Original: "The WASP and the Honeybee," Part III
I'm continuing on with Riley Season 5, but after writing four or five stories in a row, my muse wanted me to write something I could actually share with people now. So after some consideration (and two days spent revising Radiation Canary), I decided to revisit Emerson Bishop and Melita Abbott from The WASP and the Honeybee. I don't think this will end up being novel-length, but it should at least be a decent-sized story. And fair warning people... I don't know when I'll be continuing this, so I apologize for anything I leave hanging (haha... phrasing, as Archer would say).
You can find the Story So Far on AO3 or follow the tag here on teh elljay! :D
Melita stirred briefly when she felt Emerson putting socks on her. She glanced down, the shape of her lover visible against the dawn breaking outside the window. Her feet often got cold during the night no matter how many blankets they piled on the bed, but she couldn't fall asleep wearing socks. One morning not long after they started sharing a bed, she was awoken by Emerson at the foot of the bed, rolling a pair of wool socks onto her. She had murmured a quiet thanks and fallen back to sleep. It became a habit on particularly cold mornings, an unspoken kindness that Emerson rarely acknowledged.
This morning Melita was awake enough to whisper her gratitude and Emerson moved up to the pillows. "Well, if I'm not here to keep you warm myself, it's the least I can do." She cupped Melita's face and pecked her lips. "Love you, honeybee."
"I love you, too. Going to Qiluk?"
"Mm-hmm. Then Unguwan. Should be back by this evening. Wish me luck on getting new business."
"Good luck, Emmy." They hooked pinkies and snapped them apart. Emerson rose and tucked the blankets around Melita's shoulders. She turned and shut the bedroom door so she wouldn't disturb Melita's return to sleep when she turned on the lights for breakfast. Melita burrowed into the pillows. The smell of coffee and cooking bacon drifted to her as she fell back to sleep, a promise that it would be there when she woke even if Emerson wasn't.
She was so accustomed to seeing "Mr. Bishop" that sometimes, in her dreams, she was surprised to see the Emerson she had met back during the war. She had always worn her hair short, but before she started passing for male she had styled it. When they met it draped along her left profile in finger waves, with an S of black resting against her cheek like the back of a hand caught in a gentle caress.
She had been called out for staring by her friend Johanna. "You got a little drool on your chin, dear. Might want to see to that."
Emerson had chosen that moment to look over, and Melita spent the rest of the day cursing her own awkwardness. The next morning when she arrived to work, her curls bundled up in a kerchief and the wing-like collar of her white shirt spread across the lapels of her jumpsuit, she found Emerson waiting for her.
"I hear you're the one to talk to about joining the poker game."
Melita didn't know what poker game she was talking about. She wasn't even sure she knew how to play poker. But she spluttered, "Who told you that?"
"Johanna."
Naturally. "Well. Um. I guess we could always use a fourth."
Emerson tilted her head. "Johanna said I'd be the fifth."
"Right. She... I always forget about... one of them." She blushed crimson and looked down to her boots. "Point is, I'm sure we'd love to have you."
"Great. When do you gals get together?"
Melita made up the schedule on the spot, and Emerson promised she would be there. Melita had watched Emerson walk away across the garage and was caught staring when Emerson looked back at her. They had smiled at each other, Emerson took one hand out of her pocket to wave and Melita returned it sheepishly. She had been all too aware of her jumpsuit in comparison to Emerson's leather jacket and yellow-tan slacks. Mel's sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and pinned in place, and the legs of her pants pooled over her shoes. She looked like a little girl caught playing dress-up by her urbane older sister. Melita waited until Emerson was out of sight before she hurried off to find Johanna to throttle her for not giving a little warning.
She had loved Emerson before she was in love with her. She wrote off her feelings as sisterly; it was just easier than dealing with romantic urges for another woman. They went out for drinks and danced with men, and Melita took more than a few of them out to the parking lot. She had always assumed Emerson did the same, but she'd later confessed she had been celibate for years before Mel climbed into her bed.
Melita woke again when the sun was shining directly into the bedroom window, a natural alarm clock that rarely failed to get her out of bed. She pushed back the blankets and sat up, wiggling her toes in the socks Emerson had put on her, and stretched her back before standing up. She wasn't sure if she'd been in the middle of a waking dream or a memory so strong it had acquired a dream-like quality due to her exhaustion, but she was happy to remember those days. She still got a thrill from the touch of Emerson's hand or looking up to catch her staring, but back then it had been all they had. The little stolen moments were all they could afford.
