I looked at the ceiling.
She had a point in the technical sense. The minutes existed. I could, theoretically, give them to her.
But I had also seen Misato run the training session yesterday. I had personally been on the receiving end of her commentary while holding a plank in the grass, and I had no desire to show up late and give her additional material to work with. She would absolutely make me do burpees until I died. She would enjoy it.
"Naomi." I shifted, rolling my shoulder gently until she had to adjust or fall. "Up."
She made a noise that was mostly vowels and lifted her head. Her pink eyes were at about thirty percent operational capacity. Her hair was everything I had predicted. The right side was pressed flat against her skull and the left side was enormous, the striped sections fanning out at a chaotic angle.
She blinked at me.
"What time is it," she said. Not a question. A complaint.
"Four fifty."
She stared.
"That's not a real time."
