[fic] Choppers | 6
Title: Choppers 6/?
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: About PG-13.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko for audiencing and offering advice, and also onthecontrary. You both rock my socks. XP
Title comes from the song 'Choppers' by Headless Chickens and has nothing to do with the fic at all.
Also, I don't know if its because one of my RPs took off in a flurry of joyful posting activity, or writing out the fic by hand in a notebook, or if I slept on one of my hands funny, but for the last few days, my right hand's been kind of sore. I didn't take my laptop in with me to school today, and so didn't work on the fic/do extended amounts of typing, and my hand feels better so yeah, I might try and limit my computer time a bit, see if that fixes things. This means the chapters will probably come out slower from now on. Sorry!
Summary: Discussion after the fact.
Bernard found him on the flight deck later. He made a disapproving noise, and lifted Tim’s charts away from him. “We really need to find you a better hobby.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this for fun.” No, he was doing it because he was trying to avoid everyone.
“Well, at least you have some sense,” Bernard squinted at the charts. “I was beginning to worry about you.” He paused. “Where are the crew?”
“They’re outside, working on the repairs,” Tim said. “They’ll be awhile.”
Bernard whistled. “That bad, huh?”
“No,” Tim said. “The damage was relatively light.” He sighed. “They keep getting distracted and floating off.”
Bernard nodded. “I told you so,” he said unhelpfully. “Still, you gotta take pleasure where you find it.”
Something about the way he said that, and his smile, the sleazy edge it had -- Tim raised an eyebrow. “The celebration went well then?”
“Tim, my man, you have no idea.” Bernard looped an arm around Tim’s shoulders and leaned in comfortably, voice low despite the fact they were alone in the room. “It went better than well, it went spectacularly. Kon is -- man, does he have skills.”
“Tell me about it,” Tim said dryly. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that.
“Usually it’s hot or good you know -- you can’t have one without losing the other, but man, Kon --” Bernard whistled. “Suffice to say I am looking forward to the rest of this trip.”
“I’ll bet.”
“What’s up with you?” Bernard glanced at him. “Not feeling lonely or anything, are you, Tim?”
Tim hesitated. He was torn between telling Bernard or keeping quiet. On the one hand, he was pretty sure his shower had been much more interesting than Bernard’s adventures, but on the other . . . well confessing to having been a teaching aid in an alien three-way was not something Tim was sure he wanted to own up to.
Thankfully, Tim was spared any embarrassing revelations. Bernard had come to his own conclusions. “We seriously need to get you laid.”
Tim coughed. “I really don’t think that will help any,” he said.
“Nonsense! Angst is nature’s way of saying you need to get out more, and let’s face it, you’ve done nothing but mope about with your charts since you got aboard and -- what is it, Bart?” Bernard let go of Tim. “Thought we’d have to haul the two of you in by the ends of your safety cables.”
“Ran out of oxygen,” Bart reported. “Tim, you want to come down to the hold? Kon thinks you should look at what we’ve done.”
Tim wasn’t adverse to ending the conversation with Bernard. “See you later,” he said, and followed Bart towards the hold.
They didn’t get any further than their bunkroom. Bart hit the door button as they passed, and before Tim could protest, pushed him through and shut the door behind him.
“What was that in aid of?” Tim demanded. “Kon’ll be waiting --”
“Kon’s making dinner,” Bart said, leaning against the door and looking at Tim thoughtfully. His yellow eyes were clearer than usual, and Tim felt uncomfortable under the direct gaze. There was no telling what was going on in Bart’s mind and Tim had never been comfortable with what he couldn’t predict.
“Then why --?”
Bart reached out to put a hand on Tim’s chest. Tim froze, and Bart stepped into him, watching him closely. “You’re freaking out,” he said, finally. “Kon said you would.”
“I’m not --”
Bart tugged Tim backwards towards the bed. “Kon said you’d lie and say you weren’t,” he said composedly, sitting close enough to Tim that their knees brushed.
“And Kon’s the expert then?” Tim wouldn’t be so bitter if Kon wasn’t right.
Bart gave him a surprisingly clear gaze. “Well, of course,” he said. “Are you angry because of that? Or do you just not like me?”
“I don’t -- I’m not --” Tim sighed. “It’s not that,” he said. “I just . . . I”m not the sort of person who does stuff like that. At least, not with people I haven’t known for very long. I -- I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Actually, Tim had a good idea of how he felt, but he couldn’t really tell Bart that.
Bart nodded as if he understood. “Kon says you get used to it,” he said, leaning his head against Tim’s shoulder. “He’s done this before you know.”