In the kitchen she found her breakfast waiting for her in the icebox. She warmed it up on the hotplate and rested her hands on the counter to peer out the window. It was a beautiful day, crystal clear and quiet, and she smiled as she imagined Emerson out in that open blue. She listened to the radio as she ate her breakfast, then went into the bedroom to dress for the day. Even without Emerson or the plane present, there was still plenty of work to keep her occupied.
She was in the front office when the radio came alive. "This is Ike Willoughby in Unguwan. Bishop and Abbott, you got ears on?"
Melita smiled as she unhooked the mic. "Willy Willoughby, what are you bothering me for?"
His voice came back to her through a cloud of static. "I'm hoping I've caught you 'fore your feller took off for the next trip."
"You're a couple hours late for that, I'm afraid. He's already aloft."
"Well, shoot. You wouldn't happen to know if he packed any of my special magazines, would you?"
Melita smiled. The first time she'd heard mention of the special magazines, she'd just assumed they featured naked ladies. She brought it up over dinner one night and, once Emerson had gotten her laughter under control, she went to get one of the packages and opened it to show Mel the truth: Astounding Science Fiction, which featured stories of science-fiction and fantasy.
"He's embarrassed because he thinks they're for little kids. But I've read a couple of the stories. They're really good."
Melita pressed down the button on the mic again. "I'm sure he has them aboard. He knows about much you enjoy 'em." She stood and walked around the counter, trailing the cord. "He should be getting there any minute now. He only had one stop 'tween here and you, so depending on how long that took him..."
"Oh, you know me. If it ain't right smack-dab on time, I start to pace."
"Just give Emerson a little time. He'll be there."
"Okay... now... when are you two gonna get rid of that second name on the business, huh? Just Bishop Aviation. Got a ring to it."
She smiled sardonically. "You trying to get him to fire me?"
"Trying to get him to see what he's got in you."
To that, she gave an authentic and enthusiastic laugh. "You've never even seen me, Willy Willoughby. For all you know I could be a troll with warts and lesions all over my face and that's why ol' Emerson hides me in the garage."
"Feh. When he gets here I'll tell him to make his move or I'll hitch a ride and come down there myself. Woman like you, still single at your age... it's a shame is all."
"I ain't that old, Willy. Now hush your mouth. Call me when you get your magazines, hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Melita reached for the radio and switched it to the frequency Emerson used. "This is Honeybee calling to N129WR, come on in, over." She rested the microphone against her chin as she waited for acknowledgement. After a few seconds she lifted it again. "N129WR, the Honeybee is calling you. Best pick up your phone or I'll feel shunned. Over."
She listened to the static of the open line and bent forward so she could see more of the sky as she waited for a response.
"C'mon, Emmy," she whispered. "Answer the damn call."
She tapped her foot against the floor, imagining Emerson up in Qiluk. In her mind's eye, she was standing on a muddy road in her high-waisted trousers and her shirt buttoned all the way up to her collar. Her hair would be covered by a flight cap, and every time she heard the squawk of the radio she would roll her eyes and mutter that she'd get there when she got there.
Melita stopped herself from calling again. Part of the whole purpose of the trip was to drum up new business. She'd gotten there early and was now at the trading post, or at the restaurant, or at the little post office where she dropped off the mail to be sorted. Looking for work, trying to keep them in the black for another month. She hooked the mic back on the side of the radio and rubbed her hands as she went out into the garage.
She wasn't going to let some old fisherman's overactive imagination get the better of her.
#
Emerson was in flight. She felt pressure behind her knees and against her chest, but other than that she was airborne and still. The contradiction didn't make sense to her, sent her already confused mind reeling, and she opened her eyes in the hopes a visual would clear things up. Knowing the reality only made things worse, for she saw the cracked windshield and her memory came rushing back to her.
She remembered the fog rolling off the mountains, her attempt to avoid it causing her to hit a wave of turbulence. Now the plane was caught in the canopy, nose aimed at the ground. She ran her hand over the strap holding her in the seat. If she released it, she would drop onto the control panel and the force of her fall would most likely dislodge the plane. But she couldn't very well just sit there and wait for someone to find her.
