Unless they're jungle-bound, there are really only so many places a person can go on the island. The change with the snow has narrowed the list considerably, being out of doors a much less appealing activity for more than brief periods of time. Nate had gone looking for Brad, and he was easily enough found.
Brad's returned to his table by the time Nate slips inside the Hub, bundled against the weather and clasping a copy of the New York Times in one gloved hand. He carries the paper over to Brad and drops it onto the table in front of him. The date is December 18, 2010-Just a few days ago in Island Time-and the headline reads, "Senate Repeals Ban on Gays Serving Openly in Military."
"I thought you might find that interesting," Nate says as he settles into the adjacent chair and begins shucking off layers.
He watches Nate for a long moment before he reaches for the paper, reading the headline and the article that goes with it. He makes a soft sound of interest before he sets it down again, one hand automatically coming to rest on Nate's thigh under the table.
"So, if we ever end up at home, we've only got to wait for four years before we can fuck without risking our jobs. Superb." He grins; it's flippant, but, notably, he goes back and reads a chunk of the article again.
"I'm pretty sure that being openly gay wouldn't negate that I was your superior officer, so if that situation ever arises, do me a favor and don't go sending out mass emails that you're married to your LT," says Nate, but he's smiling just the same. They're on the island now, as satisfied with their lives as it's likely possible they could be anywhere. They don't pine for home, not really in more than the fleeting, petty sense-Both Brad and Nate were well used to being far removed from family before they ended up here. But there's something incredibly satisfying about knowing that if, somehow, this ends and they end up back there, there's a silver lining.
"Mass-emails are absolutely my style," says Brad, blandly, giving Nate a very definite Look. "It's how I conduct all of my personal business; I'm surprised you've missed them in the past." He rolls his eyes, fingers contracting to squeeze Nate's thigh.
Living in Whoville was pretty cool, all puns intended, but sometimes it was also annoying. She didn't want to hear the Whoville anthem every time she opened a door or went past a random musical instrument, so instead she was escaping to the Hub for something warm and not Whojuice. She started shedding layers as soon as she got in the door, but it wasn't sexy, unless you liked your women to look like the Michelin Man, which come to think of it, someone probably did. Once she'd piled all her outerwear on the provided chair, she approached the bar and one Sergeant Colbert.
She shamelessly read over his shoulder and then informed him, "We had a Spider for awhile. Much more interesting in print than in person."
"I can imagine," he says, finishing the page that he's reading before he turns the book and looks up at her with a crooked smile on his face. She's been wearing about as many layers of him. He shoves at the long sleeves tat he's wearing under his t-shirt.
"He vandalized the compound a few times. Didn't go over well with the IPD," she added helpfully.
"Yeah, I'm a little tired of the Whotrain and the Whotrumpet and the Who everything. This place somehow isn't as bad as everywhere else, or at least it doesn't feel like it is."
Brad laughs at that, just a little rumble. The bartender delivers his knee drink and Brad gestures for another for Abby. "C'mon. I've got a table. Dug in for the afternoon. Maintaining a defensive position."
Comments 27
Brad's returned to his table by the time Nate slips inside the Hub, bundled against the weather and clasping a copy of the New York Times in one gloved hand. He carries the paper over to Brad and drops it onto the table in front of him. The date is December 18, 2010-Just a few days ago in Island Time-and the headline reads, "Senate Repeals Ban on Gays Serving Openly in Military."
"I thought you might find that interesting," Nate says as he settles into the adjacent chair and begins shucking off layers.
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"So, if we ever end up at home, we've only got to wait for four years before we can fuck without risking our jobs. Superb." He grins; it's flippant, but, notably, he goes back and reads a chunk of the article again.
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"Maybe Eric's right about you."
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She shamelessly read over his shoulder and then informed him, "We had a Spider for awhile. Much more interesting in print than in person."
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"Staying a while?"
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"Yeah, I'm a little tired of the Whotrain and the Whotrumpet and the Who everything. This place somehow isn't as bad as everywhere else, or at least it doesn't feel like it is."
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