8: 43 PM Same day.
The rapid beat of Nicholas's death ripped up Jori's mind. Torment gripped every facet of her fragile being. Her heart beat quickly, as fast as Nicholas's was failing. Breath came out stagnantly, chest heaving in and out in desperate anguish, while tears flooded her eyes and saliva invaded her mouth. Hands prying at the sides of the doctors huddled around her dying brother, she struggled furiously to see him—to see if he was still all right, still alive. The scales tipped inside her brain, dipping her into her fear and anger and unleashing the beast awaiting. Forcing the doctors aside, she caught a glimpse of Nicholas's face; eyes closed, mouth slightly open in a pale gape, body motionless. "Nicholas!" she shouted. She reached out for his open hand, grabbed it, and held on. "Nicholas!" She furiously shouted to him a phrase in Russian language.
The doctors, ready to administer another defibrillator shock, shouted at Jori and pushed her away from her brother. Jori fussed and screeched as she tried to put herself back into Nicholas's view. Screaming her lungs out, she pushed and shoved the doctors viciously. But from behind came another body, her brother Hans stepped forward, planted his feet into the floor, and wrapped his arms around his sister, lifting her up off the ground—
Jori yelled furiously in Russian, but Hans grip only tightened as he dragged his deranged sister away from her younger brother. "Nicholas!"
The doctors shocked him again.
"Nicholas!"
Hans grunted as her nails dug into arms, but he managed to pull her into the door jam, all while she continued screaming. He tried to calm her down but it was no use. Kicking, Hans feeling her nails breaking through his epidermis, the two bodies ran into the door, passing out it.
"Nicholas!" Russian flying out her panicked mouth, Hans moved her to the side and then shoved her against the nearest hard wall.
"Jori!—" he tried to sooth her, but to no avail.
Jori spat something back at him in anger and pain and tears.
Hans looked around as more people in the hospital started noticing the scene. He then tried to explain about how interfering with the doctors would not help Nicholas get better—
—and she interrupted him with her pleading again, attempting to break free of his grip.
But he was stronger than her, and kept her braced against the wall. Eyes starting to turn red, the tears welled up in his eyes as he explained to her that she wasn't the only one suffering right then. He was too. And he knew that she didn't want him to die, and that she loved him very much and that he loved her very much too, but there was nothing she could do for him now. It was up to the doctors now to try and save his life.
As he talked, Jori's rage melted into the tears that started streaming down her cheeks. Hans's words brought back the painful and unbearable memories of this week. Nicholas being severely injured during the Battle of Deil Nine while on the Frigate Redemption, him having to be hospitalized when he arrived; then finding out his heart had been punctured by shrapnel; going on life support; condition worsening over the week until now, as his heart failed in the room behind his sister right now.
Nicholas had been the littlest of the Fresdevor children. Jori had loved him more than anyone else, probably even more than Hans. She played games with him everyday, supporting him in everything he wanted to do, no matter if she liked it or not, stood by his side everytime he was sick, everytime he was depressed, came to all his trumpet concerts(every last one of them), fed him whenever he asked or looked like he was hungry, and she could go on forever. They were like twins...
And all she wanted to right now was to beat Hans into the ground, as his words stabbed like knives into her heart and through her soul, and made her wish even more that it could be her in that bed and not him. She wanted him to live no matter what the costs, even her own life. She was mentally ill, as the doctors had told her many years ago. Social anxiety disorder, schizophrenia, ADD, and occasional depression spells...she didn't deserve to live as much as her little brother did. She wasn't even listening to Hans anymore. Finally breaking into sobs, she pressed her head into Hans chest and cried outright, arms seizing him in a fierce hug. She felt his grip loosen and he wrapped her arms around her tightly, pressing his lips against her scalp and just holding his sister lovingly.
They stood there for a long time, in each others arms. The hospital eventually went back to its routine and ignored the two as they held their embrace.
