"Evelyn, Evelyn look!" Tara laughs happily, turning her newly-bought laptop around so I could see the screen. "I made a website!"

I glance at it and find my eyes immediately assaulted by a terrifyingly 1998-esque website that would cause me to immediately close the tab and run my virus scanner if I ever saw it crawl its way onto my browser. The title of the page reads 'Jane Doe Emergency Squad 😁' and is filled with watermarked stock photos, heart emojis, and a few pictures of various women that I assume are all Tara hauling around wood, digging trenches, and the like.

A lot of questions and comments pass through my mind as I behold this horrifying abomination against graphic design, but the one that I end up saying is simply:

"...Why?"

Tara, looking concerningly proud, is all too happy to answer.

"Well, you know how I finally made it to the Central African Republic a while back? Well, I'm in most of Africa by now, since I started making a lot of bodies very quickly, helping out with building infrastructure, creating farms, filtering water, synthesizing medication, and so forth. It's been mostly well-received overall, but a lot of people there are a bit confused and concerned about who I am. So I thought it would be helpful if I presented myself as a charity organization! You know, like Doctors Without Borders. Everyone likes Doctors Without Borders! So I wanted a website where I can look legitimate and help people feel at ease.”

"Uh," I manage to say. "I don't think you're going to complete either of those objectives."

"What? Really?" Tara pouts. "I thought it was cute. What did I do wrong?"

"Maybe you should just hire someone else to make you a website," I hedge. "You can afford professional work now, right?"

"Well, yes, but all my money is in cash," Tara sighs. "I can't open a bank account without an ID. And I don't really know any website designers locally enough to pay in person."

"We can just deposit the money in my account," I tell her. "Then I can make whatever electronic purchases you need. I mean, if you want."

"Oh, really? Well, that would be extremely helpful," Tara says gratefully. "But is my website really that bad…? I think it's cute!"

"If I saw that website pop up on my computer I'd be tempted to set my hard drive on fire in fear of what horrors it deposited there," I say frankly. "I love you, Tara, but your website looks like the queen of all scam sites, emerging from her nest with a horde of warriors to destroy any computer foolish enough to stand in her way."

"Well!" Tara answers. "I can't decide whether to be offended or simply impressed that I managed to draw out such a cutting insult from you. I've got to say, I like seeing you this feisty!"

I blush furiously, burying my face in the book I'm slowly slogging through for my history class. Unfortunately, Tara's Blubie body has been on my lap this entire time, and her adorable beady eyes glitter with mirth at my expression as my free hand idly strokes her smooth carapace, moving on autopilot in spite of my embarrassment.

"Cute," she accuses, and I dissolve into a series of incoherent noises as she screeches in laughter.

Tara, never one to let up when she has the advantage, takes this opportunity to move her human body over to my bed, sitting down next to me and putting her arm around me. I make a few squeaky burbling sounds as she leans her head on my shoulder, her grin holding not a single milliliter of remorse.

I give her the most indignant glare I can muster, though on the inside I'm screaming in joy. Damn it, she's just so great. I love her so much.

"Things are going well over in the third world countries you're helping, then?" I prompt, changing the subject as best I can. "Did you say you were synthesizing medicine? Be extra, extra careful with that. I assume you can test them on your own bodies easily enough, but humans can have random allergies to all sorts of stuff. It differs a lot from person to person."

"Yes, I'm aware," Tara assures me. "Don't worry, I've met up with some doctors in the area and I'm working closely alongside them. I'm not doing this alone."

"Do they know about you?" I ask.

"One of them does," she confirms. "Though I'm working with several dozen across various countries. The rest simply think I'm delivering the supplies, not producing them. The international community hasn't noticed the sudden influx of desperately needed medications yet, but sooner or later they will. I can produce a lot of food and medical supplies in a relatively short amount of time. I suppose we'll have to wait and see how they react to it."

"It's really, really fucking cool that you're doing this, though," I tell her. "Just… wow. Y'know like, solving humanitarian crises aside, what's it even like? Being in Africa and here in my dorm at the same time, I mean."

"Well, it's certainly very dark there right now," she jokes. "In general, though, it's… not much stranger than being in any two other places at the same time. Though I do notice there's a very slight time lag if I try to use a brain on one side of the world to control a body on the other. Maybe… a tenth of a second or less? Just enough to be noticeable and annoying."

"Huh," I say. "Your hive mind communication network is light-speed limited. That checks out, actually. Tachyon particles are hypothetical, and neither tachyonic fields nor quantum entanglement actually enable information transfer. FTL communications would basically be time travel and could violate causality, so it's probably impossible. Unless every single one of your bodies has a mini-wormhole in it, anyway, but that'd be absolutely fucking nuts."

"It's honestly quite disappointing," Tara sighs. "I was hoping my bodies communicated with each other that way so that I could study them to try and reverse engineer faster-than-light travel, but apparently that's a dead end."

"Yeah, sorry," I grimace. "But hey, look at the bright side! You got here somehow, so FTL travel probably at least exists."