Tim nodded. That was part of the problem. “We talked a little about it before. About other cruises and stuff --” And Tim didn’t want to be like the humans that used their positions and legal status as leverage to their advantage . . . “I don’t want this to change anything,” he told Bart. “You don’t have to do anything just because I want it --”
Bart blinked at him, obviously confused. “What do you mean?”
“Me being human doesn’t mean --”
“Why would -- ohhhhh. You mean like that,” Bart nodded. “Tim, for someone who’s smart, you’re kind of stupid.”
“Thanks,” Tim said dryly.
“Kon’s teaching me to look out for myself,” Bart continued, still curled against Tim. “He says I have a tendency to only see what I want and that could be dangerous for me. Because I like flying more than anything else in the whole entire world and I would do anything to fly, I don’t care what. He says I shouldn’t tell people that.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Irony was completely lost on Bart. “If I could get a pilot licence I could fly all the time,” he said. “I don’t want this trip to end.” He paused thoughtfully. “What’s it like being human?”
Tim laughed humourlessly. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to compare it against.”
“Oh.” Bart thought about that. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”
Tim’s arm was getting uncomfortable so he let it rest on Bart. “You look pretty human,” he said. “Have you taken the test? You could --”
“Failed it,” Bart said simply. “You gotta be 85% and over to be human.”
“Oh,” Tim patted Bart’s back weakly. “What are you?”
“63,” Bart said. “I’d rather not be human at all. I hate this.”
There wasn’t much Tim could say to that. “What are you?”
“There’s not really words for it,” Bart said vaguely. “Not that I know of anyway. They’re not big on words. I’m not even sure the League knows about them.”
“What -- an undiscovered species?”
Bart gave him an odd look. “Well, of course they’re discovered,” he said. “They know about themselves, don’t they?”
That made sense in a way Tim hadn’t considered before. “So, how --”
“Kon says we have to look out for each other, ‘cause no one else will,” Bart said. “But I think you need looking out for too.”
Tim blinked. He prided himself on his independent nature and ability to deal with adverse situations, so coming from Bart, this was a bit rich. “Excuse me?”
Bart snickered at his reaction. “It’s true,” he said. “You’re smart, but there’s a lot you don’t know.” He delivered this placidly, with no apparent realisation that he’d just insulted Tim.
Tim sighed and patted Bart on the head. “I’m going to have to ask Kon to explain irony to you,” he said, standing.
“I know iron. Too heavy to make ships out of but if you melt it down and combine it, you can make really good ship parts and tools.”
“Not exactly the kind of irony I meant, Bart.”
“Then what --”
Tim shook his head. “Somewhat out of your league,” he explained.
Bart pouted at him. “That’s not fair. I was going to tell you what I know about Bernard but I won’t now.”
“What you know about --?”
There was a thump at the door. “Tim, Bart, you in here?” Bernard said. “Dinner’s up.” He lingered in the hallway to walk beside Tim to the galley. “What was that about?”
“What do you mean?”
“That,” Bernard said. “Kon’s been in the galley cooking the last half hour, and I checked the hold before I came up here.”
“Oh,” Tim shrugged, nochalantly. “Probably Kon sent Bart to fetch me an hour or so ago and Bart got side-tracked on the way. You don’t expect Bart to be accountable, do you?”
“True enough,” Bernard said. “That certainly makes more sense than -- nevermind. Kon! What’s for dinner?”
---
Tim had the night watch shift, and he appreciated the chance to think quietly. Bernard and Kon had both offered to keep him company, but he’d turned them down, telling them firmly that he needed them alert for the searches and that they weren’t going to alter their schedules unless there was a very compelling reason.
To tell the truth, Tim had always liked nights and while in space, there was no clear division between night and day, the ship still had the same quiet, forgotten, night-time feel. Even better, it meant there was no one around to listen as he made his radio-call to Dick.
The signal was faint and crackly, and it was only due to the superior manufacture and range of General Wayne’s instruments that it got through at all.
“Tim? What’s going on?”
“We’ve reached the Nebula quadrant, but just barely,” Tim reported. “The asteroid field was seeded with mines.”
“Shit.” There was a crackle and then Dick came back into hearing. “--one doesn’t seem to want you there.”
“That is my impression, yes.” Tim said. “But proof that my hunch was correct.” He paused. “You might not want to tell Bruce about that.”
“You kidding? Bruce’ll know before I even open my mouth.” They were silent momentarily, contemplating the inherent truth of this statement, then Dick asked, “You okay? You seem a little --”
“I suppose the crew is getting me down,” he said. “They’re -- Bart’s 63% human and he’ll never get a licence. Kon’s probably higher and he doesn’t have a chance either. It’s so unfair.”