Still cradling her, Hans peered into the widow of the hospital door, and saw the doctors dispersing slowly, except for one, who covered Nicholas's body in a white sheet. The heart monitor was already turned off, as was all the life support equipment. The tubes were unplugged. Nicholas was dead. Hans loosened his grip on his sister, and then let her go. He pointed her to inside the hospital room, and watched as his sister—
"Nicholas?"
—slowly went into the room and to the bedside of her dead brother. Hans again scanned the corridor he was still standing in, and did notice a few people still watching. Sighing, he looked at the floor and then walked into the room. Jori had uncovered Nicholas's upper body and was now cradling his head, crying passionately onto his face, body heaving, trying her best to speak a prayer for her departed brother through her heavy sobs. Hans looked at his sister sympathetically, blinking back his own tears. He found a place to sit on a window-sill a few feet away from the bed, and briefly heard the wind rush behind him. Sagging his body, Hans rubbed his face in his hands, and couldn't stop his sobs from finally coming.
To the Alliance Congressional Review Board
From Commander Bryan Rawling of the Alliance Cruiser Faith
Dear Board Members,
I am writing to you in complaint for your harsh judgement on the behavior's and actions of High Admiral Emilie Rodenski during the Battle of Deil Nine. The charges against the Admiral are unjust and unfair and have come from evidence that is strictly circumstantial in origin, and bears no proof that the Admiral acted in violation of any Alliance protocols, laws, and/or military codes. The situation that was forced upon her complied with the actions she took. I strongly believe that no other Alliance military officer could have handled the chaotic situation in a more skillful, patient, and intelligent manner. I would hereby like to address all of the charges brought upon the Admiral with you.
Charge Number One: Violation of Alliance Military Code; Article One; Section One; Paragraph Two: "The second duty of every Alliance Admiral, no matter how severe a situation may be, is to the safety of his or hers crew. The safety of crew comes before the safety of the Admiral. If the Admiral commands more than one Alliance starship in a fleet, then the safety of the starships of the fleet come before the safety of the Admiral."
The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski violated Article One of the Alliance Military Code in that she did not attempt to contact the other Alliance fleet shifts to call them into battle. As she had said, and as I personally agree, calling the other shifts in to help fend of the Imperial fleet would have only added more ships to the battle. The loss of life would have been higher than the original numbers. More starships would have been destroyed by the Punisher, and also the Imperial fleet. May I remind the Board that even with the two other battle shifts, the Imperials still would have outnumbered our fleet by nearly four-to-one.
Charge Number Two: Violation of Alliance Military Code; Article One; Section One; Paragraph One: "The second duty of every Alliance military officer is to the safety of his or hers fellow comrades in arms."
The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski violated Article One of the Alliance Military Code in that she did not thoroughly review the report that Congress got from Alliance Intelligence and gave to her. The report on the current status of the Punisher superweapon and the Imperial fleet that guarded it. The Board says that the Admiral ignored certain points of warning and caution given in the information, warning and caution that should have, the Board says, "instructed her to plan a different and more careful strategy that would not have involved large fleet operations and risk large numbers of lives." May I first say that any tactical plan against the Punisher would involve large fleet operations, and, no matter what, large numbers of lives. The superweapon is capable of destroying ten starships at once, and is always guarded by a sufficient Imperial force who's mass numbers never drop below three hundred-and-fifty Star Destroyers, that which includes the Super Star Destroyer Titan. I ask the Board what alternative battle plan they would suggest against such a dominating force? The Intelligence that was gathered suggested that the Punisher was incomplete, unoperational, and almost fully vulnerable to a carefully planned and executed attack, and I must remind the Board that the information was verified thirty-six hours before the attack was launched. That being beside the point, even if Admiral Rodenski did not carefully take into consideration the warnings implemented into the Intelligence report, she cannot be blamed for the disastrous turn because it was not her job to gather the Intelligence and she is not at fault for its misleading content.
Charge Number Three: Treason and insubordination of Alliance principles, policies and common sense codes.
