beyond the sea
Title: beyond the sea
Author: glass_radical
Characters/Pairings: Miles/Naomi, Minkowski, Frank, Daniel, Charlotte
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Just one night, and then she's gone. For nini_darko , 1448 words
Somewhere beyond the sea
she's there watching for me
If I could fly like birds on high
then straight to her arms
I'd go sailing-----------------------
He walks along the narrow, dark corridors of the Kahana, shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards. He looks around for Lapidus like a vengeful cowboy looking for the guy who shot his paw. Sure fifty bucks is like pocket change compared to the cash he’s getting out of the freighter thing, but this was a matter of dignity. He passes the communications room right as the door opens. Out comes Minkowski, looking more pale than usual. Miles almost keeps going (got a score to settle with a hairy pilot) but the look on George’s face stops him.
“Hey man, what’s going on?” he says, casually, still shuffling the cards. Minkowski swallows hard and looks at Miles. Miles stops shuffling and the hair on the back of his neck stands up.
“Miles, we have a problem.”
---------------
Three Days Earlier
Naomi steps onto the deck, squinting a bit in the sunlight. The ship steams ahead, and she’ll never stop being surprised that a ship this size could go so fast. She sighs. She’s nowhere near ready to reach their destination.
Taking in a breath of the fresh, salty air, she looks around for a place to take a break. She surveys the deck for corners that aren’t occupied by crates or the thickheaded mercs that had unfortunately taken up residence. Looking to the end of the ship, she sees a small figure hunched over a game of solitaire. She smirks and strides over to him. Her shadow falls over his cards and he looks up, with that inscrutable face.
“Don’t you boys ever get tired of playing cards?”
He tosses the card in his hand aside and smirks. “Something else I should be doing?”
She smiles and sits on the crate next to him. “Thought you’d be getting to know your teammates, perhaps.” She already knows that this is unlikely, knows that Miles doesn’t care for socializing, but she can’t resist teasing him. Miles scoffs quietly and turns his attention back to the cards.
“I tried to have a conversation with that Faraday guy and I’m pretty sure we were speaking different languages.”
He says flatly.
She chuckles to herself. She looks out at the ocean, a deep sparkling blue, constantly changing in the afternoon sun. She lets her eyes and mind linger over it for a while. She just wants to sit out here in the sun (with Miles, although she doesn’t admit to that immediately), and enjoy her time. Instead, a constant anxiety. She’s supposed to protect these civilians, so completely unprepared for her kind of work, and there’s something nagging her about the entire thing. Occasionally Miles glances over, too, as if he were trying to figure her out. Eventually, he speaks.
“So are you ready for this mission thing?” he asks. “Of course.” She says brusquely. He raises an eyebrow, not understand how much this entire thing worried her.
“Uh…good.” He mumbles, and she can’t tell if she’s hurt his feelings or he’s thinking what a psycho bitch she is. Probably both. That inscrutable face.
She sighs and stretches like a cat, and for one moment, she’s sure she can feel Miles’ eyes on her, but when she opens her eyes, his focus is back on the ocean. “So what’s your job in all this?” he says, over the sound of the waves pounding against the hull. He turns back to her.
“Other than making sure we don’t screw up.” His lips twist into a small smile. She smiles, a few ounces of confidence returning.
“I’m supposed to protect you.”
---------------------
It’s night and Naomi knows she’s had too much to drink. They’ve all had too much to drink. For once, she’s left her bunker with all of its charts and maps and decided to follow the distant din of shouting and laughing to the galley, where she finds them- Frank, George, Miles and a few others playing yet another game of Texas Hold ‘Em. Beer bottles are scattered about and at first she wants to remind them how many times Gault would kill them if he found them hammered, but she catches a glimpse of Miles laughing and she stops. She’s never seen him laugh before.
George waves her over and puts a bottle of beer in her hand. She doesn’t play, even though Frank offers to teach her. She decides to just watch for a bit, taking the opportunity to watch them, get to know them a little better. The game goes on for hours, money is lost and won and more beer is consumed, and by the time George and Frank stumble out to sleep it off, only she and Miles remain slumped in their seats, closer than they realized. They mumble a few things disguised as jokes. A hand touches a knee.
Her head lolls to the side, facing him. Her hand reaches up to his face, so numb, she can barely feel it as her fingers brush gently against his lips, her favorite part of him. He stares for a moment, before leaning in, their foreheads touching for a moment (more from drunkenness than romance) he kisses her. It’s sloppy and he tastes like beer, but she goes forth, ever the pioneer, her tongue parting his teeth and taking control. For a moment she feels silly, like an irresponsible university girl with cheap beer sloshing around in her stomach, but when Miles leans into her, slumping a bit in his inebriated state, and kisses her cheek as tenderly as any man could, she draws him close and holds him like a real lover.
They stumble back to her cabin and clothes fall to the floor without care. Their bodies move in time to the ocean waves pounding against the walls. A few hours later, she watches him sleep. His face seems so calm and untroubled, with no traces of calculation or haughty self-defense. She gently runs her fingers through his hair (he’s so young to be going grey.) Eventually, she falls asleep. She worries that when she wakes up, he’ll be gone, and their whole expedition will revolve around hasty decisions and regret. When she wakes up with his head nestled against her chest, she feels as if she’ll never have another regret in her life.
They don’t say much. They don’t have to.
Miles scampers out of her room, half-dressed before sunrise. Frank pretends not to notice as he passes by,
smirking a bit.
That next night, she throws herself to the wolves.
-----------------------
“What the hell do you mean, “compromised”?” Miles shouts at Minkowski, who throws his hands up in the umpteenth attempt to explain the situation to people that Naomi was supposed to lead onto the island when the time came.
“She used the code.” He said, his voice falling into desperation. Miles backs off, his jaw clenched impossibly tight. They all know what that code means. “Well, is she alright?” Charlotte asks, glancing between Daniel (looking as concerned as her), Frank (looking remorseful) and Miles (looking like he might be sick.). Minkowski pauses for a moment, his hand clamped over his mouth.
“She said she got wounded by a branch when she parachuted onto the island, but…” he stops. No need to fill in the lines.
“Did you try calling again?” Miles barks. Frank looks over at Miles and wonders if he should intervene.
“No.” Minkowski says, lowering his eyes to the floor.
“Well, why the hell not? If she’s hurt someone needs to go-“ Minkowski looks down at the same time as Frank’s hand clasps around Miles’ shoulder.
“I think she’s dead.”
The air seems to drain from the room.
Miles sits down and the rest of the conversation drowns out. Before he knows it, they’re done speaking, and everyone leaves the room. He shuffles down the corridor and hears steps behind him.
“Miles.” He turns, his face straight and stony. It’s Frank.
“What?” he says, as if nothing happened. Frank sighs and looks at him for a moment.
“Nothin’. It can wait.”
-----------------
Miles hovers over her, listening. He hears whimpering and choking and gasps at the feeling of a hunting knife hitting her back. He feels his eyes well up despite himself, and he allows himself an extra moment (to compose himself and to stay with her.)
He mumbles questions. What did they do? Why did they hurt you and when he finds out his answers, he is no more satisfied. (He just knows he doesn’t have to shoot anyone near him at the moment.) He wants to touch her, but he knows that there wouldn’t be a point. The body in front of him couldn’t feel it.
He mumbles “I’m sorry” to no one.