Author's Note:I'm going to try to keep all of the Dark Side one-shots in this file, now... I know, tricksy, but I'm trying. These are supplemental scenes, showing the transition from canonical Stork and Piper to Stork-as-Captain, and how the Condor changed the way she did, and why. It should answer questions, and give more insight. I encourage you to follow along with it – but read Dark Side first.
This piece just makes for a great prologue/teaser. It bounces around a bit, but I'll help you out: Parts 1 and 3 are post-Dark Side. Part 2 is from the end of Dark Side (I imagine), and Part 4 is pre-Dark Side. It takes place some time after "Crash" but before the "Tenderness" chapters.
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"Piper..."
She looked up from her lab table to see him, with that snide little smirk that was as close as the Merb got to an excited grin. She smiled, too.
"I hold in my hands a bottle of the finest white firewhiskey, from Terra Numar," he purred temptingly, holding a long-necked piece of glass that seemed to be filled with nothing, despite the black label emblazoned with silver. One side of his mouth turned up a bit farther than the other. He made an elaborate bow, touching his chest with a green hand, holding the bottle outstretched with the other. "I would be honoured if you would join me in a partaking of this wonderous substance. It's a shame to drink something so fine alone, and you do make the best company."
She smiled. "Alright. I'll finish up here and meet you in the Galley."
He took on a flirtatious pose. "Do you like it... dirty?" he asked in that dark voice. Those narrowed eyes held a disturbing danger that was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And with his growl... She felt her breath catch in her throat. He still did that to her on occasion, though she wasn't sure if he was really aware of it, and she didn't sleep well afterwards. It made her question herself, and the 'new' way of doing things. The old way of doing things.
"Uh, neat." She coughed. "It's... neat, Stork."
He blinked, and then stared at the transparent treat. When he realised his mistake, he glared at the sky, a curse in his eyes, and dropped his arms. He looked to her to share in his annoyance. "Of course it is," he said. He held the bottle up again for a closer examination. "Maybe the high proof will kill off the mind worms..."
He left the room, still contemplating the bottle, and she watched him go. Slowing peeling off her gloves, she let out a great sigh before collapsing on her chair.
"Gonk..." she whispered to herself. Neat, she told herself. Whiskey neat. That's what he'd been asking. He'd been asking if she drank her whiskey neat.
But those weren't the words that came out of his mouth. She bit her lip as she indulged the memory - and the innuendo. She wondered if it was intended, or just part of his... act? Maybe he meant it subconsciously. To be honest, there were so many times where she couldn't tell if he was being dramatic or serious, and while that made him a more fascinating puzzle, it also usually left her head spinning so much it hurt.
When she'd put away her experiment and made her way to the Galley, Stork was there at the head of the table, and had blessed himself and the chair beside him with a small shot glass. He was opening the bottle, the wrapper on the table, and turned to look at her. He gave another one of those dangerous, exciting smiles. She could almost see the hat. Almost.
"I've never actually had this neat before," he said, putting a little emphasis on the word 'neat' – that or she just honed in on it, she wasn't sure – "but I've always heard very good things."
She sat down as he poured what looked like water into each cup. She gingerly picked up the cup and brought it to her face, but was surprised by the pungent smell.
"Wow... this stuff must be strong," she noted. She wasn't really a drinker, but Stork-as-Captain would ask her to partake with him on a rare occasion. That it followed them from Farside was curious. So far, it seemed to be the only thing.
"Isn't it just?" he asked with morbid fascination. She watched him hold his own before his face and inhale the scent, savouring it before downing the shot. He let out a growl as he felt the fire go down his throat. He closed his eyes, one hand replacing the glass while the other curled around the corner of the table nearest her. He tilted his head back with a quiet murmur and pleased smirk, his ears drawing back.
What little sip she took burned. She forced herself to let the drink linger on her tongue and actually taste it before swallowing - it was sour and hot, all the way down her throat, burning everything it touched. She backed the whole shot to get it done with, the whiskey scorching down into her chest before splashing in her belly and stewing there, simmering in her skin, making her blood rush a little bit more, and a warm blush came over her face.