The Review Board suggests that Admiral Rodenski acted in a treasonous matter when she refused to summon help after it was discovered that the Punisher was indeed operational. Again, I must insist that her decision to stay and fight with the numbers she already had was the right choice. If I had been in the same situation, I would have made the same decision she did. More ships means more lives at stake. May I inquire: "common sense codes"? What common sense codes? The Alliance doesn't have any common sense codes. If the Board is referring to natural common sense, which I hope they are, then Admiral Rodenski made the right decision. After all, which makes more sense, running for the escape vector initially, or calling in more ships to fight and risking more lives?
In conclusion, I must say again that these charges brought against the Admiral are unjust and unfair, not only to her but all those who respect her. While I grieve in memory for the number of losses the Alliance sustained, I personally feel ashamed to be allied with people who would sink so low as to frame an innocent woman just to hide to the fact that Congress screwed up. This Alliance is supposed to be an organization of free people, who are not prosecuted for the Empire's murderous acts(it was the Empire who murdered all those people, not Admiral Rodenski!). I am fearing that this Alliance is headed down a dark path; it seems that we are becoming more and more like the Empire, politically, everyday. First, there was a proposition to build a superweapon like the Punisher, then there was the idea of donating one million rebs to the Crystal Star, and now Congress is trying to use an honorable Admiral as a scapegoat! What have we come to? What is next? Are we going to start conquering primitive civilizations? Where is Congress going to go next? If Admiral Emilie Rodenski is court-martialed, then I humbly offer my resignation from the Rebel Alliance. If you can survive without your best Admiral, then, surely, you can survive without your "best pilot," as I am called. My feeling is that this organization no longer functions as it should. The goodness I once saw in Congress and the executives is slowly being shunned for greed and corruption, the two main elements that are also present in the Imperial Senate.
The Deil Nine casualties are dying everyday in the hospitals. Husbands, wives, best friends, lovers; all have to watch the people they love give way to death. In the past twelve days, Admiral Rodenski has been at as many hospitals as she can, holding the hands of the ailing, and crying when another casualty passes away. She barely rests during the day. Where is Congress? Are they here on Sallop IV, watching over and praying on the sick and dying? No, they are a thousand light years away, afraid of showing their faces and trying to think of any excuse they can to take the blame off them.
Sincerely,
Bryan Andrew Rawling, Commander, Alliance Cruiser
Faith.
3:13 PM. Fifteen days after the Battle of Deil Nine. Binnis Corlal (hotel); Tesas City.
Bryan trudged through the doors to his room, feeling the weight of his legs and feet, and also the soreness in some of his thigh muscles. He'd been on his feet too much in the last two weeks. What with sight-seeing, pacing throughout all the hospitals, pacing in the hotel room, thinking of how to word his letter to the Review Board, and all the funerals that had been held for the dead. The count on those had gone well beyond being remembered. From what Bryan could, there had been hundreds of closed, individual funerals, a third of which he had attended in respect to the dead officers, and as a Commander in the Rebel Alliance who understood the value of life and mourned all that had died in the ferocious battle.
And, of course, the big funeral that had been held two days after the disarrayed fleet arrived at Sallop IV. The memorial had been attended by people in the thousands; almost all of the Alliance personnel who had fought at Deil Nine, several thousand Sallopians, the political leaders of Tesas City which included the (mayor) and his (council), (the president) of Sallop IV had flown in quickly, and even a member of Alliance Congress, Cemel Sadar, who, ironically, was now the strongest protagonist against Emilie Rodesnki. According to what Bryan had heard, he was in line to be her judge at the trial, which made the Commander's(and probably the soon to be ex-Commander's)blood boil, having such an enemy on the bench. Sadar had called Emilie "an incompetent, dumb Admiral, the worst one I have ever seen," amongst other things...
But he was still too tired to get angry about that now. His only hope was that his letter would shed some light on the idiots and bastards that made up the Congress Review Board, not to even mention the Congress itself. Right now, all he wanted to see and feel was his bed under his weighty and tired body. Exhaling until his lips buzzed, Bryan sniffed in some air and then started slowly for the bedroom, eyes struggling to stay open at least for another minute or two. He yawned, then opened the door and let all the light from the living room shine it's slanted sunlight onto the dark bedroom.
