Title: Six Foot Bunch
Pairing: Duo, Une
Warning: language, singing?
Notes: Written for day 11 of the February writing challenge.
I left the debriefing room in a tired stumble. A quick 'see you tomorrow' to Heero where the hall split, and headed for the elevators. My car was in the garage; Heero always parked in back. Something about one exit and being trapped. Three days, two nights and a dozen hour-long naps spread over the lot. I was fuckin' tired and just wanted to go home.
The elevator doors opened to the sublevel parking, and I grimace. The stale, fume-laden air added to the list on why parking in the surface lot was preferable. It was late, even by my standards. Closer to eleven than ten, and the garage was practically empty. My footsteps echoed off the walls, rebounding like a hard rubber ball in a closet.
Grinning with the resonance, I hefted my pack a little higher on my shoulder, and opened my mouth. "Dayo," I sang, holding the first note and clipping of the second. My own voice called back to me, and I added, "Daaa o, daylight come and me wan' go home." I dropped my tone as low as I could go, nearly laughing at the return.
An old song, but the sentiment still held. Stopping in the middle of the garage, I threw my head back. "Day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day… dayo."
"Daylight come and me wan' go home."
And I was spinning around, pack landing on concrete, jaw dropping to my chest. "Co—mander?"
"Nice performance." She was smirking. "Tally man came, and it's time for you to go home, now."
"Heading that way, ma'am," I told her, rubbing the back of my neck and trying to not spontaneously combust. Just my luck – I could be alone on a deserted island and still get caught making a fool of myself. Slinging my pack back over my shoulder, I couldn't help but add, "You sing a mighty good calypso, ma'am."
Her steps didn't even falter. "You're not so bad yourself, Maxwell." A half dozen low-heeled steps echoed off the walls before she turned. "Just… don't quit your day job." And she winked.