Fic: Have You Ever Wanted
Title: Have You Ever Wanted
Fandom: Stargate
Rating: K+
Genres: gen
Recipient: mackenziesmomma
Prompt: Stargate, Joe Simmons and the boys, Tell me have you ever wanted/Someone so much it hurts?
Summary: First Lieutenant Joe Simmons (a.k.a. Smarty McSmartypants...) gets taught a lesson by his Sergeants.
A/N: Holiday Fic Request Meme. Part of my Protect and Survive series, Evan Lorne's team without Evan Lorne, so uh, I'm not sure how much sense this makes. As for Lt Simmons, you might have met him here and here. Not sure about the Sergeants but everyone has to know the Sergeants. The Sergeants insist on it *rolls eyes Anyway, because this is pretty far into the Protect and Survive series those of you who actually want to read it in the correct order might skip this (which is why I won't post it anywhere else for now), the rest: enjoy!
Have You Ever Wanted
"Tell me have you ever wanted
Someone so much it hurts?
Your lips keep trying to speak
But you just can't find the words
Well, I had this dream once
I held it in my hands."
Lady Antebellum, "We Owned The Night"
He's moping. He knows he is but that doesn't make it easier not to do it. He also knows it's stupid but that actually makes it harder to stop. After all, he probably is the idiot everyone has pegged him to be.
It's just that his mom sent him one of her big CARE packages with about a ton of food and another ton of neighborhood gossip and there was something in it... that threw him, quite unexpectedly. It was just an aside, one of those "By the way, did you know..." things that was wedged between one scandal and the next only it wasn't an aside to him. It was his mom telling him that the first girl he ever was really in love with got married and didn't even think of inviting him.
Or, okay, it was his mom telling him his high school sweetheart got married and him wondering if he missed a memo and then realizing that she might just not have sent him an invite after all. He tried to tell himself that it doesn't matter because he wouldn't have gone anyway because he'd have been a galaxy away but dammit, it does matter. He's not quite sure as to the why but it does.
So he’s lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He could have gone to the mess hall, sure but honestly? Insomnia seems to be epidemic around here and he’s probably bound to meet at least two or three superior officers, most probably his boss if he isn’t doing unlawful things to one of his subord… oh God. Groaning he puts a hand over his eyes.
No more thinking about superior officers’ private life. Back to his own. Lying around in his quarters. Because he’s not in the mood for the mess hall and there's a storm happening outside so no sitting around the pier and putting F-22 to work - last time he tried that she didn't talk to him for three days - for him.
Kassandra is on night watch duty and usually, that’s the best time of day to sneak around the PDA regulations but he just has this feeling that she’d see right through it all and if he’d come to her to mope about his long gone first girlfriend, he’d probably be single again in a matter of seconds. And he’s currently not in the mood for an off again phase.
However, that doesn’t solve his problem. It would be good, to be sure, if he actually knew what the problem actually is. He’s not in love with Libby anymore, he doesn’t have any unfinished business with her, he’s not even interested in whom she actually married. Yet ever since he got the news, he’d been in a foul mood and somehow it also fouled up his shooting results today and… and someone just rang his door bell.
Just ignore it, a tiny voice whispers. Go and answer it, you lazy asshat, shouts another one. It sounds awfully much like his drill instructor during the Beast. Or maybe Major Moore when he’s really pissed off. He never made the mistake of not listening to his drill instructor. Or Major Moore, for that matter.
So resisting a groan, he gets up and drags himself over to his door. He’s not sure who he expected but it sure as hell weren’t… the Sergeants. Somewhere in his mind, he just heard a stereotypical “dun, dun, dun” sound and he attributes it to having been in the vicinity of his lovely girlfriend too long. He doesn’t quite know what to attribute his momentary speechlessness to.
“Evening, sir,” Meyers says a tad too cheerfully for his mood. Which means that the Sergeants don’t seem to mind his speechlessness, though. When have they ever?
He frowns. “Evening, Sergeant Meyers. Sergeant McPherson.” McPherson just nods at him. Why exactly is he along for the ride if he never says anything, anyway? “How may I… help you?”