She gave out a breath. "Wow."
Stork chuckled and poured himself another. She pushed her glass his way, and he refilled it as well. "I take it you like it?" he asked, handing it back.
"Perhaps a bit." Piper twirled her cup a little, watching it swirl around in the glass like they did at fancy wine testings. It was just something she did. "So... What're we talking about tonight?" she asked. She wondered what they would talk about without a Second Mate to plot against.
He shrugged. "Open topic." He gave her the look that she took for fondness as he brought the glass to his lips. "Your pick."
Her eyes went dark. "How about... Finn?"
His empty glass returned to the table. For a long moment, they didn't speak. After a while, Stork poured himself another, but he left it by the bottle, loosely crossing his arms and trying to disappear into the chair, hiding his face behind his curtain of hair.
"I think... it's probably for the best. For him, anyway."
She was expecting that. She sighed, and took a drink. She held the glass in her fingers. "What do you think is going to happen to us?"
The Merb looked away, pensive, his ears forever pinned back in an expression of dread. She found herself wanting to push back that curtain of hair so she could see his face, so she could really see what he was thinking. Instead, she restrained herself.
"I think it's safe to say that the Storm Hawks won't be quite the same," he said, finally.
She smirked. "I think that goes without saying."
The look he gave her was one requesting patience. "Junko, for one, is a bit lost without his friend," he continued, as if she'd said nothing. "And I don't think Aerrow is too hot about losing our marksman." He looked away, avoided the name. She took note of it.
But a small thought brought a tricksy smile to her face. "Do you think that means you'll have to... join us in the field permanently?"
His eyes widened in terror, and he shirked away. "Oh, Gods, no! I have to stay on the ship! Stay with the Condor. I mean, imagine if you guys get trapped somewhere, and I'm trapped there with you, instead of here where I can be of some use? We'd all be rather doomed..."
There was a dark amount of pleasure in his eyes that made her smile. So typical Stork.
She pondered. "Do you think we're going to have to find someone to fill in? What about Starling?"
He gave a little 'hmph!' "I highly doubt it. If she's even still around, long as we've been gone. And knowing she's joining as a replacement for someone else would be a bit cruel, I think."
Piper looked at her drink. It was a true point.
"The most likely result is we'll do without. At least for now." She looked up at him as he continued. "Aerrow is likely to wait for him to change his mind, but personally, I don't see that happening any time soon. Doubtless we'll befall some kind of doom without at some point that will require someone who's a ridiculously brilliant shot. If we manage to survive, Aerrow will either want to hire someone else, or else disband the Storm Hawks entirely." He shook his head. "In any case, it won't end well."
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"Please... don't be mad at me," he almost whispered. Her gaze softened, but he wasn't looking at her to see. "I can't have you mad at me. If I do something that upsets you, you need to tell me. I can't read your mind all the time." But I'd warned you.
Piper could scarcely see an eye move behind his hair. The black ship suit had been replaced by his Storm Hawks uniform – kept in disturbingly fine condition – and his Captain's hat lay in the corner. He was slipping away again. She'd hoped... She'd dared to hope.
But this was his answer to the question she hadn't had the heart to ask for so many years. Yes, he meant it. And yes, he could just throw it all away, like it hadn't even happened in the first place. She cursed at him, then. Threw something, though she couldn't remember what.
She spent the night in her room, crying. Aerrow had knocked on the door, asking if she wanted to talk, but she just screamed at him to "GO AWAY!" She wanted him to go away. He'd ruined... everything... And now nothing would ever be the same.
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She reached for the bottle and slid it close. She stared at the glass for a second, then decided she didn't really care, and took a big swig from the bottle.
His arms released as his head turned to observe her with curiousity. The burn hurt. With a cough, she put the bottle back on the table, and wiped her mouth with a hand. She could feel the fire in her belly, and knew she was probably going to get royally pissed tonight.
