He Imagined It Sparkled

The stars were silent tonight. She feared they always would be. Still, she promised to herself that she would always come here each night. Always listen. If it took days or weeks, months, years, she would always listen for a sign of them. They were out there somewhere, she knew it in her heart. Then there was the equipment. Maybe it still needed a little fine tuning. Doable. Need to acquire a few more components that nobody would miss, once the inventory data had been changed at least. Probably best to do that tomorrow or Sunday. The yawn crept up on her. Looking to her log in resignation, she neatly wrote out today's results.

21:00 – 22:00: Nothing to report.

She wanted to stay longer, but her body ached, and her brain protested. Leading a double life as both a cadet under rigorous near-military training and being a nightly astronomer was draining. Especially by Friday. Who knew? That was something you never saw in the comics. Batman power napping in the Batmobile or chugging back his eighty ninth coffee. Or standing in line at Starbucks, waiting for the ninetieth. She imagined the barely functional Dark Knight glaring at the uncaring barista who had scrawled onto his cup the name Brennan. Maybe the utility belt just injected caffeine straight into his system? Wow, now she knew she was tired… Whenever she started trying to rationalise the inherently irrational worlds of comic books, it was time to sleep.

Katie Holt…no, no, nope, she stopped herself from thinking in those terms, no. Pidge Gunderson stood up, she…No…not once she was through those doors…that was when the disguise had to come back. To think in those terms, to behave in those terms to even feel in those terms. With a sigh, Pidge shoved the familiar balled-up gym sock into its makeshift harness at the front of her, now his shorts. Had to feel the part, right? He made his way into the barracks from his nightly signal spotting. The corridors of the barracks were deserted, empty, silent. That was good. Silent step, silent step, fold up the equipment easy…door closed behind. Stairs, sidestep left, avoid the creaker. Left, pace, three-yard dash, past the snoring door, duck under the window, right, three paces, one, two, three, his room. Ok… Now slowly open, slide in the equipment first, prop the door and...getting his butt bumped to the floor wasn't usually part of the procedure. Damn! That meant someone was here! He scrambled around, shutting his door, finding himself looking up at… Oh great.

Grinning down at him with that dopey 'charm' that he believed he possessed, the frustrating idiot Pidge was forced to work with. McClain was the kind of cadet who could on the one hand crash a simulator like no other and on the other hand infuriate like no other. Offering a hand to help Pidge up and smiling apologetically beside The Idiot was his long-suffering friend, Hunk. Now whilst Hunk was somewhat less frustrating, than The Idiot, Pidge quickly realised that Hunk still enabled all of Lance's harebrained schemes. Despite his obvious intellect, Hunk was still very much The Vice-Idiot. Pidge allowed the Vice-Idiot to help him stand before brushing himself off. Why did it have to be these two Pidge ran into…? Why couldn't it have just been Iverson…? Or that asshole Powell? Either one would surely have been far easier than whatever these two had in mind…

"Well now…" Lance whispered in amazement, just perhaps a touch too loud, "I didn't expect you'd actually come out with us tonight, Gunderson…glad to be wrong though. Now we got Lance the man, Hunk the mountain and our cute little Pidge the mascot. With the three of us, the ladies don't stand a chance..." Pidge didn't understand why he held that grin so long. Maybe he imagined it sparkled at the edge. Seemed like something The Idiot would believe.

"Uhuh." Pidge dismissively, quietly intoned, "Well, as exciting and thrilling as wasting my time as one of the Three Stooges sounds, I think I'll take a rain check on that. Indefinitely. Oh, and don't ever call me cute again, McClain. Not if you're a big fan of your bones."

"I'll find me a few more big fans of my bones tonight, am I right!?" Hunk shushed Lance as the self-promoting showman bought into his own hype, "Sorry, sorry! Now quit kidding around Gunderson… You're here, you're in your civvies, it's the right time, just like I put on the note, so come on!" Lance grabbed Pidge about the waist, carrying him over one shoulder. Pidge's legs flailed uselessly against Lance's chest. Lance just grinned to himself. Pidge, now utterly livid was getting ready to savage The Idiot, before Hunk leaned in, whispering.

"I know you can overpower him, but if you do that, he will make a fuss. A loud fuss."

"I get that…" Pidge grumbled gently, folding his arms carefully to his chest. Hopefully nothing telling might now undo his disguise, either to be observed by Hunk or worse, felt pressing softly into The Idiot's back.

"And if we all get caught, with our performance right now, we're pretty much screwed…" Hunk continued.

"Yes, I get that too…"

"And, based on my study of the night watch rotation, you stand a more statistically significant chance of not getting caught now if you just make a break for it. By about a factor of 12...give or take a variable…"

"I get that too. Also, yes, your math checks out…" Pidge agreed.

"And Lance has been trying to get you out of here for team bonding for weeks now. Maybe months actually… Point is, maybe he'll shut up about it and focus on the simulator practice. Just humour him… Just this once…?"

"Fine…" Pidge sighed, finding himself assaulted by waves of Lance's cologne. It may once have been quite the nice fragrance, a combination of sandalwood with unexpected subtle highlights of cinnamon. The problem was the quantity and not the quality. "Not like I really have a choice, is it…?"

"He's probably not about to let you go without a fight, no…" Hunk smirked, "Guessing you didn't even read the note before you threw it away. Otherwise you wouldn't have been caught out like this."

"You guess right…" Thinking back, Gunderson thought of an irritating paper aircraft that had landed in front of him during the quantum theory lecture. Why the hell was The Idiot even in that lecture…? Then, with a groan, Pidge remembered it was Professor Rider lecturing. Or as The Idiot would always say, Professor First Name I'd Like To. An undeniably attractive woman, sure, though Pidge was always far more impressed by her doctoral thesis than any other aspect of her. Not even after pointing out the wedding band, elbowing him hard in the ribsfor every comment or even showing him a picture of Rider's wife would discourage The Idiot. If anything the last one seemed to encourage him more. Stupid guy. Pidge sighed, wishing he had read the scrawled message before just destroying the – admittedly very accurate – aircraft. Pidge was resigned to his fate, "So I'm stuck here… Can I at least kill him when we get to town…?"

Hunk shrugged, "Yeah. He'd probably deserve it… Though we're not going as far as town…"

"Where then…?" Pidge frowned, confused.

"You'll see…"