The curtains to the window were closed, with the faint sunlight gently trying to shine through from the other side. The room was smaller than most bedrooms Bryan had ever slept in. It reminded him of the bunkrooms on the Faith and other Cruisers; somewhat close-quartered. There were four beds sorted into two bunks, pushed against the wall. They were designed for Sallopian bodies, very long and a touch too soft for human comfort. In the middle was a narrow walking space that could comfortably fit three people in its width. At the opposite end, right in front of the window were two nightstands near the foot of the bed. And that was it; the dressers were outside the bedroom, an unusual style. Not exactly the most luxurious accommodations Bryan had seen before, but he liked it because it brought back the memory of the rooms on the Faith, which Bryan had considered his home.
Originally, the roommates had been him, Maxie, and the twins(like it had been on the Faith), but now the twins had left for their new posts, and one Radhin pilot from the Frigate Jollow, along with a Karlix security officer from the Cruiser Dinamo had taken their beds in the room. Bryan didn't know where they were right now. From he'd seen of them, which hadn't been much in the last week, he guessed that they were drowning themselves in drinks at a couple of the bars on Salvo Lane. Again, at this point he didn't care.
The closed curtain gave Maxie's whereabouts away instantly. Looking down and right, he saw his dear friend hidden under a clump of thin bed covers, her head resting peacefully on a pillow, the only body part visible. The rest of her body was folded into a half-ball, taking up barely half of the bed. Her stomach rose and sank gently as she breathed almost silently.
Silently, Bryan thanked—anything or anyone he could—that she was alive and well and breathing. For an instant, the images of the many that were still hospitalized flashed in his mind, and Bryan suddenly became more tired and sad. He thought a quick prayer for the dead and dying too. Tongue slowly turning as dry as a desert, Bryan was about to go get some water from the kitchen. However, before he could leave, his eyes glanced at Maxie's face, and they saw, barely, two big brown eyes staring back at him. She was awake. He hoped it hadn't been him that had woken her. A tired smile crept onto to Bryan's lips. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," she responded in a groggy morning voice. She remained tightly wound under the covers.
"No offense, Maxie, but you need to stop sleeping. You've been sleeping way too much."
She closed her eyes again, and, Bryan swore, she smiled ever so slightly. Moving her legs over towards the edge of the bed, she asked, eyes now open again, "How do you do that?"
At first, Bryan didn't know what the hell she was talking about. So he decided to tease her. "What, sleep?—"
She moaned.
"—Well, its really simple, ya see—"
"Noooo," she groaned loudly. "You dork."
"Hey," Bryan said defensively. "None a' that. Just tryin' to cheer ya up."
"I'm kidding Bryan."
"Yeah, I know. I was just messin' with ya." He finally walked out of the light, into the dim darkness of the bedroom, stopping at where Maxie's knees stuck out. She wasn't saying anything, eyes closed again. "How do I do what, by the way?"
She sniffed. "Act the way you do." She opened her eyes and look up at him. "It's like the battle didn't even phase you at all. You act so...normal and...unchanged and..." Her eyes probed his, searching for something else to say.
But she didn't need to. Bryan already knew what she meant. "I was phased," he answered. "Heavily. I just don't let it show."
She frowned in concern. "Mmm. Well, it's kinda weird." She swallowed. "I don't know, maybe I'm just crying to much."
Bryan nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets routinely. "Well, that's all right. It's all right to mourn. I just don't do it as frequently as some people."
"Oh," came the response.
Sighing, Bryan looked down at the floor. "Yeah, and that's because I still have something to fight for." He finally gave way to his tired legs, and sat down, rather abruptly, at Maxie's feet. His sudden drop caused the bed to shake, and Maxie groaned irritably. "Sorry," Bryan apologized. "I'm just really tired right now."
"Mmhmm. Wait." She turned her body so that her stomach and chest were facing the ceiling. "What do you mean?"
Bryan shrugged. "I still have something to fight for. The honor of the dead, the protection of the living. This war isn't over...despite what some quitters might think." He said that with a little more spite than he had intended, and immediately regretted his tone of voice.