"Unless I was simply unconscious during a journey that actually took thousands and thousands of years, so that by now everyone I know and love from my home is dead."

I wince.

"...Or that I guess, yeah," I admit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Tara cuts me off. "I know you didn't. I've accepted the possibility, and ultimately it doesn't matter. The most important thing is that I help the people I can help right now, and that's… well, it's a lot of people. I've been given an absurd amount of power, perhaps for a purpose and perhaps not. Either way, I choose how to use it, and I choose to stay here and help. If you gave me the ability to go home right now, I'd wait to leave until I know no one on your world will have to look at another starving child again. Your planet can sustain you all. Someone just has to set up the infrastructure and supply lines to get it where it needs to go."

I can't help but smile at that, though it's also a little bit sad.

"You really care a lot about this, huh?" I ask. "You sound kind of tired, though. Don't overwork yourself."

Tara gives me a light squeeze, sighing.

"It's difficult to care very much about overworking myself," she says. "I know you're right, but… hmm. You've seen pictures and videos of third world countries, right? But you've never been to one."

"That's right," I confirm. "It's different?"

"Indescribably different," Tara answers. "The level of detachment, of unreality, isn't there when I speak to these people face to face. The pressing need exists now. How can I complain about how hard I work when these people fight to survive? It's nothing like being here with you. Nothing at all. I'm quite glad I have you here to ground me."

"I won't ever tell you to stop helping," I promise her. "But make sure you're doing what you can to not sabotage your own ability to help. Your mental health is extremely important."

"Yes, you're right," Tara sighs. "I can't underestimate the danger of how completely fucked your entire world is if I go crazy."

She grabs me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes with a frighteningly serious expression.

"For the sake of Earth," she intones, "may I implore upon you the essential duty of therapeutic cuddles?"

I open my mouth, then close it again, feeling my barely-fading blush immediately return to the fore.

"Y-yes?" I manage, and I'm immediately brought into an embrace, her impossibly strong arms wrapped around me like a blanket.

I'm too anxious to be much of a hugger, but I definitely like hugs. Most humans do; it's just part of what we are. Which is not to say that there's anything wrong with not liking hugs, just that it's programmed into most of us, inherent to our bodies on a deeper level than our conscious minds. Of course, I really like thinking about stuff like that, analyzing it and drawing as solid a line as I can between instinct and reason. It's often an exercise in futility, sure, but it's part of how I cope with my many problems. I have ADHD. I have generalized anxiety disorder. I'm prone to panic attacks. I probably have undiagnosed autism. My mind and body will often do things that I hate, that I wish I had control over, but that in the moment are impossible to deny. After a panic attack I can look back at myself and say yes, I wasn't acting in a very logical manner. I wasn't making good decisions. But at that time, I was just a creature suffering from a medical condition. It wasn't the 'real' me. That's a comforting thought, in many ways.

Though this has led to me thinking this way about good instincts, too. Even as I soak in Tara's warmth, I wonder: what part of this makes me so happy? Why do I adore the way her body yields ever so slightly against my own, the layer of soft flesh separating me from almost stone-like muscle? Why do I feel so happy at nothing but the feeling of her chin on the top of my head, her arms snug around my belly, at something so simple as basic contact? Why do my thoughts end up between my legs, excited and embarrassed and ashamed, full of joy and wishes and fleeting fantasy? Are these thoughts less aberrant than the cloying anxiety that always plagues me, simply because they are more desirable? Is this 'me' in the way my illnesses aren't? Is there a reason I care so much for the distinction in a meaningless world of nothing but matter, energy, and physics?

"It's okay, Evelyn," Tara promises softly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Whatever you're thinking about, it's okay. I care. I'm here. I'll understand."

"I'm fine," I assure her. "Just had a minor existential crisis for a moment there."

"Hugging causes you to have an existential crisis?"

"I mean, just about anything can cause me to have an existential crisis," I admit. "I'm pretty much half a step away from one at all times."

"Oh," she murmurs. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I don't have to think about that long.

"Um… more hugging would be good. I like hugging. You give good hugs."

"Easily done," Tara happily agrees, and the two of us remain like that as I start reading again. Cuddles make history homework a lot more palatable.

…It's also a bit distracting, though, since the most incredible, wonderful, amazing person in the galaxy is touching me and she loves me and I love her and I don't know what any of it meaaaaans. …Okay, yes I do, but I'm too cowardly to confirm it out loud. Too afraid that defining it will make it disappear. Do I really need the label, if I have the love? I want to say no, but on the other hand part of me really likes that label. It's a badge of pride, a confirmation of something glorious. I just have to open my mouth and ask for it.

Come on, Evelyn. Do it. Do it! My mouth doesn't move and the words don't come. Do it, goddamnit! DO IT!

"Did you still want to be girlfriends?" I blurt out.

"I'd like to be whatever you'd like to be," Tara murmurs in answer.

