Leonid
Pink
11:15, November 26, 2065
It was one of those moments. Joy regardless of danger, surrounding, composed of relief and a love of life, along with recall of every minute detail. Hours after the fact, they were still laughing about it, though drunkenly now, and much to the confusion of their friends.
"What happened out there, anyway?" Neil asked, looking to Gray for an answer, since, playing his public role of supervisor, he was the only one of the three who wasn't in complete hysterics over the event.
"I was trying to get that stupid module," the captain shrugged, "I didn't see it."
"Hey, what happened? All I heard was a lot of shouting and a burst of static."
"That wasn't static; that was me. I sneezed," Jane grinned, "And it killed the Phantom."
"What Phantom?" Neil felt a momentary burst of panic, but squashed it easily; there were no Phantoms here.
"The one that got this close," the woman held her fingers a short span apart, "'Fore I sneezed and killed it."
"No, I killed the Phantom," Ryan snorted, finally catching the all too elusive conversation, "But I'll say, I never saw you run so fast. Ever."
"I didn't run!" Jane snapped in defense, the rosy tint her skin had developed deepening as embarrassment was added to the mix of inebriation and that natural element Neil hated so much, "I slipped. That hill was steep, you know, I could'a fallen right over." As though to demonstrate, she flicked one of the empty glasses, then pushed it over when it refused to fall at the gentler tap. She watched, transfixed, as it rolled to a circular stop, and followed it carefully as Neil snatched it and righted it away from her. Before she could try again, he had her hands securely under the table.
"You ran," the sergeant scoffed, "I saw you do it, too; no one slips that fast."
"I did!" Jane insisted, "I did slip. Tell him captain!"
"I wasn't watching," Gray reiterated distantly. He leaned back in his chair as though to say, 'I'm done with this.'
"I slipped," she sniffed, half smirking as though that would assure the statement.
"You ran…"
"I slipped!"
"Next time," Neil interrupted, "next time, if the situation comes up again, just run, okay?" He faltered as she scowled at him. He swallowed apprehension, and improvised, "Look, it'll save on the arguing later, see?" She seemed to understand that, not entirely in the nuance but in the twisted way it was meant to sound. Even so, she squirmed away from him, leaning heavy on the table and staring at the glass she'd toppled.
With that, the table fell silent. The Lounge itself was near empty, and the murmurs of the conversations abound reached the Deep Eyes clearly. Eventually, and untold minutes later, Gray broke the silence with the announcement he hadn't been sure how to bring up. Easiest was really to stop procrastinating, after that it would be simple; or so he thought.
"There's this… uh, thing…" he started, unsure and with the full and sudden attention of the painfully sullen table.
"Really?" Ryan asked, coherent to a fault, "What kind thing?"
"A morality thing, social something or other. I have to go…"
"Good for you," Jane mumbled. She yawned, and blinked at him without realizing he was staring at her.
"…And if I have to go, I'm dragging you all." the captain sighed, watching and waiting for the inevitable, "It's a Class A event, so…"
"No," the woman replied flatly after a moment's stunned silence.
"Yes."
"C'mon," Neil tried to hide, if not suppress, his grin, "Class As look so cute…"
"Then you wear it," Jane snapped, "I'll wear yours, you can wear mine… and I'll wear yours."
"Okay," Neil agreed eagerly, hoping that she was either not serious or too intoxicated to remember the promise by the morning… or day of… or ever.
"No!" or that the captain would stand up for him, which worked, too, "None of that. She wears her clothes; you wear your clothes; that's how it works."
Of course, that Jane looked about to jump the table and attack wasn't a good sign. Neil readily decided that it was as good as ever to leave, and tried to modestly drag the inebriated woman with him. No easy feat, but he managed to get her out the door without an incident… or not one that anyone else noticed; which, as an afterthought, he was extremely glad for. But the trick would be getting home.
---
11:47, November 26, 2065
"Because you're drunk."
"And you're sweet, but I don't go 'round telling the world."
"Um; right," somehow, the lucidity that came with drunken rambling escaped him, or he was absorbing it second-hand, because he couldn't remember half the conversation already. Luckily, it didn't seem to matter.