“Oh, not at all, sir.” Briefly, he wonders if Meyers is like that to all superior officers and if he will be the first one who’ll strangle the Sergeant for that.
“Then what… are you doing here?” Probably thinking to teach the green Lieutenant another lesson in some weird Atlantis brotherhood thing he did wrong. He seems to be doing that constantly.
“Well,” Meyers drawls just this side of insolent, “we thought we’d come here to help you, sir.”
What… who the hell do think they are? Come here to help him? “I’m sure that’s a very honorable offer but I certainly don’t see why I would need from…”
“We think you do, sir.” McPherson. That must have been the second or third time in total that he said a sentence longer than three words. It's also the first time... what is he holding in his hand there? Is that... oh good God, it's the results from the shooting range today. And those look even worse than what the computer told them he shot. How the... "We have our ways, sir. Suffice to say, it wasn't your best day on the range."
The... insolence! And from McPherson of all people! How dare... Well. It really wasn't his best day. Actually, it was his worst day until now. To be honest, he'd been wondering if the boss hadn't seen it or if there was some big blow-up waiting for him tomorrow. At least now he knows why the boss didn't do anything else than raising his eyebrow and making a none too satisfied sound when he looked up his Lieutenant's shooting scores. The Sergeants faked the score. He doesn't know whether to grin or to be majorly pissed off.
He opts for the middle ground. "So... what exactly do you propose, Sergeants?"
"We propose," Meyers says and holds up the bag he's holding in his hand, "that you get to know your Sergeants a little better and learn to appreciate them even more."
That doesn't make any sense. He's pretty sure he knows them well enough, having read their entire personnel records and everything. He's a good XO. He does his homework. Isn't that enough? "Don't get me wrong, Sergeant... but why would I want to do that now?"
Meyers shrugs and McPherson looks a little... pissed off? Did he just violate some secret Marine code that you don't refuse an offer to get drunk - because he's pretty sure that's alcohol in that bag - with your Sergeants if they feel like it? Meyers enlightens him. "Because the boss has enough on his back to have to take care of one moping Lieutenant. Sir."
Okay, that's enough. Until now he bore it all without ever making a fuss. Alright, almost. He bore it because everyone kept telling him that Sergeants are non-expendable, unlike green Lieutenants and that the Marines are their life insurance against everything bad in Pegasus and because you just don't piss off your Sergeants, most off all those of the Marine variety. He's very tired of giving them carte blanche for every insult und stab and tease, though. That was just the straw that broke the camel's back. "You forget yourself, Sergeant. There will not only be a formal reprimand, there will also be..."
"Beer. First of all there will be beer. 'Scuse me, sir..." What the fucking. Hell? Did Meyers really just push past him, into his quarters? Did McPherson really follow, hot on his heels? What the. What. What?
He doesn't trust himself to speak at first because he's pretty sure the only thing coming out would be indignant sputter. He's pretty sure they taught them how to handle situations like these with more dignity at the Academy, but for the life of him he can't remember those lessons. Any of them.
That proves to be a fatal mistake because as the Sergeants got settled in on his bed, McPherson jumps right into the opening created by one speechless Lieutenant, "Way I see it, sir, you got two options. One is getting kicked your ass by the boss when he sees your shooting score. Two is getting harassed by two Sergeants who know very well you can shoot better than that. What's it gonna be, sir?"
He's about to tell them that they would get their asses kicked by the boss but... he knows it would be futile. The boss never kicks the Sergeants' asses. When faced with their shenanigans, Major Lorne just rolls his eyes and has some mildly reprimanding or sarcastic remark for them. Which always serves to shut them up. There has to be something to Lorne's approach. He tries to rein in his temper. "Sergeant... why did you fake my shooting score?"
They look at each other and it's Meyers' turn again. "Like I said, the boss has enough on his back already. We figured if he saw your score, he'd feel compelled to find out the reason behind it. And you know how he can get." Slowly he nods and tries to ignore what would usually be almost akin to badmouthing a superior officer. Yeah, he does know how Major Lorne can get when he thinks there's something wrong with one of his soldiers. Like a dog with a bone.
