Unnecessary Good
- Author's Note: I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.T for language and some sexual themes. Mild spoilers for episode 1.8.
Miles was walking around Philly in his civvies. It was a sticky summer evening and those Militia uniforms didn't breathe – not that it was nearly as hot as Iraq in a flak jacket and helmet – and sometimes it was nice to just be Miles, instead of General Matheson. Fireflies were blinking over one parking lot turned field, the air thick with the sound of crickets and the smell of horseshit. Miles didn't really have a destination in mind, maybe this one bar with a particularly good brewmaster.
Miles saw a drop-dead gorgeous woman sitting on a stoop across and just down the street from a whorehouse. She looked to be maybe twenty with long ebony hair, well tanned skin and cheekbones to kill for. She was glaring at the whorehouse something fierce, and it didn't take a keen observer of human behavior to tell that she wanted to burn the place to the ground.
Miles walked up to the woman and interrupted her glare-fest with, "Do you mind if I join you?"
He gestured at the other half of the stoop. The woman gave him a measuring glance, her right hand moving millimeters closer to her belt knife, but clearly dismissed him as immediate threat. He was currently unarmed, thought Miles, not that that meant too much. Miles took the glance as acceptance and sat down on the stoop. The woman was sitting next to the handrail and on the third step, Miles sat on the fourth and top step with his lanky legs dangling over the side, he would have full range of motion, the woman however could be pinned against the handrail in a heartbeat.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing outside a place like that?" Miles asked, using his chin to gesture to the whorehouse.
The woman's jaw clenched slightly, and she replied plainly and a bit dismissively, "I don't do whatever is it you want – not for food, not for gold."
Miles guffawed and then snarked, "Clearly, else you'd be inside the whorehouse. And you aren't dressed appropriately." He eyed her slim form in sturdy, dun, Carhartt's pants, and an unadorned, olive tank top.
The woman gave him a puzzled look, and he continued, "No, I mean what are you doing outside the whorehouse, you look like you want to blow the place up."
The woman's breathing rate increased perceptibly and interestingly, it appeared that she took his joke as an accusation; an accusation she actually thought she'd be able to pull-off. Her voice remained calm, however, when she asked, "You some kind of militiaman?"
"How did you know that?" Miles asked, genuinely impressed by this woman and her deductive powers, or intuition perhaps.
The woman continued, voice even, leavened with a touch of disappointment, "Shit, you are, aren't you?"
"Sorta," Miles grunted in response.
"Sorta – what's that supposed to mean?" declared the woman, her temper showing through her calm facade.
Miles paused a few seconds to think about actually answering the question, before changing the direction of the conversation, "Your boyfriend in there?"
The woman's breathing rate slowed slightly and she shook her head slightly as she replied with a slightly puzzled, "No?"
The reply to Miles' question, "Your girlfriend?" was a definitive "NO."
Miles was slightly relieved by this answer, it would be a damn shame if this hot chica was a lesbian, not that he had anything against lesbians, just that this woman with her fine looks, deductive powers, and temper was practically perfect, too bad she was so young though. Miles returned his mind to the line of questioning, "Then why?"
The woman replied softly with: "My kid sister."
Miles had what Nora would later dub a case of "White Knight Syndrome" and his hands instinctively formed into fists as he stood up.
"Voluntary?" he barked down at her, she shook her head.
He continued, "How old?" The woman replied, "15."
Miles saw red for a heartbeat or two and then asked, "How long has she been in there?"
"I've been following them since Hagerstown, she's been in there for maybe 6-7 hours," was the reply. Miles squashed down his increasing respect for this woman to focus on the task at hand.
"Stay here," commanded Miles, "But she's my sister," was the woman's response, her hand tightening around his left forearm.
Miles brushed off her hand and snorted, "What were you planning on doing about her, mope?"
The woman leaned over slightly, grabbed under her ass, and pulled out a pipe bomb. The woman had been sitting on a goddamn pipe bomb!
Miles quirked his eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips, damn but this woman wasn't a piece of work. He suppressed his bemusement and said, "Put that away, I have a better idea."
"Oh yeah?" retorted the woman. His reply was a simple declaration of his name, "I'm General Matheson."
Miles was amused by her instant reaction; she tucked the bomb into a pocket, grabbed her belt knife, and drew her feet up under her knees, ready to spring down the steps. Also, her eyes grew as wide as saucers, not that anyone used fancy china these days.
"Stay here," commanded Miles, the hint of a smile returning, "Don't worry, I'll get her out, Miss … ?"
The woman, not quite sure how to respond, said after a long pause, "Clayton, Nora Clayton, and my sister is Mia, … sir."
Miles grinned at the belated sir and stated with confidence, "I'll have your sister out in two shakes."
As Miles strode off to the whorehouse, he heard Nora softly mutter, "Two shakes of what?"
- Author's Note: If you are a Star Trek: Deep Space Nine fan you might recognize the clunky title and some of the first pieces of dialogue, that was an intentional homage, I see quite a bit of Kira in Nora, and I don't own DS9 either ;)