She stumbled; he was there to catch her. It waylaid their pace, and neither noticed.
"See, I told you," she asserted, the tone slightly scornful.
"Yeah…" he agreed, "Come on, we're almost there."
In actuality, they were already there… outside his door – home. It was now a simple matter of getting inside for the night… a partial success.
Once he left the room for a quick drink of water, and she was gone when he came back. A quick dash down the hallway proved faster than she could move as she was, so he caught up easily. Getting her back proved the more problematic part.
"No," she protested, "I need to find my blanket."
"I have blankets, Jane," he sighed, "They're on the bed; you don't have to worry about it."
"Not mine," she insisted, and he, for the sake of not waking everyone on the floor (possibly the building), gave in instantly.
"Okay; look; I'll get it, but you stay here, understand?"
He pushed her back to the room, despite lacking her complete cooperation. He doubted he could have done it if she were sober, but that she wasn't came in useful for the first time that night. Of course, if she were sober, this problem probably wouldn't have been so bad.
Or it might have been worse.
No, no, no! Neil reprimanded the thought as he fought to keep the door closed and manipulate its locking mechanism at the same time. Things weren't going to get any worse. They just… weren't; couldn't.
Now, with the door finally locked, two new possibilities made themselves known to him. It was conceivable that Jane was sober enough or would become so to operate the lock, or smashed to the point of passing out in a drunken mess. Neil quickly decided he didn't like his mind; that he should have been on the other side.
Too late now. He snapped the covering off the lock, easily removing its power cell and slipping it into his pocket. Although, the door was rather flimsy… if she really wanted to, she could probably have broken it easily.
Neil decided that he really didn't like his mind.
"Just… stay," he snapped, aware that he was talking to inanimate wood and metal and not really caring as he hurried off to fix the problem of the moment before another or two or fifty found their way to the surface.
---
00:09, November 27, 2065
The mystery blanket couldn't have been any of the ones on her bed. They were identical to every bedspread ever issued throughout the service. So it came to storage.
So he'd seen the superficial layer of her closet before – a couple of uniforms for different occasions; a number of mismatched, many worn BDUs; dress shoes; a plain shirt; a box; and a ruined pair of boots. He'd never seen beyond that, which proved much more fascinating. Of course, he didn't have time to investigate, but that didn't stop him from making a mental list of questions to ask later.
Despite his doubt, he came upon what he must have been looking for, unfolding the cloth enough to get a feeling of its dimensions and insure that it was a blanket, and snorted.
"You've got to be kidding…"
At the very least – it was pink.
---
00:28, Nov. 27, 2065
The door was still intact, which was a good omen. The lock was easily reparable, which was also good, because carrying a such a thing as he happened to be was bad enough, but being seen taking it home would be detrimental to anyone's social standing. He didn't want to think over its physical qualities any more than he had to. It was pink; it was frilly; he already knew far too much.
The lights were off, as they'd been when he left, so he changed that, and set them low just to see by, before he remembered it would be a good idea to close the door.
Jane was in his bed, but not asleep; she fidgeted under the light, and the accursed pink thing disappeared quickly from where he placed it. He pretended not to see as she pillowed it between her arm and her head. He intended to pretend a lot about that blanket – like that it didn't exist. So instead of granting any more focus to a thing that didn't exist, he went about tending to his floor, and collected together bitterly the mysteriously shed and abandoned clothes, that Jane wouldn't worry later. Or maybe she wouldn't anyway, he didn't know…. He folded the garments anyway, placing them on his chair with careful attention.
Getting to sleep would prove to be a more difficult task. Even after he'd managed to climb safely over the restless woman, he had to deal with the relentless squirming. Despite trying to simply live with it, there came a point where it had to stop or he had to find a new place to sleep for the night. The next time she moved, within seconds of the decision, he caught her close.
"Stop," that was all, "Calm. Relax. Please?"
It worked, or seemed to. Neil managed to doze a moment before another shift startled him back aware. Then again, it could have just been one pink, frilly, quilted nightmare….