"So you decided you'd take the bothersome task of worming it out of that green Lieutenant yourself?" They shrug. Of course. If he'd expected contriteness, he should have gone looking elsewhere. "Well then, in that case... you're off the hook. There is nothing to worm out of this green Lieutenant."
"See, we knew you'd react like that," Meyers pontificates and pulls out what looks like a can of beer. "Which is why we brought this. Mac..."
McPherson takes the generously offered can and pops the lid, nodding at Meyers. "Will."
They touch cans and Meyers holds out another can. At him. "Sir?"
He grinds his teeth. Most certainly not. "No, thank you, Sergeant." Because he sure as hell ain't getting drunk with the Sergeants so they can worm out his darkest, deepest secrets. Not that there are any of those, but...
"Just as well. Then tell us sober. We won't mind." Another one like that, and he'll boot them out, to hell with them being Marines.
And he's gonna tell them so. "Okay, this is it. Listen, the both of you. I do not have to deal with this kind of crap from you or anyone else for that matter. If Major Lorne thinks he needs to reprimand me for my shooting scores then by God let him do it. It's his job and you don't have any right to interfere with it. Just because you're NCOs it doesn't give you the right to go behind an officer's back to temper with his subordinate's scores. You just do not do that. I could actually bring you up on charges. But I'll go with strongly suggesting you leave my quarters. Right. Fucking. Now."
There's a moment of silence but... the Sergeants don't move a finger. Then... they look at each other and Meyers says strangely quietly, "You want a shot or want me to do it?" McPherson just makes a "No, no, you go ahead" gesture towards Meyers and the Sergeant turns back to him. When he speaks up again, there's nothing of his usual irreverence in his tone. "Are you finished, sir?" Something in that tone... makes him simply nod and Meyers continues, "I guess you're right with what you're saying. But you missed one important fact." Oh really? What's that supposed to be? "We're not just Sergeants and officers. We're not just Airmen and Marines. We're a team, sir. A team looks out for each other. In a team, we have each others’ backs."
Damn. That... makes... a fucking load of sense. Or would make a fucking load of sense if he weren't still miffed about the way they showed up at his quarters. "And what does being a team have to do with you doing Major Lorne's job for him?"
He's pretty sure they just rolled their eyes. He's even pretty sure they almost sighed in exasperation. McPherson now. "Exactly what Will here just told you. Major's strung out all over Atlantis, rumor has it he's engaged to the Cap and doesn't get to spend more than a couple minutes with her a day, he's kicking our asses in training, doing Sheppard's paper work... we need to cut him some slack. So we're looking for you so that he hasn't to do it."
What if I don't need anyone looking out for me, he wants to ask but the truth is... he's seen other teams. He's seen Team Kemp and Major Moore's team and of course Sheppard's team and they're always hanging around together, never far from each other, sleeping in the infirmary chairs if one of their own got banged up... He runs a hand through his hair. "It's just that... it's probably nothing. It's ridiculous."
See, that wasn't so hard, the Sergeants' faces seem to say. "Can't be nothing if it pulls down your scores like that, sir," is what Meyers tells him matter-of-factly. McPherson nods and he realizes he's not getting out of this.
So he pulls out his desk chair and plunges down. He starts telling them about Libby and how she was the first girl he was ever in love with and the first girl he wanted to marry and how it just didn't work out with him in Colorado and her still in Washington State and how they called it quits in his final year, after having tried so hard for three years. He tells them about his mother’s aside and how it pisses him off that something in that got him thinking and he doesn’t even really know what exactly he’s thinking of.
What surprises him most is how... humbled he feels during his diatribe. He'd expected the Sergeants to snort and make their usual quips and snarky remarks but they just listen and nod and sometimes dig a little deeper if they need clarification. Obviously, he grossly underestimated them and he feels sorry for that. Also embarrassed about it. Actually, he feels like the biggest idiot ever to have wandered on Earth. New Lantea. Whatever.
Thankfully, the Sergeants don't remark on it, or not yet, anyway. He's kind of thankful for the reprieve when Meyers finally says, "So... basically you're worried life is going on without you back on Earth?"