Stork watched, waiting for his cue, but she merely relaxed in her chair.
He reached for the bottle and brought it to his own lips, imagining he could smell her breath upon it, and behind the curtain of hair, traced a tongue around the opening of the bottle, tasting what little bit of her she'd left. He pressed his lips to it like a kiss, and let it flow into his mouth, burning his mouth with a fire that would make him a bit looser... and hopefully help him sleep better. Indulge the infection just a little bit. It wouldn't fix the problem, but it'd hurt a little less.
He put the bottle back, and tried a faint, reassuring smile. "I suppose it does save on dishes, that way."
She let her lids droop, and looked to him. There he was again, with those snarky little comments. When the silence was too awkward, and he felt like he needed to say something, even if he wasn't saying anything at all. She murmured with a smile at that, remembering how baffled her mind had been when she'd first seen him washing dishes after they'd got back, pink apron and all. He caught the reaction with gratitude.
"I mean, I should have thought of it myself, you know," he added, taking the topic she'd approved. "Mind... I thought it would be rude to presume..." His eyes darted away, and he pulled his arms close again, this time glancing from his glass to her eyes, looking for a sign.
It took a minute for his words to permeate her lightly buzzed brain. And then something rather large and hefty managed to click through the fog.
She frowned. "Yeah..." She turned to face him. "You don't have a problem with sharing a bottle?"
He made a very odd sound. Like he was caught with a puzzle, and was pleased someone was offering their help. Even if he didn't believe they could do much for him. "Well, it is a pretty high proof... And we already share so much, you and I," he answered, looking up at her, still hiding behind his mane. His lips twitched. "Speaking of which, I caught you stealing a sip from my coffee the other day."
She giggled. Sober, she might have blushed. "Hehehe... You saw that?"
He gave her light glare. "How could I not notice?" He picked up his glass and downed it with another pleased growl, chattering his teeth together. "I can tell when you're having a rough morning. You leave some pretty obvious clues."
She put her head in her hand. "Oh? And what kind of obvious signs do I leave?" They actually never really talked about each other TO each other. She had always supposed it was because they already knew each other so well. And it had been so long since it was just the two of them... or even as few as four. Or five.
"It's a number of things. But I think that look of yours really gives it away," he said, that dangerous smile on his lips once more.
"Which look?"
"Well..." He tapped his fingers on the table – his stance was opening up again. "You have this..." His jaw moved without making a sound. He opened it, and closed it. He started again, but nothing. He tried once more, but only let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, I honestly don't know how to explain it," he said, grabbing the bottle.
She smirked, watching him drown the question. "What else do I always do that I don't know about?"
He gave a nervous, guttural noise that she supposed might have been a terrified, nervous laugh. It piqued her interest, but he didn't really share. Sensing a winning topic, she pulled the bottle out of his hands.
"Come on, tell me!" she said, holding the drink ransom. He seemed to wince as his face raised to watch it leave his grasp, instead nestling in her embrace. He gave a gulp, and bit his lips.
"I... I really shouldn't say."
"Too late!" she answered back. Usually, if Stork was avoiding a topic, it was for a reason. She couldn't help but hope it was because he was regretting his decision.
Like Finn.
She felt her buzz drop a bit again. Stork seemed to notice, and it pulled him out of his own internal conflict. Concern was in his eyes as he leaned himself over the table, his face turned toward her. Her grip loosened on the bottle, and stared into the liquid as she felt a kind of depression sink in. She let out a long, low sigh, and laid her head on the table, staring at the drink.
He looked at his own empty glass, and reconsidered this whole evening.
"I... probably shouldn't have bothered you," he started. "I'm sorry for... disturbing you. From whatever you were doing." His eyes darted to somewhere opposite her, but she smiled ever so slightly.
"You don't bother me, Stork," she answered, and he looked back to her as she called his name, almost involuntarily. "You've never bothered me."
He took her reassurance, and let his mouth line go from frown to flat. For a moment, he watched her, her curiousity fastened on the drink, and his curiousity fastened on her.
