thought we were communicating."
"Do you want reality to dissolve into unremitting chaos? I had to go give Rossie the paperwork before your friend and mine decides to do it himself."
"But you're on my time. And my time says that you do armoury work, not engineering work." He smiles, and says the stupidest thing in the universe. "I'm sure Commander Tucker can handle a few simple forms on his own."
"Are you crazy? Are you sadistic?"
He blinks. "Not on a regular basis."
"Just when it comes to me."
A passing crewman gives us an odd look, but says nothing. It's enough to turn Malcolm red, however.
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Say things like that. With people around?"
"Hey." Now he's getting ridiculous. "I'm not the one who's sadistic." Unfortunately, the same crewman is on his way back. Malcolm gets even redder.
"I am not sadistic. I merely think that someone like Commander Tucker…"
The crewman's eyes go wide.
"…is old enough to be able to write his own name."(15)
The crewman's fingers go limp, and the padd he's carrying drops to the floor. "Are you insane, sir? I heard that happened once. Headquarters was shut down for a week."
"Because he wrote his own name?" Malcolm's got this look that says he thinks we're both being overly dramatic.
"Well, actually, he was filing an AC-225 status report and crashed the entire system."(16) After all, the Boy's not that talented… even he needs more than eighteen characters to crash an entire system. "It's one of the things most of us have learned to accept. Commander Tucker does not get along well with bureaucracy."
"Any idiot can see that," Not-Just-Any-Idiot says. "But surely…"
"I cannot comment any further.(17) It's simply a matter of fact that I do not allow Commander Tucker to – in any way, shape or form – fill out the paperwork. And if you wish to redress me for showing concern to a junior officer, then you may do so." With the crewman for an audience, I know two things. One: he's not going to yell at me for sparing Rossie, because he can't afford his junior team-members to distrust him. Two: he's also not going to use any of his old methods of shutting me up. This gives me the advantage. "But I am not going to see Crewman Rostov faced with extra work on my behalf. Unfortunately, that work was of a time-sensitive nature, and thus needed to take priority over an inventory task, which has a more flexible deadline. However, Sir, you can rest assured that the duties you assign to me will be accomplished on schedule, provided I am not accosted by any unnecessary delays."
"Accosted?" He blinks madly. "How can you be accosted by a delay? I don't think you know what that word means."
"'Inconceivable.'" If he wants to quote The Princess Bride, then so can I. "'accost: to approach and stop somebody in order to speak, especially in an aggressive, insistent, or suggestive way'" I look pointedly at my accoster. "So if you will excuse me, Sir..."
"No. You will not leave until you have been dismissed." Some people just get so snotty when you prove them wrong. He waits for a few moments, then nods. "You may go."
"You may be a petty asshole." I hear his teeth grinding together as I say this, but my rights to freedom of speech are still protected, and with a witness there, he can't kill me.
"Don't you speak to me like that!" Unfortunately for him, he's already dismissed me, so he's yelling it at my back. "I am…"
I turn around and shake my finger at him. "Uh, uh. Same day, and H comes before R." I know he's trying to claim seniority, but we both got our Lieutenants promotions at the same time.
"I am still in charge here!"
I think about it. "Technically, no. Because by transferring me in, and qualifying me, you officially made me a member of the armoury crew. According to the seniority rules, I am the senior officer…"
"Only by ten letters!"
"… and would be quite justified in claiming that seniority and taking over. However," I step back to him and pat him lightly on the cheek, "you seem to be doing a marvellous job here. I wouldn't dream of getting in your way."
He leans in even closer, and growls in my ear. "You're pushing it, Scarlett. Really pushing it."
"I am merely stating that the rules and regulations permit…" I see his fingers twitch and decide that's enough. There's a technique to this. "You need a break. Why don't you and Commander Tucker go grab some coffee," I check my watch, it's the antique windup type that doesn't get affected by weird energy fields around a warp engine, "because it's about time for his break…" Malcolm turns almost puce at this point, and he seems to be watching something behind me.
"Can I go for walkies, too?" If the comment were from Malcolm, I'd be worried, but it's my Boy who says it. He sometimes says I run his life too much, but then he complains whenever I stop.
I turn and smile. It hasn't been a day and already I've missed him. "If you're good." I pat him on the shoulder; it's easier than trying to reach his head. "How's Rossie doing?"