Uh... is he? He wasn't aware of that. Until now, anyway. Confused, he runs a hand through his hair and frowns. But... well. Maybe that's really it. Maybe he really is worried about that. He frowns again. "Why do I get a feeling that this makes me an idiot?"
"Not an idiot, sir. Not at all." Aw, he's even a little touched the McPherson would... "Only a routine-blinded, sir." Uh... what?
"What Mac here means, sir," - is he really that easy to see through? - “is that you're still fixed on only news from home being news. You think life is only going on at home, not here."
He raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
The Sergeants shrug and it’s McPherson again. “What do you think, sir?”
Well. What does he think? He thinks that… he thinks that he’s got a girlfriend since a few weeks ago and didn’t even tell anyone back home yet. He thinks that this is the weirdest posting ever and he didn’t even tell any of his Academy buddies about it yet. Actually… he didn’t even tell any of the people he didn’t like at the Academy. He also thinks that he has the weirdest CO of all times. He can’t help grinning a little because well, he just realized that this was almost akin to paying Major Lorne a compliment.
“So?” Meyers asks needlessly but probably couldn’t help needling that green Lieutenant again.
“So… how about you toss me one of those beer cans, Sergeant?” The Sergeants break out into a mutual grin and Meyers chucks him a can.
“That’s the spirit, sir.” Somehow… he feels oddly proud of hearing Meyers tell him that and see an approving nod from McPherson. Well. Obviously, he made the right decision just for once. One little can of beer sure as hell won’t hurt. Really, what harm could it do? It’s an acceptable sacrifice if it gets him into the good graces of the Sergeants because apparently, he needs them to help him put a few things in perspective. He can still make it clear to them that he’d prefer it not to have his shooting scores or any other scores being tampered with tomorrow.
So he opens the can and relaxes back in his chair and it’s amazing how easy it suddenly is to think of something else than Libby Carpenter’s wedding. His girlfriend, for example. Or what he could do to keep some stuff off his boss’s back, like the Sergeants are doing. At least, that would be better than moping and he’d really do anything to stop himself from doing that. And yeah, tomorrow, he’ll reply to his mother’s letter with a couple news of his own. Yeah. Good plan.
Fandom: Stargate
Rating: K+
Genres: gen
Recipient: mackenziesmomma
Prompt: Stargate, Joe Simmons and the boys, Tell me have you ever wanted/Someone so much it hurts?
Summary: First Lieutenant Joe Simmons (a.k.a. Smarty McSmartypants...) gets taught a lesson by his Sergeants.
A/N: Holiday Fic Request Meme. Part of my Protect and Survive series, Evan Lorne's team without Evan Lorne, so uh, I'm not sure how much sense this makes. As for Lt Simmons, you might have met him here and here. Not sure about the Sergeants but everyone has to know the Sergeants. The Sergeants insist on it *rolls eyes Anyway, because this is pretty far into the Protect and Survive series those of you who actually want to read it in the correct order might skip this (which is why I won't post it anywhere else for now), the rest: enjoy!
Have You Ever Wanted
"Tell me have you ever wanted
Someone so much it hurts?
Your lips keep trying to speak
But you just can't find the words
Well, I had this dream once
I held it in my hands."
Lady Antebellum, "We Owned The Night"
He's moping. He knows he is but that doesn't make it easier not to do it. He also knows it's stupid but that actually makes it harder to stop. After all, he probably is the idiot everyone has pegged him to be.
It's just that his mom sent him one of her big CARE packages with about a ton of food and another ton of neighborhood gossip and there was something in it... that threw him, quite unexpectedly. It was just an aside, one of those "By the way, did you know..." things that was wedged between one scandal and the next only it wasn't an aside to him. It was his mom telling him that the first girl he ever was really in love with got married and didn't even think of inviting him.
Or, okay, it was his mom telling him his high school sweetheart got married and him wondering if he missed a memo and then realizing that she might just not have sent him an invite after all. He tried to tell himself that it doesn't matter because he wouldn't have gone anyway because he'd have been a galaxy away but dammit, it does matter. He's not quite sure as to the why but it does.