The microphone had been knocked off the radio, dangling down near her feet. She stretched for it, startled when something red dripped from her forehead down onto her arm. She ignored the blood and wrapped her arm around the cord until she could close her fingers around the smooth contours of the receiver.
Once she had it in hand, she looked at the actual controls. She had to adjust the frequency to call for help, but she didn't trust the ebb and sway of the plane. It felt like a single branch was keeping her from plummeting. She held her breath and let it out slowly as she carefully stretched her arm out.
Something snapped, and there was a harrowing moment of weightlessness just before the branch gave way.
Emerson flattened her feet against the floor and pressed herself back against the seat as the plane crashed down toward the frozen ground. She closed her eyes and prayed it was closer than it had seemed through the broken glass.
#
"Stupid, you're being so stupid." Melita's voice was a low growl as she admonished herself, not slowing as she toss the greasy rag onto the counter. She snatched the mic off the radio, and turned it on. She heard the squelch of static before she opened the line. "Emerson Leigh, you pick up your goddamn microphone right now and tell me where you are." She released the button and waited. The only sound above the static was her own rough breathing. She closed her eyes and brought the mic up to her lips, so close that they brushed the metal grill when she spoke. "Emmy. Please. It's been an hour. You should be back in the air by now. So please get on so I can yell at you for being late. Just answer me."
No reply.
She couldn't count the number of times Emerson had failed to answer a call, couldn't begin to list how often she had tried to get in touch and been met with static. But for some reason she felt a cold, swirling nausea deep inside her that this silence was different. She still had her eyes closed, and she thought back to her last sight of Emerson that morning. A dark shape moving through the inky light of dawn. She remembered Emerson's gentle touch as she rolled the socks onto Melita's cold feet. It had been as sweet a goodbye as she could remember.
She wouldn't let it be their final farewell. She wouldn't let their story end like that. She opened her eyes and held down the button again.
"Emmy, you listen to me... I'm coming for you. Wherever you are, whatever happened, I'm coming for you."
She put the microphone down without hanging it up, moving quickly now that she had a plan. She needed to dress for a hike, she needed to get a map and figure out Emerson's flight plan, and then she had to go into town. Trying to find Emerson would be like trying to find baseball in a dark room full of rocks, but she knew a way she could help improve the odds.
You can find the Story So Far on AO3 or follow the tag here on teh elljay! :D
Melita stirred briefly when she felt Emerson putting socks on her. She glanced down, the shape of her lover visible against the dawn breaking outside the window. Her feet often got cold during the night no matter how many blankets they piled on the bed, but she couldn't fall asleep wearing socks. One morning not long after they started sharing a bed, she was awoken by Emerson at the foot of the bed, rolling a pair of wool socks onto her. She had murmured a quiet thanks and fallen back to sleep. It became a habit on particularly cold mornings, an unspoken kindness that Emerson rarely acknowledged.
This morning Melita was awake enough to whisper her gratitude and Emerson moved up to the pillows. "Well, if I'm not here to keep you warm myself, it's the least I can do." She cupped Melita's face and pecked her lips. "Love you, honeybee."
"I love you, too. Going to Qiluk?"
"Mm-hmm. Then Unguwan. Should be back by this evening. Wish me luck on getting new business."
"Good luck, Emmy." They hooked pinkies and snapped them apart. Emerson rose and tucked the blankets around Melita's shoulders. She turned and shut the bedroom door so she wouldn't disturb Melita's return to sleep when she turned on the lights for breakfast. Melita burrowed into the pillows. The smell of coffee and cooking bacon drifted to her as she fell back to sleep, a promise that it would be there when she woke even if Emerson wasn't.
She was so accustomed to seeing "Mr. Bishop" that sometimes, in her dreams, she was surprised to see the Emerson she had met back during the war. She had always worn her hair short, but before she started passing for male she had styled it. When they met it draped along her left profile in finger waves, with an S of black resting against her cheek like the back of a hand caught in a gentle caress.
She had been called out for staring by her friend Johanna. "You got a little drool on your chin, dear. Might want to see to that."