"Okay. He seems a little nervous though." Commander Tucker frowns. "We may need to work with him a little more." His face brightens. "Hi, Mal."
I narrow my eyes. "Has he been feeding you sugar?"
"You know, that is one thing… it's been so nice. He keeps getting me coffee, and he brought down some donuts, too… you know the little ones with the powdered sugar…" He wrinkles his brow a little. "You don't bring me those."
"I know." There's a reason I don't bring him those. One of us is bad enough, but on that much sugar, he can be worse than me. I swear I once saw his eyes sparking.
"So, why don't you boys go get a cup of coffee or something?" I glance over at Malcolm who's looking a little stunned, then turn back to Commander Tucker. "I think he needs a break, he's been a little stressed today."
"Not yet." Malcolm suddenly grins, and there's an air of hysteria about it. "First, you're going to get back to that hard count."
"I thought…" Commander Tucker shuts up as I kick him in the ankle.(18)
"You thought what, Commander?" It's in his eyes, that manic look that says he's two seconds from stripping his uniform off and running through the halls, screaming.
"I thought you'd have her doing something a little more technical, given the level of her training and all." The Boy covers well. He even sounds sad and contrite.
"It's punishment duty," Malcolm says. He's even starting to hyperventilate now. "I just wonder what it is I did that requires punishment."
"I'll be fine." I pat Commander Tucker's shoulder again and give him a significant look. After all, if Malcolm finds out that I like counting things, he'll take the job away from me.
It's two hours before Malcolm returns.(19) By then I have all the little things counted and am starting on the medium ones.(20) He doesn't announce his presence, he just stands behind me, making odd noises, like he's trying to scrape something off the roof of his mouth. Finally, he can't stand it anymore.
"Why didn't you tell me that you usually do the Engineering inventories?"
I don't bother to turn around. "I didn't think it was relevant to the proceedings at hand."
"Has anyone ever told you that you are a very, very sick individual?"
"A doctor once. I think I had a fever and was throwing up a lot though. I'm fine now."
"Really." He doesn't sound convinced. "I have never, once, in my experience in any organisation met a person who volunteered for inventory duty."
"Yes, you have."
"Besides you." He moves up beside me and looks me in the eye, blinking very slowly. "I have a feeling that you are quite insane."
I drop the padd on a nearby table and grab his arm and start walking.
"Where are we going?"
I don't answer. If he wants to call me crazy…
We stop at the door to my quarters, and I enter the code. He looks a little nervous, but decides it's better not to wait out in the hall for more people to look at us strangely.
I go to my desk and pull out a piece of paper. This is on paper, because there are times when you need a permanent record. I hand it to him, and watch as he reads it.
"I am not insane. That certification attests to that fact." So many people used to call me crazy that I went to a psychiatrist and had myself tested. "Can I see yours?"
"I don't have one." He looks confused.
"Oh. So you cannot actually prove your own sanity, but you are willing to question mine? Mister Reed, you are a scoundrel." I walk out and leave him standing there, still staring at the certificate.
Unfortunately, I walk straight into Captain Archer.
"I thought I assigned you to Armoury duties, Hess. I don't see Lieutenant Reed anywhere around here, and this certainly doesn't look like a weapons storage facility."
"He's in there." I jerk my thumb back towards my door. "We were merely discussing my qualifications for armoury service."
The captain's eyebrows rise, but he says nothing.
"She can prove she's sane, Sir." Malcolm's voice is on the edge of indicating that he's not. "She actually has a psychiatric diagnosis, Sir."
Captain Archer grins. "I'd like a copy of that."
"No, Sir, I am afraid I cannot allow that. As an officer of the court, I must warn you that it is a legal document, and any attempts to alter it…"
"Oh, I don't want to alter it, Hess. I want to frame it. And then, one day, when you try to tell the world that you did something because you were crazy, and that you shouldn't be punished, I'll be able to say that you're not."
And he still says he's not a lawyer. I knew there was a reason I shouldn't get the stupid thing, but I was just so sick and tired of all the accusations, and Jeffries kept threatening to bounce me from the program. Now though, it's coming back to bite me with a grin that says 'gotcha!' My own private little Catch-22. If I tell him that circumstances can change, then I might be crazy, and he'd have grounds to get rid of me. But if I insist on backing up the point that I'm sane, then I can't use an insanity defence if I need to.(21)
"You are evil, Sir." There is no other word for it. Just evil.