“Pass their info onto Bruce when you get back,” Dick suggested. “He’ll set them up. He has his ways.”
Tim nodded. If anyone could find something, it was Bruce but even still . . . “It shouldn’t be necessary.”
Dick shrugged. “As long as Luthor heads the League, not much is going to change so the only thing we can do is --”
“I know,” Tim said. “I know.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Dick said. “You know you can tell me.”
Tim hesitated, then remembered that if there was anyone who could sympathise with his predicament, it was Dick. “How’s things with Koriand’r at the moment?”
“Pretty good. We’re keeping things low-key at the moment. Her Dad’s on Metropolis for a diplomatic visit and she’s in attendance as the dutiful princess.”
Tim nodded. “Do you ever get the feeling that she is operating on a completely different set of values as you are? How do you deal with that?”
“Are you joking? You’ve met Kory. Do you remember how hard it was to convince her to wear clothes, let alone confine intimate activity to -- no. No way. You?”
Tim was doubly glad that there was no one awake to see him blushing. “That’s the thing. Something happened this afternoon and I have no idea what it means --”
“Something happened? With who? One of your crew? And what --”
Tim coughed. “I don’t want to make assumptions,” he said. “But I’m confused about the whole thing and --” he shrugged. “No one else seems to care much. I don’t know if I’m freaking out over nothing or --”
Dick’s answer was careful. “What’s important is what you feel. I think, especially when aliens are involved, you have to go with what is right for you, rather than what is usual or customary -- the freedom of space is great, but that means you have to stick up for what you want a bit harder. You can’t expect others to have the same standards or limits as you so -- yeah, I’d say work out what it is you want and go after it.”
“Go after it?” Tim hadn’t expected that answer.
“You wouldn’t have let whatever happened happen unless on some level you wanted it,” Dick said. “Or you wouldn’t need to ask me for advice now, you’d be plotting ways of getting revenge.”
Tim smirked a little. “I suppose,” he said. “We’d better end this transmission. Us busting through the asteroid field mines might have attracted attention and -- oh, I almost forgot. Apparently there’s a League Garrison stationed in the red zone between quadrants Delta and Bravo --”
“The red zone? But --”
“Our pilot decided to take the scenic detour,” Tim said. “It’s better not to ask.” He cut the transmission.
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: About PG-13.
Notes: Thanks to mikkeneko for audiencing and offering advice, and also onthecontrary. You both rock my socks. XP
Title comes from the song 'Choppers' by Headless Chickens and has nothing to do with the fic at all.
Also, I don't know if its because one of my RPs took off in a flurry of joyful posting activity, or writing out the fic by hand in a notebook, or if I slept on one of my hands funny, but for the last few days, my right hand's been kind of sore. I didn't take my laptop in with me to school today, and so didn't work on the fic/do extended amounts of typing, and my hand feels better so yeah, I might try and limit my computer time a bit, see if that fixes things. This means the chapters will probably come out slower from now on. Sorry!
Summary: Discussion after the fact.
Bernard found him on the flight deck later. He made a disapproving noise, and lifted Tim’s charts away from him. “We really need to find you a better hobby.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this for fun.” No, he was doing it because he was trying to avoid everyone.
“Well, at least you have some sense,” Bernard squinted at the charts. “I was beginning to worry about you.” He paused. “Where are the crew?”
“They’re outside, working on the repairs,” Tim said. “They’ll be awhile.”
Bernard whistled. “That bad, huh?”
“No,” Tim said. “The damage was relatively light.” He sighed. “They keep getting distracted and floating off.”
Bernard nodded. “I told you so,” he said unhelpfully. “Still, you gotta take pleasure where you find it.”
Something about the way he said that, and his smile, the sleazy edge it had -- Tim raised an eyebrow. “The celebration went well then?”
“Tim, my man, you have no idea.” Bernard looped an arm around Tim’s shoulders and leaned in comfortably, voice low despite the fact they were alone in the room. “It went better than well, it went spectacularly. Kon is -- man, does he have skills.”
“Tell me about it,” Tim said dryly. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that.
“Usually it’s hot or good you know -- you can’t have one without losing the other, but man, Kon --” Bernard whistled. “Suffice to say I am looking forward to the rest of this trip.”
“I’ll bet.”
“What’s up with you?” Bernard glanced at him. “Not feeling lonely or anything, are you, Tim?”
Tim hesitated. He was torn between telling Bernard or keeping quiet. On the one hand, he was pretty sure his shower had been much more interesting than Bernard’s adventures, but on the other . . . well confessing to having been a teaching aid in an alien three-way was not something Tim was sure he wanted to own up to.