Emerson had chosen that moment to look over, and Melita spent the rest of the day cursing her own awkwardness. The next morning when she arrived to work, her curls bundled up in a kerchief and the wing-like collar of her white shirt spread across the lapels of her jumpsuit, she found Emerson waiting for her.
"I hear you're the one to talk to about joining the poker game."
Melita didn't know what poker game she was talking about. She wasn't even sure she knew how to play poker. But she spluttered, "Who told you that?"
"Johanna."
Naturally. "Well. Um. I guess we could always use a fourth."
Emerson tilted her head. "Johanna said I'd be the fifth."
"Right. She... I always forget about... one of them." She blushed crimson and looked down to her boots. "Point is, I'm sure we'd love to have you."
"Great. When do you gals get together?"
Melita made up the schedule on the spot, and Emerson promised she would be there. Melita had watched Emerson walk away across the garage and was caught staring when Emerson looked back at her. They had smiled at each other, Emerson took one hand out of her pocket to wave and Melita returned it sheepishly. She had been all too aware of her jumpsuit in comparison to Emerson's leather jacket and yellow-tan slacks. Mel's sleeves were rolled up past her elbows and pinned in place, and the legs of her pants pooled over her shoes. She looked like a little girl caught playing dress-up by her urbane older sister. Melita waited until Emerson was out of sight before she hurried off to find Johanna to throttle her for not giving a little warning.
She had loved Emerson before she was in love with her. She wrote off her feelings as sisterly; it was just easier than dealing with romantic urges for another woman. They went out for drinks and danced with men, and Melita took more than a few of them out to the parking lot. She had always assumed Emerson did the same, but she'd later confessed she had been celibate for years before Mel climbed into her bed.
Melita woke again when the sun was shining directly into the bedroom window, a natural alarm clock that rarely failed to get her out of bed. She pushed back the blankets and sat up, wiggling her toes in the socks Emerson had put on her, and stretched her back before standing up. She wasn't sure if she'd been in the middle of a waking dream or a memory so strong it had acquired a dream-like quality due to her exhaustion, but she was happy to remember those days. She still got a thrill from the touch of Emerson's hand or looking up to catch her staring, but back then it had been all they had. The little stolen moments were all they could afford.
In the kitchen she found her breakfast waiting for her in the icebox. She warmed it up on the hotplate and rested her hands on the counter to peer out the window. It was a beautiful day, crystal clear and quiet, and she smiled as she imagined Emerson out in that open blue. She listened to the radio as she ate her breakfast, then went into the bedroom to dress for the day. Even without Emerson or the plane present, there was still plenty of work to keep her occupied.
She was in the front office when the radio came alive. "This is Ike Willoughby in Unguwan. Bishop and Abbott, you got ears on?"
Melita smiled as she unhooked the mic. "Willy Willoughby, what are you bothering me for?"
His voice came back to her through a cloud of static. "I'm hoping I've caught you 'fore your feller took off for the next trip."
"You're a couple hours late for that, I'm afraid. He's already aloft."
"Well, shoot. You wouldn't happen to know if he packed any of my special magazines, would you?"
Melita smiled. The first time she'd heard mention of the special magazines, she'd just assumed they featured naked ladies. She brought it up over dinner one night and, once Emerson had gotten her laughter under control, she went to get one of the packages and opened it to show Mel the truth: Astounding Science Fiction, which featured stories of science-fiction and fantasy.
"He's embarrassed because he thinks they're for little kids. But I've read a couple of the stories. They're really good."
Melita pressed down the button on the mic again. "I'm sure he has them aboard. He knows about much you enjoy 'em." She stood and walked around the counter, trailing the cord. "He should be getting there any minute now. He only had one stop 'tween here and you, so depending on how long that took him..."
"Oh, you know me. If it ain't right smack-dab on time, I start to pace."
"Just give Emerson a little time. He'll be there."
"Okay... now... when are you two gonna get rid of that second name on the business, huh? Just Bishop Aviation. Got a ring to it."
She smiled sardonically. "You trying to get him to fire me?"
"Trying to get him to see what he's got in you."
To that, she gave an authentic and enthusiastic laugh. "You've never even seen me, Willy Willoughby. For all you know I could be a troll with warts and lesions all over my face and that's why ol' Emerson hides me in the garage."
"Feh. When he gets here I'll tell him to make his move or I'll hitch a ride and come down there myself. Woman like you, still single at your age... it's a shame is all."