"That's why they made me Captain, Hess."
He reaches over and lifts the certificate from Malcolm's unresponsive fingers. "Don't worry, I'll return the original as soon as I'm done."
"Sir, that is theft. If you persist in that action, I will have no choice but to press charges…"
"You gave it to Lieutenant Reed, and now Lieutenant Reed is giving it to me."
Malcolm says nothing, just stands there staring. Then slowly he nods.
"I didn't transfer ownership to Lieutenant Reed; therefore, he had no right to give it to you. Not that there is any evidence of cooperation on the Lieutenant's part…" I shut up – there are some times you just don't argue with the captain, and he's giving me that look.
He hands me the paper. "Don't lose that, Lieutenant. Oh, and I don't suppose you could tell me the penalty for destroying evidence, could you?"
"Is that a threat, Sir?" I know it is. He's telling me that if I get rid of the damned thing, it could be used against me. Problem is, he's right, and it wouldn't do me any good, because there are other copies on file. I have to face it: I am not and never have been non compos mentis, and there is a limited likelihood of it in my future. On the other hand, it's been worth it, just to see Malcolm's face. I don't think I've ever seen someone look so floored in my life, and that includes the time when Captain Jeffries found out that my Dad's old Harvard buddy was Starfleet's senior JAG officer.
Captain Archer walks away, and as he rounds the corner, I hear him whistling, as though the tragic news of my sanity was something to be cheerful about. I sigh and turn back to Malcolm.
"Can I go now? There's an inventory back in the armoury, waiting for me to finish it."
"Okay." He doesn't seem inclined to argue much, anymore. He follows me back to the armoury, muttering, "She's not crazy… she's really not crazy. It's been proven." He stays like that for the rest of the day, occasionally pinching himself, or shaking his head violently. And I try to figure out what I'm going to do for tomorrow.
(1) He's seen it before though, so he knows that it's really me.
(2) The commander told me all about that little incident. It was during his 'try to set Malcolm and Hess up phase,' and he was trying to convince me of how 'wonderful' Malcolm is. Fortunately, he's cooled off on that.
(3) Okay, given my double degrees I am far more highly educated than an engineer, but Commander Tucker doesn't hold it against me.
(4) After all, rumour is he did have a sister. Surely he knows something about women.
(5) Nicole is actually my second name. Only he, Commander Tucker and I know my first. And the rest of my family of course. But they know better than to use it.
(6) Unlike Commander Tucker, who destroys paperwork by merely thinking of doing it.
(7) This is a nightmare, but I don't want to think about what I'll go back to if I let the Boy try to do things on his own. Worse yet, he'll try to help me fix it.
(8) One day he's going to sign something himself, and nobody will believe it.
(9) I suspect this is the real reason behind the 'work with me' thing: Malcolm's afraid of the software.
(10) Not that they actually showed up on paper as 'out.' They were simply listed as 'temporarily sequestered to armoury.' I know where my stuff goes.
(11) The padd, not my head. If anyone's heads are going to roll…
(12) Well, there are other comments I could make, but my mother taught me never to say those things in sensitive company.
(13) I would, but then I'd have to find it, and count it.
(14) Hey, there was one long, boring shift that I couldn't get through without shooting Commander Tucker. Rossie had to take over entirely then.
(15) Like I said though, he'd be accused of forgery.
(16) The irony is that it probably wouldn't have taken so long to fix, if they'd let him be the one to fix it.
(17) After all, my qualifications are not in the area of human psychology. Otherwise I'd suggest it was a deep subconscious desire to completely screw up a bureaucratic process beyond the point of repair.
(18) No, I don't ever try to hurt the Boy. I also happen to know that his boots are as good as mine, so nothing is likely to happen.
(19) This is due to an odd temporal distortion that occurs every time two supervisors take a break together. Fifteen minutes in their timespace becomes two hours in normal time. It must be a gravitational thing, because more supervisors only makes the distortion worse.
(20) Most people save the small stuff for last, but it works better when you do it first. That way, when you're really tired, you only have to look at a few big things, and not two thousand tiny little ones.
(21) Not that I'm expecting to need to, but you should always be prepared for every contingency.