one_man_army | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's gotten very good at navigating through the reading system on her flatscreen, the last few days, between looking for doors back to the bar - and he's even practiced his art skills a bit, too. (There are various sketches of her room stacked neatly on her desk, more practical than artistic in nature, but it's something.)

When she gets back from her shift, she'll find him on the floor.

(Doing crunches. He's been doing a lot of PT the entire time he's been here, if only to distract himself from the cabin fever that's starting to set in and the boredom that creeps up when she's out flying.)

He was also grateful that his iPod was in the bag he packed, even if it means that he doesn't hear her come in the room because of the earbuds drowning everything else out.

(If he closes his eyes, he's not stuck on a moonbase in the future with what is looking like a dwindling chance of ever getting home again.)

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"Hey," she says, when he doesn't give sign of knowing she's there. Hopefully it's loud enough, otherwise she might have to kick his feet - and he's got an edge to him that she'd rather not provoke before his brain caught up to his training.

His eyes snap open and he pauses on the up of a crunch, holding himself up off the floor.

"Hey."

With one hand, he tugs the earbuds out, before dropping flat on his back.

Trudy quickly unbuttons her top (base uniform today, not the flightsuit) and pulls her singlet out from her top. The boots can wait to be kicked off, and so she goes to sit next to him on the floor.

"Take it Milliways still hasn't turned up," she says, starting to pull the pins out from her bun.

"Not yet," he says. "I figured we could try to talk your bathroom into it once you got back."

"Sounds like a plan." She leans over, though, and lightly kisses him.

"It might respond better if it's outnumbered," he mutters against her lips, mouth curving into a hint of a smile. "Good day?"

(She's here, she's not in the infirmary, and she's not in tears or swearing.)

"It'll do," she says, not pulling back. "Only felt like shooting a couple'a folk."

He winds one arm around her neck.

"That's an improvement."

He doesn't pull back either.

Well, it's only sensible for her to move and shift so she's actually lying next to him - makes the angle easier.

"Finish readin' my library yet?"

"'Bout halfway through."

This would be a lot more comfortable on the bed or on the couch, but at this moment in time, he doesn't really care.

He's getting soft in his old age, clearly.

"Getting sick of airships and swords?"

That whole Star Wars thing? Not exactly a fluke - she's a geek at heart, really.

"My eyes were getting tired."

And he was also getting tired of sitting still, hence the crunches.

Carl shifts a little, rolling onto his side. The angle is even better, this way.

Given the way she slides her leg up his, and hooks it around him to pull him closer, she agrees.

"Yeah, it's a bitch like that," she mutters.

One of his hands settles against her side, just above the curve of her hip, fingers slipping under the singlet.

"You've got a good selection, though."

Trudy laughs a little. "Hard won, too."

"To the victor go the spoils."

"Damn straight they do," she says, tilting her head a little to kiss his jaw.

"...do you want to try the door now, or think it can wait?"

Carl debates this for a moment.

"We shouldn't put it off," he finally says. "But I think it can wait just a few moments longer."

It's an acceptable compromise!

There are, Trudy thinks, advantages to having him around like this.

There are advantages to being around, for both of them.

After some time:

"We should probably try the door again."

Because if not, then she's going to have to ask her CO about getting Carl an ID.

And won't that be fun.

It's enough for her to untangle herself and get to her feet.

"Okay," she says, and reaches for the door-pad. "Please freaking work..."

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