Two-Brains-in-WordGirl's-body glanced down at himself as he rested his elbows on the speckled counter. A small vanilla milkshake was in front of him, but it didn't warrant his attention, really. The star and shield of the WordGirl uniform stuck out far more. With their vibrant colors, and how it was that distinct symbol of justice he'd come to fear and respect...

It didn't seem right wearing it.

"It's weird being you," he deduced flatly to the person next to him.

"Really?" asked Doctor WordGirl-Brains, as he'd half-decided to call her, and she snorted, heavy sarcasm lacing every word she spoke. "The feeling is mutual, I assure you," she replied dryly, rolling her eyes.

He looked up at her with an unimpressed frown.

"I'd say leave the sarcasm to me, but... you are me." It was blunt, but there was no use beating around the bush. They were here to talk about it.

She seemed rather irritated, however. She thumped her fist lightly on the table and glared at the menu in front of her.

"Yeah, and thanks to you and your good-for-nothing mouse brain, all I can even think about is stupid cheese!" she snapped. Two-Brains, never used to a truly angry WordGirl, flinched and looked away. She only called anything names when she was really fed up. He did finally glance up, though, when a weird humming noise met his ears. He looked at her in confusion.

And he did a double take.

Her face was screwed up with sudden pain, the second brain was glowing a pallid green, her eyes were wide and her jaw was clenched. Sick as he felt seeing it, he could only gawk. Was—was that what she always used to see when it happened?

He... he couldn't look like that very often anymore. He was used to it; he had a cheese schedule going on; it just didn't happen nowadays. But knowing her, she'd probably tried to limit herself to regular portions of regular food; trying to be stronger than the voice inside her head. And then, she'd insulted it.

And called cheese stupid.

His heart sank until it hit the floor.

You just couldn't do that with Squeaky.

She jumped suddenly with a tiny gasp, clapping a hand on the mouse brain as she stared strangely off into space, and that was just too much. He tried to intervene.

"Squeaks!" Two-Brains whispered, rather harshly, but it had occurred to him that he didn't know how to get it's attention from out here. "Let it go! She doesn't have a clue what our deal is! She's frustrated! She didn't mean it!"

All things he'd felt when it first happened to him.

Well... yeah. The not-meaning-it part hadn't been true then, either.

Fortunately, either the second brain had heard his reprimands, or it was done reminding her who was really in charge around there, because whatever the case, the pulsating stopped. WordGirl still gritted her teeth, glaring at some point in between herself and the wall. He stared blankly at her for a minute, still processing the event, but then shifted his gaze down to the sweat forming on his milkshake glass.

"Geez," she said at last, and the word hung cold and still over them. She seemed to refuse to look at him as she stared hard at the menu.

"Can ya blame me for being scared for Professor Boxleitner?

He stopped, caught off guard, and looked down at his menu also.

"I... I mean... no."

He felt warmish for a moment, and a little weird, and his voice cleared a bit as it lowered. He coughed into his fist, trying to get it to come back up to normal. He shoved all his random sentimental, disconcerting thoughts back to the back of his head.

That just wasn't something they talked about anymore.

He quickly changed the subject.

"...So how are ya copin', with... everything, I mean." The question came out more awkwardly intrusive than he'd meant it to. "I mean... I know how it is, but... y'know, my life is weird, but I think you could handle it, if anyone could; and I just meant, I didn't mean ya couldn't, but it's a lot, and..." He trailed off, grimacing as he facepalmed. "Look at me, I'm literally WordGirl and I'm still blathering on. Forget I said anything; I'm sorry."

There was a silent pause, but WordGirl-Brains suddenly groaned in defeat, sinking back in her chair and rolling her red eyes upward. "I'm sorry," she grumbled, huge hands hanging limp beside her. "I'm being snarky and you asked me here to talk. I'm fine, quit worrying about it." She waved him off, leaning forward and crossing her arms on the counter. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a tired sigh, this time sounding more like herself. "Sorry. I'm just being grouchy. Was there something you wanted to know so you could get us switched back?" She looked at him, tired hopefulness in her eyes, and he shifted in his seat.

"Well, uh..." he began, glancing over at the floor with a growing feeling of self-consciousness. "That's the thing I kinda wanted to talk about. There's a catch with the mind-exchange ray."

