mixed-muses
The debriefing wasn't that bad.
Okay, it was probably the second-worst half hour of Wes's life to date -- the worst being the half hour or so that was the subject of this debriefing -- but that only added up to an hour of dramatic angst overall. He figured that was a pretty good track record for more than seventeen years.
(Hopefully it'd be at least another seventeen before it ever happened again.)
He'd wanted his room to lead to Milliways again afterwards -- surely he'd been responsible enough for one day. He'd listened to his CO go on and on with his awful tragedy and unavoidable and would be best if you stayed grounded for a few days. Gods, six months he'd been here, and "grounded" still sounded like a punishment for not doing his kriffing homework.
But he couldn't get back to the bar that night. Couldn't get back for a few days after, either; a few days where he was painfully conscious of Jek Porkins following him everywhere as if he might explode. The worst of it was, Wes almost thought he might have, if it hadn't been for those couple of months in Milliways -- a hiatus of sorts. (And Inyri -- gods, Inyri.)
But if he told Piggy any of that, they'd know he was crazy. Funny, huh?
Most of the Aces called it Tierfon Park, this area that wasn't a park at all. Just a space they'd cleared of trees, a few hundred metres from the main buildings, that they hadn't needed for ships after all. This was where Wes was sitting (on a bench made by a couple of bored pilots), ten days after killing Doran.
He was people-watching.
Okay, girl-watching.
She was pretty -- Twi'lek, her skin tone a shade of blue that made him think of a dozen cliches -- and a little smaller than him. Most importantly of all, though, she was going through various exercises (probably some kind of martial art, he figured) with very little clothing on. It was warm, something, whatever, he didn't care about the reason.
Someone sat down beside him; he was vaguely aware of this. But they probably weren't as pretty as the Twi'lek girl, so he didn't look to see who.
"You know you're not her type, right?"
"I'm everyone's type," Wes responded idly, and spared a glance. Well, the new guy was pretty, but no, not as pretty.
"A lot of people's," the newcomer said with a non-committal shrug (Wes spared him a slightly longer glance at that remark -- blond, human, a little older), "but you've got a few too many appendages for her."
Wes laughed and leaned back on the bench. "You could be cruder, I think. You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. Stuff your bra, put on a dress, you might stand a chance. My intelligence was gather in just such a manner -- but you weren't here for that party."
"Kriff," Wes sighed, still watching the girl with a certain sense of forlornness now. "There are not enough females on base for that to be allowed."
The older boy -- young man, Wes supposed, by most definitions -- gave him a wry look. "Your rules, huh, Dictator Janson?"
"--you know my name?"
"Everyone knows your name."
Oh. Right. Doran.
"But don't you have a girlfriend anyway?"
This startled Wes even more. What was this guy, his stalker? "Who told you that?"
"Piggy mentioned it once," Stalker Guy said with a curious look. "You talk in your sleep, apparently."
(Wes was pretty sure he didn't. But then, he'd never really had nightmares before a week and a half ago either.)
"He thought you had a girl back home. Do you?"
"She's not--" Wes wrinkled his nose. That wasn't how he'd intended to start. He didn't want to talk about Inyri at all. How did you explain having a not-quite-girlfriend from the future?
"Not your girlfriend?" He sounded amused. And a little too nonchalant. "Or not back home?"
"--both. It's not important. I mean, she's important, but it's -- what about you? Girlfriend?" Beat. "Boyfriend?"
"...ask me again when you make up your own mind. Better run if you want to catch her and give it a shot anyway, pretty boy."
For a moment, Wes thought he meant Inyri and panicked slightly. But a look towards the building revealed the pretty Twi'lek girl walking away, obviously finished with her exercises. Most of his enthusiasm had faded (and not just because of the allegations regarding her preferences, as it were) ... but he glanced back at the older boy, who didn't look to be moving any time soon, and decided this conversation was over.
"See y'round," he mumbled, managing a faint smile as he stood up; he ran after the girl without waiting for (or wanting) a response.
Two weeks later -- he'd been back on the patrol roster for just over a week, now -- Stalker Guy sat opposite him in the canteen with a tray full of breakfast. (HARRIS, read the nametag on his flightsuit. Wes had already established this much by asking Piggy. Casually, of course.)
"Mornin'," Wes said politely enough. He didn't bother hiding the question in his voice.
"'s my evenin'," Harris told him with a yawn, and pointed his fork at Wes's untouched bowl of dry cereal. "You going to eat that? They ran out of the kind I like."
After a brief hesitation, Wes shrugged and pushed the bowl across the table wordlessly.
"Fantastic!" Harris had far too much enthusiasm for this time in the morning, and Wes watched, unimpressed, as he poured milk over the cereal and started eating. With his mouth full: "So how's that decision-makin' process comin' 'long?"
Kriff, did this guy get off on startling him? That'd be a level of creepy he didn't want to know about. "What?"
Harris gave him a Look.
"...is this really breakfast conversation?"
"I told you, this is my evening." He waved his spoon dismissively. "I've been awake for almost thirty hours now. I can talk about anything. For instance, your hair? Not looking good today. Did you lose your comb? Do you own a comb? I could go on."
Wes was horrified. Was this what he sounded like to other people when it wasn't oh-six-hundred? More to the point, what the hell was wrong with his hair?! He ran a hand through it, attempting to straighten it out, and Harris shook his head, reached over, and flattened it for him.
"Nope, still no good, but I guess you'll have a shower later. You still haven't answered," he added with a wry smile.
"...apace," Wes decided, without actually thinking about it too much.
"Well, you let me know," Harris said with a shrug, shovelling cereal into his mouth again. "Research purposes."
"Research purposes."
"Important stuff, research."
Huh.
Wes stopped expecting his room to be a bar after a month and a half. Well, there was stuff to do here, and although none of it was as interesting as smoothies or not'clones, it still had to be done. Anyway, people had stopped avoiding him quite so much, and it was easier to feel like he belonged here when everyone else felt the same again. Easier to feel like, really, it was the only place he belonged; easier to stop thinking about magic bars and all the things in them.
Except for Inyri.
"I told her I'd be back."
"So you do, then."
"What?"
"Have a girlfriend. Keep up. You're really slow, you know."
"You're just really confusing! And you're not pretty enough to make up for it."
"I'm very secure in my prettiness, actually."
"So what about you?"
"Oh, I did promise I'd answer, didn't I? First, though -- are you making a firm statement? Girlfriend, yes/no?"
"I ... yes."
"No."
"--what?"
"You're doing it again. No, I don't have a girlfriend or boyfriend or inanimate object that I have inappropriate feelings for. But you already knew that."
"Well, I wasn't sure about your relationships with inanimate objects until now..."
"More trouble than they're worth. Inanimate objects, and relationships in general. Putting the two together is just a recipe for disaster. Unless the inanimate object vibrates."
"...I'm trying to eat. I don't want to hear every little detail about your sex life with yourself during dinner. Pretty sure I know someone who could beat you on that count anyway."
"Hey, your loss. But if you decide your girlfriend wouldn't mind you being curious after dinner..."
"...I'll let you know."
Wes was always curious, of course. Especially when pretty people were involved.
But his bedroom turned into a bar again before he got too curious.