So he’s lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He could have gone to the mess hall, sure but honestly? Insomnia seems to be epidemic around here and he’s probably bound to meet at least two or three superior officers, most probably his boss if he isn’t doing unlawful things to one of his subord… oh God. Groaning he puts a hand over his eyes.
No more thinking about superior officers’ private life. Back to his own. Lying around in his quarters. Because he’s not in the mood for the mess hall and there's a storm happening outside so no sitting around the pier and putting F-22 to work - last time he tried that she didn't talk to him for three days - for him.
Kassandra is on night watch duty and usually, that’s the best time of day to sneak around the PDA regulations but he just has this feeling that she’d see right through it all and if he’d come to her to mope about his long gone first girlfriend, he’d probably be single again in a matter of seconds. And he’s currently not in the mood for an off again phase.
However, that doesn’t solve his problem. It would be good, to be sure, if he actually knew what the problem actually is. He’s not in love with Libby anymore, he doesn’t have any unfinished business with her, he’s not even interested in whom she actually married. Yet ever since he got the news, he’d been in a foul mood and somehow it also fouled up his shooting results today and… and someone just rang his door bell.
Just ignore it, a tiny voice whispers. Go and answer it, you lazy asshat, shouts another one. It sounds awfully much like his drill instructor during the Beast. Or maybe Major Moore when he’s really pissed off. He never made the mistake of not listening to his drill instructor. Or Major Moore, for that matter.
So resisting a groan, he gets up and drags himself over to his door. He’s not sure who he expected but it sure as hell weren’t… the Sergeants. Somewhere in his mind, he just heard a stereotypical “dun, dun, dun” sound and he attributes it to having been in the vicinity of his lovely girlfriend too long. He doesn’t quite know what to attribute his momentary speechlessness to.
“Evening, sir,” Meyers says a tad too cheerfully for his mood. Which means that the Sergeants don’t seem to mind his speechlessness, though. When have they ever?
He frowns. “Evening, Sergeant Meyers. Sergeant McPherson.” McPherson just nods at him. Why exactly is he along for the ride if he never says anything, anyway? “How may I… help you?”
“Oh, not at all, sir.” Briefly, he wonders if Meyers is like that to all superior officers and if he will be the first one who’ll strangle the Sergeant for that.
“Then what… are you doing here?” Probably thinking to teach the green Lieutenant another lesson in some weird Atlantis brotherhood thing he did wrong. He seems to be doing that constantly.
“Well,” Meyers drawls just this side of insolent, “we thought we’d come here to help you, sir.”
What… who the hell do think they are? Come here to help him? “I’m sure that’s a very honorable offer but I certainly don’t see why I would need from…”
“We think you do, sir.” McPherson. That must have been the second or third time in total that he said a sentence longer than three words. It's also the first time... what is he holding in his hand there? Is that... oh good God, it's the results from the shooting range today. And those look even worse than what the computer told them he shot. How the... "We have our ways, sir. Suffice to say, it wasn't your best day on the range."
The... insolence! And from McPherson of all people! How dare... Well. It really wasn't his best day. Actually, it was his worst day until now. To be honest, he'd been wondering if the boss hadn't seen it or if there was some big blow-up waiting for him tomorrow. At least now he knows why the boss didn't do anything else than raising his eyebrow and making a none too satisfied sound when he looked up his Lieutenant's shooting scores. The Sergeants faked the score. He doesn't know whether to grin or to be majorly pissed off.
He opts for the middle ground. "So... what exactly do you propose, Sergeants?"
"We propose," Meyers says and holds up the bag he's holding in his hand, "that you get to know your Sergeants a little better and learn to appreciate them even more."
That doesn't make any sense. He's pretty sure he knows them well enough, having read their entire personnel records and everything. He's a good XO. He does his homework. Isn't that enough? "Don't get me wrong, Sergeant... but why would I want to do that now?"
Meyers shrugs and McPherson looks a little... pissed off? Did he just violate some secret Marine code that you don't refuse an offer to get drunk - because he's pretty sure that's alcohol in that bag - with your Sergeants if they feel like it? Meyers enlightens him. "Because the boss has enough on his back to have to take care of one moping Lieutenant. Sir."