"I ain't that old, Willy. Now hush your mouth. Call me when you get your magazines, hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Melita reached for the radio and switched it to the frequency Emerson used. "This is Honeybee calling to N129WR, come on in, over." She rested the microphone against her chin as she waited for acknowledgement. After a few seconds she lifted it again. "N129WR, the Honeybee is calling you. Best pick up your phone or I'll feel shunned. Over."
She listened to the static of the open line and bent forward so she could see more of the sky as she waited for a response.
"C'mon, Emmy," she whispered. "Answer the damn call."
She tapped her foot against the floor, imagining Emerson up in Qiluk. In her mind's eye, she was standing on a muddy road in her high-waisted trousers and her shirt buttoned all the way up to her collar. Her hair would be covered by a flight cap, and every time she heard the squawk of the radio she would roll her eyes and mutter that she'd get there when she got there.
Melita stopped herself from calling again. Part of the whole purpose of the trip was to drum up new business. She'd gotten there early and was now at the trading post, or at the restaurant, or at the little post office where she dropped off the mail to be sorted. Looking for work, trying to keep them in the black for another month. She hooked the mic back on the side of the radio and rubbed her hands as she went out into the garage.
She wasn't going to let some old fisherman's overactive imagination get the better of her.
#
Emerson was in flight. She felt pressure behind her knees and against her chest, but other than that she was airborne and still. The contradiction didn't make sense to her, sent her already confused mind reeling, and she opened her eyes in the hopes a visual would clear things up. Knowing the reality only made things worse, for she saw the cracked windshield and her memory came rushing back to her.
She remembered the fog rolling off the mountains, her attempt to avoid it causing her to hit a wave of turbulence. Now the plane was caught in the canopy, nose aimed at the ground. She ran her hand over the strap holding her in the seat. If she released it, she would drop onto the control panel and the force of her fall would most likely dislodge the plane. But she couldn't very well just sit there and wait for someone to find her.
The microphone had been knocked off the radio, dangling down near her feet. She stretched for it, startled when something red dripped from her forehead down onto her arm. She ignored the blood and wrapped her arm around the cord until she could close her fingers around the smooth contours of the receiver.
Once she had it in hand, she looked at the actual controls. She had to adjust the frequency to call for help, but she didn't trust the ebb and sway of the plane. It felt like a single branch was keeping her from plummeting. She held her breath and let it out slowly as she carefully stretched her arm out.
Something snapped, and there was a harrowing moment of weightlessness just before the branch gave way.
Emerson flattened her feet against the floor and pressed herself back against the seat as the plane crashed down toward the frozen ground. She closed her eyes and prayed it was closer than it had seemed through the broken glass.
#
"Stupid, you're being so stupid." Melita's voice was a low growl as she admonished herself, not slowing as she toss the greasy rag onto the counter. She snatched the mic off the radio, and turned it on. She heard the squelch of static before she opened the line. "Emerson Leigh, you pick up your goddamn microphone right now and tell me where you are." She released the button and waited. The only sound above the static was her own rough breathing. She closed her eyes and brought the mic up to her lips, so close that they brushed the metal grill when she spoke. "Emmy. Please. It's been an hour. You should be back in the air by now. So please get on so I can yell at you for being late. Just answer me."
No reply.
She couldn't count the number of times Emerson had failed to answer a call, couldn't begin to list how often she had tried to get in touch and been met with static. But for some reason she felt a cold, swirling nausea deep inside her that this silence was different. She still had her eyes closed, and she thought back to her last sight of Emerson that morning. A dark shape moving through the inky light of dawn. She remembered Emerson's gentle touch as she rolled the socks onto Melita's cold feet. It had been as sweet a goodbye as she could remember.
She wouldn't let it be their final farewell. She wouldn't let their story end like that. She opened her eyes and held down the button again.
"Emmy, you listen to me... I'm coming for you. Wherever you are, whatever happened, I'm coming for you."
She put the microphone down without hanging it up, moving quickly now that she had a plan. She needed to dress for a hike, she needed to get a map and figure out Emerson's flight plan, and then she had to go into town. Trying to find Emerson would be like trying to find baseball in a dark room full of rocks, but she knew a way she could help improve the odds.