After a long while, he asked, "So... Have you ever had whiskey before?"
She blinked, and looked up at him, and he had the most intriguing look on his face. There was a bit of a question there, but mostly amusement. She looked back to the bottle, and then shook her head. "No, I guess I haven't."
He gave a knowing smirk – the kind he got whenever he pulled the age card on anyone on the Condor. He hadn't done it to her in so long, it was a scary thing to see again. Another sign of the new-old ways. "I think it's best if we don't let you have too much of it, then." He reached out to take the bottle from her grasp.
That mischief rose again, and her hold tightened, hugging it closer. The action for some reason unsettled him, and he withdrew. She sat up and faced him squarely. She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You still haven't answered my question."
He shrunk into himself, grimacing, his hands held before him in a natural defense. She swirled the finger and brought it closer and closer to him, until finally she touched him on the nose, with a little 'boop!'. He blinked, partly at the invasion of personal space, and partly at the uncharacteristic action. She withdrew the hand and once more took a swig from the bottle, giving a satisfied sigh.
Stork was pretty sure he had created a monster. Not that this was the first time... He scrunched up his face, wondering how best to deal with this situation. He could always go tell Aerrow, but what would he say? I bought a bottle of firewhiskey, and Piper's taken to it a little too well? Well, he'd just make a remark about how he'd tried setting a rule against having alcohol on board in general, but the pilot had tossed it (almost literally) out the window, and that it was quite literally a bed of his own making.
He eyed the obviously buzzed navigator as she peered into the white whiskey, and debated on how responsible he felt like being this evening.
"I... really think we should stop drinking," he said, feeling the warmth and buzz starting to penetrate his own system. It was all because he'd mentioned Finn earlier. Aerrow's habit of encouragement had recently turned into a broken record of self-delusions and half-hearted reassurances, mostly directed to himself. It was starting to wear on everyone.
And then there was the 'dirty' comment. Stork buried his face in a hand. Oh, that had been such a stupid thing to say. So very, very stupid. He must be truly going mad... She'd infected him for sure. He was never going to get over it.
Piper looked up at Stork, berating himself for how the conversation had turned. She murmured. "You always do that..." she remarked, curious if her words were slurring by now.
She pulled him out of his reverie. "What was that?" he asked.
"That," she said, waving a heavy hand towards his general person. "You always blame yourself. Like it's somehow always your fault." She gestured loosely. "How was any of this your fault?"
He gave her a pointed look. "I am the one who bought the drink," he replied with forced patience. But there was a philosophical undertone there.
And again, it took a while, but it eventually fit into place. She blinked at him. "Is it... Finn, or... the coffee?"
Stork turned and looked her in the eye. In a way it was both. In a way, they were related. Make it quick, his eyes seemed to say. Fast, like a bandage. Over and done with, without any more pain than is absolutely necessary.
She cocked her head. This was... the question he hadn't been meaning to ask.
"'Do you like it dirty?'" she said softly, going over the words aloud.
His ears perked, and he had a look of horror. "What did you say?" he asked, more from a need of clarification than deafness.
She gave him a smirk. "What you'd asked me earlier."
He gave a miserable moan and buried his face in his hands, but you couldn't see past his hair. "Gods, that had to have been the stupidest thing I've ever said in my entire life..."
She glowered at him. "I can think of stupider."
By the look on his face, that didn't help. "I really didn't mean that," he said quickly. "I meant 'neat', I really did. But I..." He gestured with empty hands and gave a noise of defeat. "I'm trying." He scratched the back of his neck, his ears drooping a bit with worry. He stared at the liquid courage for a moment, and then back at her. And with some kind of resolution, he took the bottle and chugged it. He got through four or five insanely large gulps before he finally withdrew and started gaping at the fire he'd just inflicted upon himself. He seemed ready weep, his hands clenching into fists that he shook in the air, before slamming them down on the table. He gave another growl, and glared at the bottle, daring it to try again. She raised a brow, then languidly let out a hand and retrieved it again.
