She had gone back to the clinic, a week later, to have [member="Samson"] check out her wound and make sure it was healing properly. He'd also done a full scan of her head and run a number of other tests. They'd all come back with the same information- other than a locked data port nestled into her brain, she was fit as a fiddle. The clinic wasn't a full hospital however, and he'd cautioned her that these were only the most cursory of tests. Honestly, he seemed more worried about it than she was.
They had talked a couple of times after that, planned to meet but it just never seemed to work out.
Then Sortz went to Nar Shaddaa.
And when she came back, the apartment was empty. She didn't know where Daro was, or what he was up to, but she had hoped he'd be there. Not because she wanted to talk about it (she really, really didn't) but just so she didn't have to be alone. After sitting by herself for awhile, mulling it over, she had dropped Samson a line. It took too long to figure out what to say. In the end she'd kept it simple.
As it happened, he was free that night.
For a moment, she'd gone back and forth, looking over his reply.
"Kark it," she finally muttered. Grabbing her jacket back off of the hook, she closed the door carefully behind her and locked it. Shrugging it on, she headed back out into the night, shoulders hunched and face tired. She felt guilty, sending him a message because she was lonely. Mostly because she didn't know that was something friends did.