Thankfully, Tim was spared any embarrassing revelations. Bernard had come to his own conclusions. “We seriously need to get you laid.”
Tim coughed. “I really don’t think that will help any,” he said.
“Nonsense! Angst is nature’s way of saying you need to get out more, and let’s face it, you’ve done nothing but mope about with your charts since you got aboard and -- what is it, Bart?” Bernard let go of Tim. “Thought we’d have to haul the two of you in by the ends of your safety cables.”
“Ran out of oxygen,” Bart reported. “Tim, you want to come down to the hold? Kon thinks you should look at what we’ve done.”
Tim wasn’t adverse to ending the conversation with Bernard. “See you later,” he said, and followed Bart towards the hold.
They didn’t get any further than their bunkroom. Bart hit the door button as they passed, and before Tim could protest, pushed him through and shut the door behind him.
“What was that in aid of?” Tim demanded. “Kon’ll be waiting --”
“Kon’s making dinner,” Bart said, leaning against the door and looking at Tim thoughtfully. His yellow eyes were clearer than usual, and Tim felt uncomfortable under the direct gaze. There was no telling what was going on in Bart’s mind and Tim had never been comfortable with what he couldn’t predict.
“Then why --?”
Bart reached out to put a hand on Tim’s chest. Tim froze, and Bart stepped into him, watching him closely. “You’re freaking out,” he said, finally. “Kon said you would.”
“I’m not --”
Bart tugged Tim backwards towards the bed. “Kon said you’d lie and say you weren’t,” he said composedly, sitting close enough to Tim that their knees brushed.
“And Kon’s the expert then?” Tim wouldn’t be so bitter if Kon wasn’t right.
Bart gave him a surprisingly clear gaze. “Well, of course,” he said. “Are you angry because of that? Or do you just not like me?”
“I don’t -- I’m not --” Tim sighed. “It’s not that,” he said. “I just . . . I”m not the sort of person who does stuff like that. At least, not with people I haven’t known for very long. I -- I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Actually, Tim had a good idea of how he felt, but he couldn’t really tell Bart that.
Bart nodded as if he understood. “Kon says you get used to it,” he said, leaning his head against Tim’s shoulder. “He’s done this before you know.”
Tim nodded. That was part of the problem. “We talked a little about it before. About other cruises and stuff --” And Tim didn’t want to be like the humans that used their positions and legal status as leverage to their advantage . . . “I don’t want this to change anything,” he told Bart. “You don’t have to do anything just because I want it --”
Bart blinked at him, obviously confused. “What do you mean?”
“Me being human doesn’t mean --”
“Why would -- ohhhhh. You mean like that,” Bart nodded. “Tim, for someone who’s smart, you’re kind of stupid.”
“Thanks,” Tim said dryly.
“Kon’s teaching me to look out for myself,” Bart continued, still curled against Tim. “He says I have a tendency to only see what I want and that could be dangerous for me. Because I like flying more than anything else in the whole entire world and I would do anything to fly, I don’t care what. He says I shouldn’t tell people that.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Irony was completely lost on Bart. “If I could get a pilot licence I could fly all the time,” he said. “I don’t want this trip to end.” He paused thoughtfully. “What’s it like being human?”
Tim laughed humourlessly. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to compare it against.”
“Oh.” Bart thought about that. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”
Tim’s arm was getting uncomfortable so he let it rest on Bart. “You look pretty human,” he said. “Have you taken the test? You could --”
“Failed it,” Bart said simply. “You gotta be 85% and over to be human.”
“Oh,” Tim patted Bart’s back weakly. “What are you?”
“63,” Bart said. “I’d rather not be human at all. I hate this.”
There wasn’t much Tim could say to that. “What are you?”
“There’s not really words for it,” Bart said vaguely. “Not that I know of anyway. They’re not big on words. I’m not even sure the League knows about them.”
“What -- an undiscovered species?”
Bart gave him an odd look. “Well, of course they’re discovered,” he said. “They know about themselves, don’t they?”
That made sense in a way Tim hadn’t considered before. “So, how --”
“Kon says we have to look out for each other, ‘cause no one else will,” Bart said. “But I think you need looking out for too.”
Tim blinked. He prided himself on his independent nature and ability to deal with adverse situations, so coming from Bart, this was a bit rich. “Excuse me?”
Bart snickered at his reaction. “It’s true,” he said. “You’re smart, but there’s a lot you don’t know.” He delivered this placidly, with no apparent realisation that he’d just insulted Tim.
Tim sighed and patted Bart on the head. “I’m going to have to ask Kon to explain irony to you,” he said, standing.