"Do you feel better?" she asked, hearing the slur now. It killed her attempted sharp tone of voice
"I will be in a minute," he answered in a harsh whisper, his hands clenched as he felt the fire descend. She took another sip, and he finally released the tension with another groan, and melted into his chair, his hands on either side of the table. He knelt his head back, and she was surprised at the rare sight of his neck. She felt that stirring at the alien anatomy, and pressed the bottle against her lips, not drinking.
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She must have been staring, because after a long moment, he cleared his throat.
She looked up at his face with a start, and his eyes were wide, questioning. He seemed to be asking her what was wrong with his neck that she stared so, if it was even something he could help. She blushed, and gestured toward him.
"I keep forgetting... but you guys are so different from humans. It's... kinda interesting."
Even he couldn't keep back the small smile that statement inspired. "Interesting?" he echoed, his eyebrows rising high in his mane. "Interesting how? Interesting good, or interesting bad?"
They were lounging in the bridge, and he'd stretched out over one of the pilot's seats. She'd recovered from the crash enough that she could walk a little, but she'd already done her day's lap around the Condor, his wiry arms on either side of her like a human- sorry, Merbian walker, providing support and an embrace to fall into if she needed it. And she had, several times. It was odd, touching him – he had a very contained sort of personal space, and was curious about when he let others invade it, and when he didn't. It had caught her as... 'interesting'.
She cocked her head to the side. "Just... interesting. Sometimes good. Occasionally bad."
His head returned to its usual, protective state, and loomed toward her, his upper body leaning toward her, despite him not leaving his seat. "How, interesting bad?" There was that dark, dangerous side to him – the kind that made her realise why he liked poisonous spiders and things – an affinity with his own kind. In fact, he wasn't unlike a python, braced for an attack if he might not like her answer.
And yet, she wasn't really afraid. He wouldn't have risked life and limb to rescue her if he had any intention to just kill her later. "Like... Merb cabbage," she said with a faint smirk.
It caught him off guard. He returned to his own space, and gave her a questioning look.
"Well... Like, you love the stuff, but it creeps the rest of us out," she explained. "Stinks to high heaven, and let's not try eating it." She gave a grin. "Your cabbage is like... Junko's cooking to the rest of us."
He glared. "I take high offense to that," he said darkly, but looked away more in thought.
"Or like... that you hate sweets, like cotton candy. Whereas we humans love it."
His eyes returned to her face, narrowed, but he didn't answer. He looked away again, accepting it for what it was – a bad interesting. I see your point.
She cocked her head. "But I was just curious because... I never really see much of your anatomy."
He blinked at her. Maybe she needed another blood replenisher. It didn't sound quite like Piper. "My... anatomy?" He tried his best not to take that in any other way than how she'd meant it. However it was she'd meant it. There was a good reason he always looked on the dark side - he was never disappointed. Or surprised.
"Yeah. Like your... green skin. Or..." She smiled. "Your little ears."
He glared, said ears rearing back. "There is nothing wrong with my ears," he said softly, almost growling.
"I didn't say there was," she said shrugging.
For a moment, he stared at her, defensive, not sure if she really meant any harm, or if they were just empty observations. He couldn't help it, but if she felt it was important enough to mention, it must be dire news indeed. He made a small 'hmm' and looked her over. She didn't look any paler than usual (which was expected after serious physical trauma), but he checked the time. "I think I'm going to go get you another blood replenisher. I'll be right back." In a flash he was out of the chair and at the other end of the room, his feet padding ever so slightly on the floor, easily audible without the sound of the engines. At the hatch, he looked back at her, watching her peer absently out the ruined window of the helm. It disturbed him – worried him – having her broken like this. Wrapped in blankets like some babe, sitting there where he could keep an eye on her. The ship, too. The hatch opened, and he slipped through, his eyes checking the overhanging wires to see if anything else had gone wrong since last he checked.
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Side note: 'Firewhiskey' is a Harry Potter reference.