Story 06 / Collection 3: Love shenanigans

Stay calm and keep breathing.

After the memorial for the fallen in the battles against the Desert Tiger, the majority of the Archangel crew went back to drinking. Arnold was the only person on duty in the bridge—for just-in-case purposes only, since the biggest threat in the area had been eliminated already—and was about to wrap up his shift.

The door opened, and he knew it was Chandra coming to relieve him.

"Oi, Neumann," he spoke a bit too casually, and Arnold guessed he probably had a fair bit to drink. "Lieutenant Commander Fllaga asked me to tell you to go find him after your shift. He's in the resistance's briefing room with the captain and the lieutenant."

"Alright," he took note, giving Chandra a quick pat on the shoulder as he passed by him and exited the bridge, immediately making his way to the briefing room.

There was no door to the area and he heard the loud chatter inside from a good distance away. He contemplated if there was an equivalent of knocking, and decided to make the occupants aware of his presence before entering.

"Excuse me, lieutenant commander," he called for the man while taking a peek inside.

"Neumann! Come in."

Arnold moved into the space as told, and what he saw was not quite what he had expected. He thought he was asked to come here for something to do with work, but the scene in front of him looked more like the aftermath of a drinking party.

There were bottles of liquor—both half-full and empty—lying around, and by the containers they looked home brewed, so there was no guessing how strong they could be. There were more than just a few mugs scattered across the table in the middle, and Arnold suspected there had been more people in the room at one point. Murrue, with her flushed face and merry laughter, cheered with the leader of the resistance and gulped down another drink.

He stood corrected—it was still in the middle of a drinking party.

Now, where was she?

He looked over to Mwu, who was standing on the other side of the table, holding a mug in one hand and making a gesture with his other, directing Arnold's attention to the person who sat next to him, her arms crossed and laid on top of the table as a pillow where she buried her own head.

Arnold took a second to process the situation, then walked over to their side of the table.

"I was going to offer you something to drink, but I don't think it's a good idea to risk getting the rescue caught in the line of fire." Mwu made another gesture towards the captain with the implication that this was her doing.

"Ensign Neumann," as if on cue, Murrue called him in a tone that was way too cheerful. "Come join us!"

"No can do, captain. He's on an errand," Mwu quickly interjected, before turning back to Arnold. "I can only handle either one of them. Take your pick."

Arnold looked downwards at Natarle; even with all this noise, she did not stir once.

Mwu leaned closer, continuing in a hushed tone, "But please choose the lieutenant. She's less likely to bite if it's you."

Arnold rolled his eyes at Mwu. There were different types of drunk—subject to different ways of drinking—and in this specific circumstance Natarle was clearly the sleepy type. If Mwu thought even in such a state Natarle would have the cognition to determine he was not trustworthy, then he really ought to be reflecting on himself. That being said, Arnold guessed there was also another agenda involving the captain behind his request.

"Did she have a lot to drink?" He asked while assessing his next steps.

"Nope, just one mug, and she didn't even finish it. But this stuff is very strong."

He nodded to Mwu as a show of acknowledgement, then knelt down beside Natarle. He patted her shoulder gently, and spoke into her ear in a feather-light volume, "Lieutenant, let me escort you back to your room."

His voice had an immediate effect on her.

She shifted slowly while turning her head towards him—her face was an unusual bright red colour—and she struggled a bit to open her eyes. When she did manage, it was first a searching look as though her mind was processing the view in front of her, then they locked onto him with a plea.

Those were eyes that asked him to take her home.

"Are you able to stand?" He asked with as steady of a voice as he could muster, doing his best to ignore the increasing speed of his heartbeat while maintaining a facade of professionalism. There was a lot he had to balance, and it was imperative that he stayed focused.

She mumbled a faint 'yes', then started pushing herself up from the table. He gave her one arm to use as leverage, and his other hovered around her—not touching her, but close enough to steady her anytime she needed it. She accepted all the support he gave wordlessly, relying completely on him to give her bearing.

"We'll be leaving then, lieutenant commander," Arnold dropped Mwu a last word before departure, and caught the blond's shocked face that seemed to ask the question, 'That's all it takes?'

Arnold responded in his mind, in the safety of his own thoughts, 'Only if you're me.'

o-o-o

As soon as they were in Natarle's room, she dived for her bed and attempted to lie down, just for Arnold to grab onto her and keep her sitting upright.

She would hate herself in the morning if she went straight to sleep now, but if he made her switch between lying down and sitting up as he worked through the list of things she needed to do, she would only feel more dizzy and sick.

Slowly and gently, he relocated her to the side of the bed where she could lean onto its frame. "I'll be back very quickly. Natarle, don't lie down, and please don't fall asleep."

She made a 'hmmm' sound without ever opening her eyes, and he knew he had to move fast.

He brought back a large glass of water and held it to her lips. "Drink up."

She took one sip and wanted to stop, so he kept the glass in place and told her, "All of it. You'll have a headache tomorrow if you don't."

After she drank the glass compliantly, he placed the glass aside and swapped it with the cotton pads he prepared, asking, "Do you want to take your makeup off?"

She managed half of a nod, so he handed her the pad, but she did a lousy job at it and missed quite a few spots. He lightly pulled the cotton pad out of her grasp and wiped off the remainder for her, quietly pitying her for how stubbornly the redness of her face persisted.

Something did not feel right—it was in the way she breathed through her mouth, face completely flushed, looking at him with bleary eyes—that made him feel like he was veering too close to danger. A voice in his mind warned him to stop thinking about it.