“I know iron. Too heavy to make ships out of but if you melt it down and combine it, you can make really good ship parts and tools.”
“Not exactly the kind of irony I meant, Bart.”
“Then what --”
Tim shook his head. “Somewhat out of your league,” he explained.
Bart pouted at him. “That’s not fair. I was going to tell you what I know about Bernard but I won’t now.”
“What you know about --?”
There was a thump at the door. “Tim, Bart, you in here?” Bernard said. “Dinner’s up.” He lingered in the hallway to walk beside Tim to the galley. “What was that about?”
“What do you mean?”
“That,” Bernard said. “Kon’s been in the galley cooking the last half hour, and I checked the hold before I came up here.”
“Oh,” Tim shrugged, nochalantly. “Probably Kon sent Bart to fetch me an hour or so ago and Bart got side-tracked on the way. You don’t expect Bart to be accountable, do you?”
“True enough,” Bernard said. “That certainly makes more sense than -- nevermind. Kon! What’s for dinner?”
---
Tim had the night watch shift, and he appreciated the chance to think quietly. Bernard and Kon had both offered to keep him company, but he’d turned them down, telling them firmly that he needed them alert for the searches and that they weren’t going to alter their schedules unless there was a very compelling reason.
To tell the truth, Tim had always liked nights and while in space, there was no clear division between night and day, the ship still had the same quiet, forgotten, night-time feel. Even better, it meant there was no one around to listen as he made his radio-call to Dick.
The signal was faint and crackly, and it was only due to the superior manufacture and range of General Wayne’s instruments that it got through at all.
“Tim? What’s going on?”
“We’ve reached the Nebula quadrant, but just barely,” Tim reported. “The asteroid field was seeded with mines.”
“Shit.” There was a crackle and then Dick came back into hearing. “--one doesn’t seem to want you there.”
“That is my impression, yes.” Tim said. “But proof that my hunch was correct.” He paused. “You might not want to tell Bruce about that.”
“You kidding? Bruce’ll know before I even open my mouth.” They were silent momentarily, contemplating the inherent truth of this statement, then Dick asked, “You okay? You seem a little --”
“I suppose the crew is getting me down,” he said. “They’re -- Bart’s 63% human and he’ll never get a licence. Kon’s probably higher and he doesn’t have a chance either. It’s so unfair.”
“Pass their info onto Bruce when you get back,” Dick suggested. “He’ll set them up. He has his ways.”
Tim nodded. If anyone could find something, it was Bruce but even still . . . “It shouldn’t be necessary.”
Dick shrugged. “As long as Luthor heads the League, not much is going to change so the only thing we can do is --”
“I know,” Tim said. “I know.”
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Dick said. “You know you can tell me.”
Tim hesitated, then remembered that if there was anyone who could sympathise with his predicament, it was Dick. “How’s things with Koriand’r at the moment?”
“Pretty good. We’re keeping things low-key at the moment. Her Dad’s on Metropolis for a diplomatic visit and she’s in attendance as the dutiful princess.”
Tim nodded. “Do you ever get the feeling that she is operating on a completely different set of values as you are? How do you deal with that?”
“Are you joking? You’ve met Kory. Do you remember how hard it was to convince her to wear clothes, let alone confine intimate activity to -- no. No way. You?”
Tim was doubly glad that there was no one awake to see him blushing. “That’s the thing. Something happened this afternoon and I have no idea what it means --”
“Something happened? With who? One of your crew? And what --”
Tim coughed. “I don’t want to make assumptions,” he said. “But I’m confused about the whole thing and --” he shrugged. “No one else seems to care much. I don’t know if I’m freaking out over nothing or --”
Dick’s answer was careful. “What’s important is what you feel. I think, especially when aliens are involved, you have to go with what is right for you, rather than what is usual or customary -- the freedom of space is great, but that means you have to stick up for what you want a bit harder. You can’t expect others to have the same standards or limits as you so -- yeah, I’d say work out what it is you want and go after it.”
“Go after it?” Tim hadn’t expected that answer.
“You wouldn’t have let whatever happened happen unless on some level you wanted it,” Dick said. “Or you wouldn’t need to ask me for advice now, you’d be plotting ways of getting revenge.”
Tim smirked a little. “I suppose,” he said. “We’d better end this transmission. Us busting through the asteroid field mines might have attracted attention and -- oh, I almost forgot. Apparently there’s a League Garrison stationed in the red zone between quadrants Delta and Bravo --”
“The red zone? But --”
“Our pilot decided to take the scenic detour,” Tim said. “It’s better not to ask.” He cut the transmission.