"Girlfriends," I somehow manage to repeat. It's not really a sentence, but thankfully Tara gets the idea.

"Girlfriends. It's official."

She tilts her head down and gives me a kiss on my scalp. Some kind of emotion crashes through my entire body, too wild and complicated to define, but it hardly even matters. I did it. I did it! Holy shit, I did it and she kissed me and aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

My bravery for the day has already been used up, though, so I don't even bother to try to get myself to kiss back. Slow and steady. I can't really force myself to rush this, and I know it, so I'll just sit here and thoroughly enjoy being held. Physical contact stuff is difficult, and things are already plenty wonderful right now.

"Evelyn," Tara suddenly says. "Apologies, but all of my bodies in this room are about to lose local awareness. Please don't be alarmed. I am fine."

"What?" I ask, and then she goes limp.

Oh god, oh god, what!? Just feeling her drop into motionlessness, her arms no longer supporting me as she flops backwards into the bed, sets my heart painfully racing. No, calm down. Calm down, Evelyn! She said she's fine. She said not to be alarmed. She's okay. She did this on purpose. For some reason. It's okay. Things are okay.

I naturally can't focus on homework anymore, though. Even if she's okay, what is happening? I stand up and start pacing around the room, my body shaking with tension. This hasn't happened before. What does it mean? Oh fuck oh god oh god oh fuck…

Over an hour of panic later, which I spend trying to keep myself busy and distracted while Tara lies in a fucking coma on my bed, I finally hear her start to move. She takes a deep breath, fists clenching but otherwise not moving until I address her.

"...Tara?" I ask. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she answers tonelessly. "I'm fine. Sorry to worry you."

"What… just happened?"

Slowly, she sits up, quickly twisting her limbs and stretching her body in clipped, decidedly inhuman jerks of movement.

"An urgent problem came up, and I had to co-opt as many brains as possible to dedicate themselves to solving it," she answers. "I'm sorry to worry you."

"It's… it's okay," I tell her. "I'm just glad you warned me beforehand. I would have really freaked out otherwise. Um, did you get that problem solved?"

She doesn't answer, instead opening her laptop and tapping rapidly away at it.

"You, uh, seem a bit shaken," I say hesitantly, sitting down next to her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Evelyn," Tara asks me, her eyes still glued to her screen, "when is it okay to kill?"

"Wh-what?" I sputter, the question catching me off guard. "I mean, never?"

"Not in self-defense?" she presses. "Not in the defense of others?"

"I… don't personally think so, no," I confirm. "I wouldn't blame a person that kills in self-defense. I'd consider that justified. But I wouldn't say it's 'okay.' Killing is always an evil act. What brought this question on, all of a sudden?"

"Anger," Tara answers bluntly. "Your world has many problems caused by a lack of infrastructure. They are regrettable, but they're not anyone's fault, really. At least, that's what I thought. But… good gods, there it is. One, two… ten. There are ten countries that impose the death penalty as punishment for homosexuality. It really is here, it's the fucking law. Holy shit."

"W-what? Tara, slow down."

"Evelyn, I have witnessed and dealt with murder, theft, assault, and rape, but I've tried to be careful about letting those people be punished under their own laws. I don't want to be a vigilante. I don't like how ineffective the justice system of most countries is, but there is a system and placing myself above it is just… well, it's something I can't take back, you understand? You have all made your own society, your own laws, and I can't just go stomping all over it."

"But you found a law you can't abide by," I interpret.

"I'm finding a lot fucking more of them now that I'm actually looking," Tara snarls. "I suppose I didn't elaborate before, but the 'problem' I was working on was breaking up a godsdamn public execution! And I failed. I hardly had any bodies in the area at the time. I just… fuck! Gods fucking—"

She descends into a series of what I can only assume are swears in her native language.

"I'm such an idiot," she continues after a while. "A goddamn idiot. I'm feeling good about myself synthesizing antibiotics but there's a fucking warzone two countries over where a hundred people died yesterday. How am I supposed to save your people if they keep fucking killing each other!?"

"Tara, Tara, hey!" I lean into her, reaching out and squeezing as tightly as I can. "It's okay. It's okay. It's not your responsibility to fix everything."

She stops opening up news articles and Wikipedia tabs for a moment, putting her head on mine.

"Are you sure?" she asks. "I feel like saying 'not my responsibility' is part of what got your world into this mess."

"Mental health," I remind her. "You have to manage your ability to help. Accept that it's okay if you can't fix everything."

"That's the part that worries me, Evelyn," she says. "I can. You humans can only deal with what's in front of you, I understand that. But there is no limit to what can be in front of me. I can cure diseases, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, sure. But I can also end wars. I can topple governments. I can destroy regimes and systems of abuse so ingrained into cultures that no one even sees that they're there. I genuinely, undeniably have that power. I'm just terrified of using it."

She looks at me with glistening eyes, her whole being shaking under the weight of her declaration. She's right. She could change the world, and everything in it.

"What should I do?" she begs, and I don't have an answer.