Her gaze hardened a little, and she stared upward for a second, before merely putting her chin in her palm and sighing miserably. "All right; what's the catch."

He coughed uncomfortably, making a face. "Welllll, uh... Switching minds is a really big process, as you know; 'specially for the first time. Your mind leaving your head and sticking itself into someone else's." She nodded, raising a brown eyebrow. He ducked his head for a second, muttering.

"It's weird explaining this to my own body," he grunted, and that body rolled its eyes again. "...Anyway, ideally you have to give it a week, by my calculations, before doing any mind-switching again. Gives time for your equilibrium to balance out and whatnot. I actually planned out the mayor thing last week—you switched us back early, by the way—and he and I swapped minds a couple days ago. Then I got switched back and switched out again when we tried to fix your monkey—I'm still a little off-balance, as you can imagine."

She threw her arms up in the air, nodding vigorously in agreement as she glared at him. "You broke out one of my teeth! On public television!"

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, holding his hands up defensively. "I can't help it I don't know how to fly! That's not my fault!"

"What are you talking about? This entire mind-exchange MESS is your fault!" she snapped back, scowling.

She had a point, Doc. "Yeah?" he countered, although put off. "It wasn't MY fault you did THIS to us! MY plan would have been just fine if you didn't interfere!" She opened her mouth to disagree, but he just glared up at her, too caught up in arguing to care. "YOU were the one who got us into THIS whole mess in the FIRST PLACE!"

He said that last line louder than he should've. A nearby waitress glanced up from her notepad and looked like she was really debating whether to come take their order just yet.

WordGirl-Brains glared down at him, but it was somehow less like his own irritated glare and more like she was angry and scared and... well, still a kid. He had to remind himself of that sometimes.

"I was just doing my job!" she replied, folding her arms and scowling. "You could've SAID it might fire if I twisted the barrel off!"

"And how exactly would I know you'd do that?" he retorted, glaring back up at her. It was weird looking up to see anyone, let alone himself. And he got defensive when he felt insecure.

"Why couldn't you've just let it alone for once?" he snapped before she could reply. He was on a roll, and as many rolling things do, he would keep going past where he might've needed to be. "Your life is impossible as it is! I personally don't get how or even why you try to keep up with everything at once; you said it yourself last week, you don't even get paid! Why do you care so much?!"

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, blast his big mouth. Half of it was him complaining about trying to do a job that wasn't his, half of it was just him complaining, and the last part was the same question he'd asked two days ago. Then, it'd been an acceptable part of his exasperated banter, but repeating it now made it sound like he really couldn't understand it.

Figured, a guy studies superheroes and doesn't know why they risk life and limb to save the day. Or why they battle villains, or why they stop meteors from hitting earth.

Or why they even care.

Figured. It all figured.

And the girl-turned-man in the next barstool seat was glaring at him.

"If you listened to anything I've ever said, maybe you'd know, now wouldn't you, Mr. Brilliant!" she barked, a weird flash in her red eyes. She broke their gaze for a split second, and he almost could've sworn she looked a little put off by the question.

He bit his tongue before he made a cynical comment on that, crossing his arms in front of him and refusing to look up. They didn't need to be arguing. Witty banter could go till the cows came home, but arguing never really solved anything.

Oh great, look who he was starting to sound like.

He took a deep breath anyway. "Look, WordGirl, we... we really need to stop," he said, almost hesitantly. Her gaze remained set in the opposite direction. "I don't want to be you forever, and you don't want to be me forever. We need to stop and figure this out."

She was looking down at her placemat now, and her eyes were no longer annoyed, but they were empty and unreadable. It was weird seeing her as him—tall, sarcastic, white-haired and tired—but well, he himself didn't have the mouse brain anymore, and she was her. Some weird warmth suddenly rushed into his sinuses, and he blinked back inklings of tears that had no reason to be there. He sighed softly and looked down at his tiny hands, gloved in scarlet.

A moment of silence, and he finally looked up at her again, eyes soft in earnest.

"Like old times?" he asked, and he felt almost guilty asking that loaded question. He knew that would work, if nothing else did. She knew it too.

She was silent for a minute. But then she sighed, gazing down in defeat.

"...Like old times," she finished, a strange bit of quiet conflict lacing her voice.

She looked up at him, and red eyes met brown ones.