Maxie must have heard the contempt, and made a noise that sounded like a disgruntled growl, in her throat. "Shut up. I haven't quit yet. I'm still thinking about it."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That came out the wrong way. I didn't mean to be so...well, angry. Because I'm not. It's your choice. Take all the time you need to think about it." For some reason, he found himself staring at the opposite wall.
The bed sheets rustled as Maxie pushed herself up, slowly coming out of the covers until only her legs were still under them. As silence gripped the bedroom, she reached over to the nightstand behind her and glanced at the clock she had there. Upon seeing the time on it, she pulled herself more out, until only her feet were under the covers. "Oh my God. Maybe I am sleeping way too much." She let go of the clock and turned her head back to Bryan, and a smile made its way onto her face.
Bryan returned the same smile, only his was still in tired-mode. "Well, we haven't seen much of you in the past two weeks, what with you being in here all the time. So, yeah, I guess you could say you've been sleeping way too much lately."
Maxie's expression went neutral again, and she let herself fall sideways, curling up her body into a smaller shape than before, onto her pillow. Again, she closed her eyes, resting. "I need it though."
Her friend raised an eyebrow at her, the darkness having shrouded her face so that he couldn't tell where here eyes were anymore. At that moment, the image of her as a Commander came back to him again, and would have gone straight to thinking about Emilie's trial until he stopped himself by asking Maxie a question. "Not to bring the whole quitting thing up again, but can I tell you something?" Why haven't I told you this yet?
She took a long time before answering. "Sure."
How should I say this? He thought, trying to think of a way to start. "Congratulations, you may get a Commander's job on the Liberty"..."Guess what, I got you a job on the Liberty"... "I gotcha a job. On the Liberty. With Emilie Rodenski, once she gets off the hook for her supposed crimes. She'll be your...ruler, as it were." He looked over at her with truly happy eyes, smiling in support, though it was still a tired smile.
He remained like this as she lifted her head from the very edge of the pillow to stare at him. "You got me a job?" From what he could see of her face, she looked very confused. "As what?"
Bryan snickered. "'As what?' he repeated. "Whaddaya mean 'as what?' A Commander, that's 'what.'"
"Oh," she said, disappointment sticking out like a sore thumb. She set her head back down. "Why?"
Bryan hesitated. "Well because I wanted you to have it, because you weren't thinking of quitting when I told Emilie about it. I told her you'd be a great Commander, a good asset; you had a—have a good, thinking mind; you're creative, a powerful but friendly leader...ummm...a damn good pilot. Yes, you're experience with command is a bit lacking compared to other pilots, but I told her you had a—God, excuse me—have a lot of potential and drive and just..." he couldn't think of anything. Almost all of the things he'd listed he hadn't said to Emilie at all, but his strategy was to try and cheer Maxie up with compliments. He shrugged and continued, Maxie remaining silent. "It's the Liberty, I mean...the flagship of the fleet. Not a job that's open very much," Bryan finished with s slight(but tired) laugh.
"Aww, thanks. Why me, though? I'm still a Colonel."
"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. You're a good leader, and a good Colonel. I know that better than anybody. You'd make a fine Commander, a...a perfect match for Emilie on the Liberty."
"Hmm," she hummed as she lay her head back down again. "Thanks."
"Welcome." He yawned, then hesitated a couple of times before asking, "Are you gonna take it if you can?"
Maxie frowned, eyes closed. "I don't know. Maybe. How about I decide whether or not I'm still in the Alliance? Let me do that first."
Bryan held his hands in surrender, though they only got to his waste before his strength began to bend. "All right, okay. Like I said, it's your choice. I'm only tryin to help. I mean..."
"I know. I'm just...tired."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell ya this sooner—I asked Emilie two weeks ago and she said she'd think about it—I just didn't want to put any more pressure on you because you seemed really sad, and already pressured, and out of it..." He stared at her sympathetically. "Sorry if that's what I'm doing now with telling you this."
"No, it's all right." She finally twisted her body around and sat up. "Maybe I'll stick around if I can get that job."
Bryan's expression brightened at that. "Please do."
"No promises though."