Okay, that's enough. Until now he bore it all without ever making a fuss. Alright, almost. He bore it because everyone kept telling him that Sergeants are non-expendable, unlike green Lieutenants and that the Marines are their life insurance against everything bad in Pegasus and because you just don't piss off your Sergeants, most off all those of the Marine variety. He's very tired of giving them carte blanche for every insult und stab and tease, though. That was just the straw that broke the camel's back. "You forget yourself, Sergeant. There will not only be a formal reprimand, there will also be..."
"Beer. First of all there will be beer. 'Scuse me, sir..." What the fucking. Hell? Did Meyers really just push past him, into his quarters? Did McPherson really follow, hot on his heels? What the. What. What?
He doesn't trust himself to speak at first because he's pretty sure the only thing coming out would be indignant sputter. He's pretty sure they taught them how to handle situations like these with more dignity at the Academy, but for the life of him he can't remember those lessons. Any of them.
That proves to be a fatal mistake because as the Sergeants got settled in on his bed, McPherson jumps right into the opening created by one speechless Lieutenant, "Way I see it, sir, you got two options. One is getting kicked your ass by the boss when he sees your shooting score. Two is getting harassed by two Sergeants who know very well you can shoot better than that. What's it gonna be, sir?"
He's about to tell them that they would get their asses kicked by the boss but... he knows it would be futile. The boss never kicks the Sergeants' asses. When faced with their shenanigans, Major Lorne just rolls his eyes and has some mildly reprimanding or sarcastic remark for them. Which always serves to shut them up. There has to be something to Lorne's approach. He tries to rein in his temper. "Sergeant... why did you fake my shooting score?"
They look at each other and it's Meyers' turn again. "Like I said, the boss has enough on his back already. We figured if he saw your score, he'd feel compelled to find out the reason behind it. And you know how he can get." Slowly he nods and tries to ignore what would usually be almost akin to badmouthing a superior officer. Yeah, he does know how Major Lorne can get when he thinks there's something wrong with one of his soldiers. Like a dog with a bone.
"So you decided you'd take the bothersome task of worming it out of that green Lieutenant yourself?" They shrug. Of course. If he'd expected contriteness, he should have gone looking elsewhere. "Well then, in that case... you're off the hook. There is nothing to worm out of this green Lieutenant."
"See, we knew you'd react like that," Meyers pontificates and pulls out what looks like a can of beer. "Which is why we brought this. Mac..."
McPherson takes the generously offered can and pops the lid, nodding at Meyers. "Will."
They touch cans and Meyers holds out another can. At him. "Sir?"
He grinds his teeth. Most certainly not. "No, thank you, Sergeant." Because he sure as hell ain't getting drunk with the Sergeants so they can worm out his darkest, deepest secrets. Not that there are any of those, but...
"Just as well. Then tell us sober. We won't mind." Another one like that, and he'll boot them out, to hell with them being Marines.
And he's gonna tell them so. "Okay, this is it. Listen, the both of you. I do not have to deal with this kind of crap from you or anyone else for that matter. If Major Lorne thinks he needs to reprimand me for my shooting scores then by God let him do it. It's his job and you don't have any right to interfere with it. Just because you're NCOs it doesn't give you the right to go behind an officer's back to temper with his subordinate's scores. You just do not do that. I could actually bring you up on charges. But I'll go with strongly suggesting you leave my quarters. Right. Fucking. Now."
There's a moment of silence but... the Sergeants don't move a finger. Then... they look at each other and Meyers says strangely quietly, "You want a shot or want me to do it?" McPherson just makes a "No, no, you go ahead" gesture towards Meyers and the Sergeant turns back to him. When he speaks up again, there's nothing of his usual irreverence in his tone. "Are you finished, sir?" Something in that tone... makes him simply nod and Meyers continues, "I guess you're right with what you're saying. But you missed one important fact." Oh really? What's that supposed to be? "We're not just Sergeants and officers. We're not just Airmen and Marines. We're a team, sir. A team looks out for each other. In a team, we have each others’ backs."
Damn. That... makes... a fucking load of sense. Or would make a fucking load of sense if he weren't still miffed about the way they showed up at his quarters. "And what does being a team have to do with you doing Major Lorne's job for him?"