He distracted himself by moving away from her, kneeling down on the floor to take off her shoes. He pulled one off and was proceeding to the other when he felt fingers slide into his hair, grazing his scalp like a soft brush, sending an electrifying jolt throughout his body.

"Why is your hair blue?" The tone that came from above his head sounded unfamiliar—it was much gentler and smoother than usual, filled with an unguarded child-like curiosity he had never heard before.

The voice of reasoning in his mind gave way to blaring sirens.

He decided it was better for him to not look upwards. He half-assed an answer, preferring to focus his energy on staying sane. "I don't know. Must be something in my genes."

He plopped the remaining shoe onto the floor and moved to sit back onto the bed, this time a little further away from her than before. And he was stuck on how to handle his next task.

It would not be comfortable for her to sleep in her jacket, but he felt it was too risky to help her take it off—he did not want her to get the wrong idea that he was taking advantage of her, regardless of whether she would still remember by the morning.

"Natarle, you'll have to take your jacket off yourself."

And then he watched her fumble with the zipper for a full minute.

She let out a frustrated noise that made her sound like a petulant child, and demanded, "Help me."

Well. How about someone help him?

"Are you sure?" He asked, and prayed that the answer was a 'no'.

But instead, disappointment filled her eyes. "You don't want to?"

That was a question he would have died to hear in a different context.

'She's talking about the jacket. She's talking about the jacket. She's talking about the jacket.'

He occupied his mind with the thought, repeating it over and over again to numb himself as he gingerly unzipped her jacket for her. He was acutely aware of her stare on his face—which he tried to ignore as he reached around her to pull her jacket off of her from behind—and once her face was outside his field of vision, he heard a complacent sigh slip through her lips, warming his ears.

He really wanted to ask her if she knew what she was doing, because all she was doing was making this so much harder than it needed to be.

His skin was still tingling from the impulses he was trying to keep a leash on, when she leaned forward and buried her head into his shoulder. He felt the lightest sweep of something soft—possibly her lips—against his cheek. It may or may not have been a kiss.

"I like your face. I like it very much."

Good God! Was she trying to murder him?

The sensible thing to do was to leave this room as soon as possible. Even if he did not want to.

"Natarle, get some sleep now," he held her with his hands supporting her back and gently eased her downwards into the bed, mindful not to hold on too tightly for the fear that he could not bring himself to let go.

Wait. Why were her arms around him?

The way she hugged him was different from usual, pulling him in like she was cuddling a giant teddy bear. "Good night," her words came out slurry as she drifted off immediately into deep sleep.

There was no way he could extract himself out of her grip now.

His heart was beating like a speed train running on bumpy tracks.

After all this time of him fighting to stay calm and keep a clear head, being so close to escaping this entrapment, only to be caught and tied down in the last stretch—if only she knew the battles he was fighting within himself.

He finally let out the tired, heavy sigh he had been holding back the whole evening, but even so, it was a painfully measured one, careful not to disturb her sleep.

It was going to be a long, long night that he alone would have to suffer, and she probably would not remember a single thing when she woke up.

Side story: The time traveller

Arnold woke to a yelp and hustling next to him, and jerked awake to see Natarle sporting a horrified expression on her face.

His heart dropped and he searched through the memories of last night for the worst that could have happened.

'Wait, we're both fully clothed, so why is she panicking?'

She would not look at him, instead hid her face in her hands.

"Natarle," he spoke calmly, not to further agitate her. "Nothing happened, I promise. I just took off your shoes and jacket, and you fell asleep right after that."

Seriously, if he were to finally take that step with her, he would make sure she remembered every single second of it.

"It's not that!" Her muffled words slipped through her fingers in an anxious tone.

There was a long period of silence, and Arnold was not sure if by saying more he could convince her or would only make her more suspicious. But before he was able to say anything further, she asked in a timid, almost inaudible tone, "Did I do anything embarrassing?"

Embarrassing? No. Provocative? Practically non-stop.

"What's the last thing you remember from last night?"

She thought for a moment. "Going back to the briefing room after the memorial, and drinking with the captain. I think she was on her third mug. I felt drowsy and sat down to rest. That's it."

Disgust filled her last two words as though she had just watched a low budget horror movie.

Arnold did a quick time check; the memorial ended at around eight last night, and it was eight thirty in the morning right now.

She came to the same conclusion. "I skipped twelve whole hours."

Arnold knew it was not the time to make fun of her, but the way her eyes widened—confused, disbelieving, and definitely ashamed—was much too adorable.

"Congratulations on discovering time travel."

She went red, and he wondered if it was from embarrassment or anger, or both at the same time.

She held onto him by his jacket and insisted on an answer, "What did I do? Tell me!"

The tone was peculiar; it was harsh, but also sounded like a plea, and there was a very thin veil of moisture in her eyes.

Was Miss Time Traveller launching her second wave of attacks at him first thing in the morning, when he just woke up and was completely unprepared?

Would Miss Time Traveller happen to also know how to pause time, so he could savour this moment for a while longer?

He rubbed his hand against her arm to comfort her. "Nothing you'd regret, so don't worry."

The tension in her eased a little, and she asked her next question with a touch less impatience, but more concern. "Did I give you a lot of trouble?"

Arnold leaned forward to plant a light kiss on her forehead. "It wasn't trouble. You did put me in a very tight spot, but I enjoyed every second of it."

He laughed as he watched her get sent back into a state of mortified anxiety.

[Prompt title 4: ため息 / A Sigh]

Author's note

Why oh why is Arnold's hair blue~? If I remember correctly, he's the only natural with unnatural hair colour? Unless you count the druggies, but do they count?