He nodded and yawned again, feeling almost overpowered by his exhaustion. "Understandable."
She noticed this and grinned at it. "I think you're the one that needs the sleep around here," she commented, changing the subject.
Bryan chuckled humorously. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' about resting here for a while." He watched her calmly sink into her left shoulder, and before he knew it, she was resting her weary head on his bony but apparently comfortable shoulder. "Just got back from another funeral. Guy who was...a tactician...on the Maria."
"Oh..."
"Good man from what I saw. Three medals...honorable mention by Admiral Harrison...gooooood guy."
"Mmhmm..."
He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "Have you been to any of the individual ones yet?" Or have you been up here the entire time, he almost said next.
She shook her head as best she could. "No, not really. I went to Dassa's but that was it."
"Oh yeah. Hmm..."
She lifted her head up and then slouched her upper body, bracing herself on her knees.
Almost simultaneously, Bryan laid back, almost going flat until the back of his head reached the wall and propped up against it. He yawned big again and closed his eyes. They cheered to his tired head, relieved to be closed at last.
He lay there in peace for a while, resting, only feeling slightly uncomfortable by the position his body was in. A few seconds into his rest, he heard the covers rustle again, and then felt Maxie's soft hand press against his forehead. It warmed his forehead greatly, and for a moment Bryan thought he was running a fever. Opening his eyes, he didn't need to look up to see her thumb close above in his vision. "What?" he asked groggily.
She kept her hand there for a few seconds then took it off. The two locked eyes. "You looked a little hot," she answered. "Just showing some concern."
Bryan grinned playfully. "You? Showing concern? You're kidding, right Maxie?" He teased.
She turned her head sideways and stared at him like a hawk. Nothing came out of her mouth, she just glared at him.
Shit. Wrong thing to say. God, you're bad at that Bryan. "I'm sorry," he apologized quickly, rising from his laid back position, a jolt which awakened his body a little more.
"That wasn't funny at all," she spat wearily.
"I know I know—!" he sat urgently, scooting forward a little more.
"Especially—"
He now sat next to her, and started to massage her shoulders to try and sooth her and calm her down a bit.
"—after what happened," she finished, tone still sharp and spiteful. But she didn't shrug his hands off her shoulders. Apparently she liked it. "That's very mean."
"I know I know, and I'm sorry. I was just kidding. You're a very caring person and I appreciated your concern."
"Its not funny."
"I know Maxie—"
"You joke around too much," she said on-purposely.
Bryan's heart sank, feeling defeated, or maybe that was his exhaustion. "Sorry," was all he could say, just continuing to massage her shoulders.
"You know..." she started shaking her head. "You better not say anything like that when your on the stand. You're testifying, right?"
"At Emilie's trial? Yeah. And believe—"
"Well you better not say anything like 'her, showing concern? Oh, just kidding, your honor' or something like that."
Bryan spiked anger for a moment, but it died quickly. "I won't. I'm gonna go up there and tell 'em the truth, straight out. Everything—honorable girl—sorry, woman. I'm tired—very good Admiral, good leader, smart, always knows the battlefield pretty well...everything good I can say about her, I will."
"Yeah, well I read the letter you sent to that Congress Board people in the Net newsletter this morning—"
So you did get up? He joked in his mind.
"—and its just you sounded...like...it sounded like you, honestly, didn't care that 216,000 people died...in the–in the battle, and—"
Bryan stopped massaging, frowning. "Excuse me?"
"—no, no!—and I know you–you do care but—"
"—you're damn right I do—" Bryan mumbled, resuming the massage
"—I'm just saying in the letter you sound all 'well she did this right and this right, and yes she sacrificed a thousand people'—or '216,000' people—'but at least she didn't break any protocols at all.' I mean, you know what I'm saying here, like—?"
"Hey! Do you think this attack was her fault?"
"No, Bryan!" she exclaimed, her voice now returning to its original high tone. "I'm just saying that it sounds—mean, like you're trying to say that this is all Congress's fault—"
Bryan pulled his hands down and glared at her, slowly starting to wake up again. "It is all Congress's fault! Emilie had nothing to do with what went wrong. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, she's not to blame for what happened out there!"