He's pretty sure they just rolled their eyes. He's even pretty sure they almost sighed in exasperation. McPherson now. "Exactly what Will here just told you. Major's strung out all over Atlantis, rumor has it he's engaged to the Cap and doesn't get to spend more than a couple minutes with her a day, he's kicking our asses in training, doing Sheppard's paper work... we need to cut him some slack. So we're looking for you so that he hasn't to do it."
What if I don't need anyone looking out for me, he wants to ask but the truth is... he's seen other teams. He's seen Team Kemp and Major Moore's team and of course Sheppard's team and they're always hanging around together, never far from each other, sleeping in the infirmary chairs if one of their own got banged up... He runs a hand through his hair. "It's just that... it's probably nothing. It's ridiculous."
See, that wasn't so hard, the Sergeants' faces seem to say. "Can't be nothing if it pulls down your scores like that, sir," is what Meyers tells him matter-of-factly. McPherson nods and he realizes he's not getting out of this.
So he pulls out his desk chair and plunges down. He starts telling them about Libby and how she was the first girl he was ever in love with and the first girl he wanted to marry and how it just didn't work out with him in Colorado and her still in Washington State and how they called it quits in his final year, after having tried so hard for three years. He tells them about his mother’s aside and how it pisses him off that something in that got him thinking and he doesn’t even really know what exactly he’s thinking of.
What surprises him most is how... humbled he feels during his diatribe. He'd expected the Sergeants to snort and make their usual quips and snarky remarks but they just listen and nod and sometimes dig a little deeper if they need clarification. Obviously, he grossly underestimated them and he feels sorry for that. Also embarrassed about it. Actually, he feels like the biggest idiot ever to have wandered on Earth. New Lantea. Whatever.
Thankfully, the Sergeants don't remark on it, or not yet, anyway. He's kind of thankful for the reprieve when Meyers finally says, "So... basically you're worried life is going on without you back on Earth?"
Uh... is he? He wasn't aware of that. Until now, anyway. Confused, he runs a hand through his hair and frowns. But... well. Maybe that's really it. Maybe he really is worried about that. He frowns again. "Why do I get a feeling that this makes me an idiot?"
"Not an idiot, sir. Not at all." Aw, he's even a little touched the McPherson would... "Only a routine-blinded, sir." Uh... what?
"What Mac here means, sir," - is he really that easy to see through? - “is that you're still fixed on only news from home being news. You think life is only going on at home, not here."
He raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t it?”
The Sergeants shrug and it’s McPherson again. “What do you think, sir?”
Well. What does he think? He thinks that… he thinks that he’s got a girlfriend since a few weeks ago and didn’t even tell anyone back home yet. He thinks that this is the weirdest posting ever and he didn’t even tell any of his Academy buddies about it yet. Actually… he didn’t even tell any of the people he didn’t like at the Academy. He also thinks that he has the weirdest CO of all times. He can’t help grinning a little because well, he just realized that this was almost akin to paying Major Lorne a compliment.
“So?” Meyers asks needlessly but probably couldn’t help needling that green Lieutenant again.
“So… how about you toss me one of those beer cans, Sergeant?” The Sergeants break out into a mutual grin and Meyers chucks him a can.
“That’s the spirit, sir.” Somehow… he feels oddly proud of hearing Meyers tell him that and see an approving nod from McPherson. Well. Obviously, he made the right decision just for once. One little can of beer sure as hell won’t hurt. Really, what harm could it do? It’s an acceptable sacrifice if it gets him into the good graces of the Sergeants because apparently, he needs them to help him put a few things in perspective. He can still make it clear to them that he’d prefer it not to have his shooting scores or any other scores being tampered with tomorrow.
So he opens the can and relaxes back in his chair and it’s amazing how easy it suddenly is to think of something else than Libby Carpenter’s wedding. His girlfriend, for example. Or what he could do to keep some stuff off his boss’s back, like the Sergeants are doing. At least, that would be better than moping and he’d really do anything to stop himself from doing that. And yeah, tomorrow, he’ll reply to his mother’s letter with a couple news of his own. Yeah. Good plan.