I Noticed
I
know, I know. STs only get angry and
mad. That still doesn't mean that I'm
dead from the neck down, you know. Of
course I noticed her.
It
would have been impossible not to; she was the only woman sitting in a briefing
room with three men. Maybe five foot
eight, moved well, impractically long hair, wearing a boot sheath knife that
she wouldn't have a hope in hell of actually getting to if I'd decided to
attack her. Minimal threat. Oh, yeah, I also noticed that the long hair
was this reddish brown with gold bits in it, and that the body beneath the
ranger uniform was…. interesting. But
that was a little after the fact.
Well,
what do you want? I'm an ST. We notice combat potential, not sexual
attractiveness. I was trained early and
often that stuff like sex and desire were undesirable behaviors. Let me tell you, there's nothing like shock
therapy to take a guy's mind off the unnecessary things in life. Between that, the physical regimen that ran
twenty out of twenty-four hours a day, and the drugs…. Well, the drugs might have worn off some by
the time I graduated from the academy and joined the S5 unit, but even BDCs
don't easily erase nineteen years of conditioning.
So,
naturally, with all that, I was less than pleased to be noticing this
girl. I mean, what was it about her,
anyway? Nothing special.
OK,
I'm lousy at lying – at least to myself; most survivors are. So, yeah, I'll admit that was really got to
me was the scent of her. It's kind of
the smell of warm honey with a touch of cinnamon, and it's very subtle, like it
comes from her skin or something. I
don't think anyone else noticed it at that first briefing; Zach and Doc don't
have my nose.
Then
again, maybe Doc did notice. He was
trying to get her attention – flirting, I guess – and failing miserably. Niko was polite to him, but she kept looking
at me.
Maybe
she could tell that I was sniffing. By
that time, I think I was staring, too.
I probably wasn't being real subtle, but I had a reason. I was trying to figure out why her hair was
glowing.
No, I wasn't seeing things. Her hair glowed, like there was a very low-level power field
around each strand of hair; that's how she kept it under control, I guess. I couldn't figure how the hell she was doing
it without being an ST like me – which she wasn't - and I know I was
scowling.
I don't like unknown quantities.
The
commander came in just as I was about to ask what the hell she was. We all took our seats, and that's when I saw
her pull out her chair without touching it.
Well,
at least it explained the glowing.
Ten
minutes into the briefing, I started realized my earlier estimate had been
wrong. This girl was not minimal threat
potential. She was damn dangerous. She was actually distracting me. It had never happened before, and I didn't
like the feeling. So I scowled, and
tried to ignore the fact that all that shimmering hair smelled faintly of
vanilla.
Sometimes
enhanced senses are a real bitch.
By
the end of the briefing, I'd decided that I was pissed. I'm a supertrooper, a BDC. I'm a badass. I am not distracted by skin than smells like honey, or a curvy
little body that seems very small and delicate and different compared to
mine. I don't like vanilla.
To
her credit, Niko didn't flinch when I growled at her. She stayed her damnably serene self, turquoise eyes calm, hands
folded in her lap. But now she was
aware of me like I was aware of her. I know,
because her scent changed; it got a little spicier, a little muskier. The predator in me sat up and took notice.
Sometimes,
enhanced senses come in handy.
So
what happened after that first briefing, with all this awareness and
male-female shit striking sparks in the air?
We
went on the mission, almost got killed, and came home. Disappointed? Tough. Niko and I are
just friends.
Did
I actually say that?
Yeah,
I did. OK, we're friends. Half the time I think it's because even in
the S5s, we stand out. We're different,
and that gives us a little common ground.
Stars,
listen to me. I'm getting
philosophical. But nothing's happened
between Niko and me, and nothing's going to.
I'm still Shane Gooseman. I'm the big, badass supertrooper who can bench
press cars and scare perps into cooperating with a glare and a growl.
Who
do I think I'm fooling? Hey, remember
who you're talking to here. STs get
angry, or we get mad. We don't get
soft. You think I'm going to admit that
I watch the way Niko walks into a room just so I can see all that silky,
glowing hair shift and sway, or that I deliberately stand near her during
briefings so I can smell that honey-vanilla scent of her? I'd sooner hold off the entire Crown Armada
with only a half-charged pulse rifle.
I'm not telling her any of that crap; I have a reputation to
maintain, for crying out loud.
But
I'm not going to give up noticing her.
-Fin-
January 2001, by Kelly Smith