Maxie huffed some air and turned to face him more. "I know, but..." her body sank as she tried to think of something.
"But what?"
"But...blaming Congress for everything isn't the right thing to do. It's just as bad as blaming Admiral Rodenski for everything. I think Congress can burn in hell; honestly, I do, but we still need them."
Bryan screwed up his face. What? He knew the Alliance still needed them, but it still sounded strange after everything they had done so far as a governing body that he didn't approve of.
"Congress gets us support," Maxie continued. "All kinds of support; public support, financial support. They're our number one support people. They get the Alliance what it needs no matter what the cost."
Therein lies the problem with them, Bryan thought.
"The military isn't as strong. We can't stand up to the Empire as a whole and win. You and I both know that. We can't gain enough support from just our military."
True.
"We rely on Congress to get the support we need, to get planets to join our Alliance. That's what we need! And if Congress looks bad, so does the Alliance, and there goes our support. Bryan, if people listen to you,—and they might, you are Commander of all the Alliance starfighters and you were out there during that—they might look at Congress badly, and we could lose a helluva a lot of support because of you." She stared at him contently, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also trying to get her point across. "No offense, but be careful when you testify and when you show your support for Emilie—Admiral Rodenski. Tell the truth but don't attack Congress."
They were both wide awake now as they stared at each other, adrenaline pumping through Bryan's body, and Maxie breathing evenly. The sun had brightened some outside, casting a mightier glow behind the curtain, and brightly lighting up the floor near the open door.
Finally, it was Bryan that gave into her. He looked down at the sunlight on the floor and sighed deeply. Then, glancing back at her content face through the corner of his eye, he said "Ya see, that's why I want you to take that job on the Liberty. 'Cause you're smart. A good thinker."
They exchanged smiles.
Bryan continued. "So that's what you've really been doing up here all this time, isn't it? Thinking about all that."
Maxie beamed and chuckled. "Yup. Everyday this week. Just sleepin' and thinkin.' You know me; like you said, I'm a thinker."
"But of course," Bryan responded in a French accent. Then, in his regular voice, he said: "And I won't attack Congress I promise, no matter how angry they make me."
"You better not. Remember, we need them; they get support."
"I know, I know. They just piss me off sometimes."
"Oh yeah. Like I said, they kin...burn in hell for all I care." She looked over at the curtain and yawned. "We just need them."
"Haha."
"So!" Maxie said with new energy. "You awake now?" She asked, then breaking into a laugh.
Bryan chuckled with her. "Yeah, I pretty much am by now. Good conversation we just had."
"Yeah." She got up and stretched her arms, her entire body stretching after. "Want me to make you something?" she offered.
Bryan blinked in total surprise. "Wait, what? Did you just offer to make me something?"
"Um, yeah."
"To eat?"
She finished her stretch and looked down at him subjectively. "Yeeeah."
He could nothing but stare at her, smiling with a mix of suspicion and humor.
"What, I'm just offering. Are you hungry? You want something?"
"Uh, suuuure," Bryan said vigilantly.
Maxie locked her eyes on him, seeming frozen, with a puzzled smile. "What?"
"Uhnothing, it's just...funny. You've never really offered to make me something before. We uuusually have to—me and the twins of course—beg and plead for you to just to...like...pass us a book or something sometimes."
Maxie shrugged. "Okay. Do you want me to or not?"
"Oh yes, sure, if you want."
She rolled her eyes and started out the door.
An idea popped into Bryan's head, and he leapt up from the bed as she passed him, holding up his index finger. "But I have to make something for yyyou, also."
Maxie stopped and stared. "You're going to cook?"
He snickered in response. "No, just make food. It isn't that hard."
She grinned, then started laughing as she walked out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. Bryan followed, confused as to what she was laughing at. "What?"
"'No, just make food,'" she mocked. "That sounds strange coming out of you, Mr. King of the peanut-better-and-jelly-sandwiches."
He broke into a smile. "Hey, don't tease me—"
"—Dork."
"Hey!"