See How I Soar

[Oh great.]

It’s been a while.

[But seeing as there was no medic around, and Lincoln didn’t know where the hell to find one—maybe they were on break, who knew—he pulled up a chair, and went to find basic supplies. Once he’d gotten his hands on some disinfectant and gauze, he returned, seating himself in front of Nashville.

Taking Nashville’s hand, Lincoln turned it palm-up to study it. Under better lighting, it was obvious that it wouldn’t need stitches, thankfully.]

Lucky for you, I’m not going to have to do stitches. I’m just going to clean it up, and then we’ll wrap it, alright?

It was nice, was all. To have some kind of connection. Who didn't like that? It didn't mean anything except that human beings were wired to crave touch. And Lincoln was definitely someone worth craving.] 

Well, then you can think of this as field training.

[Nashville grinned, reaching over to take the disinfectant and sterilization pad.] 

Part of the pilot thing. Have to keep up on my emergency first aid. 

You know, I can do this myself. If you'd rather.

[With a quiet smile, Nashville held up the pad, eyebrow arched inquisitively.] 

So, other than discovering my secret, clumsy side, how are you adjusting to the ship? 

Did you, uh. Did you get one of those robot people in your head?

[Yeah. Definitely a relentless fucking flirt.]

Yeah, for an American. [There’s a note of humor in Lincoln’s voice. His sense of humor, when it makes an appearance, is so dry that he often has problems with people not understanding that he’s joking at all.] Sorry. Should I have said ‘for a white guy’?

[Dry, but not truly mocking. Lincoln isn’t overly given to truly insulting people, not when there’s no higher purpose to it. Not when there’s no gain.

And thankfully for him, they’d just arrived at the med bay. Lincoln didn’t particularly want to talk further about how Nashville found him good looking. It wasn’t because Lincoln thought he was ugly, he was just … plain, he figured. Sounded weird getting called attractive.]

He couldn't put his finger on it. Just... A dry, quiet kind of confidence that made Nashville want to stick around. To try and elicit more of those jokes, to hear that laugh again.] 

I know there's a medic, I'm just not sure if she keeps office hours for minor scratches.

[He gave Lincoln a little grin, nudging his elbow against Lincoln's arm. Yes, yes, he knew, better safe than sorry. But come on. When was the last time anyone had given enough of a shit about him to worry that he'd cut his hand? Nothing was falling off, he wasn't in danger of dying, and that was pretty much the minimum needed for concern.

But here was Lincoln, walking him to the damn medic for nothing more than a cut.

Who did that?] 

But I'm guessing we'll find out.

[The room was empty; Nash hopped up onto one of the beds, legs kicking absently.] 

How's your first aid, Lance?

My name is Dover.

[He had half the mind to just go back to his room. The dinner was beginning to seem like a completely terrible and altogether poor decision on everyone’s behalf. Besides, Nashville seemed to be having quite some fun, even in the rest of Alpha’s absence. Dover wasn’t too bright, that he had come to terms with, but he was smart enough to know that if his absence made no difference, neither would his presence. But he found himself sitting down anyways, not hungry at all, but deciding that forcing himself into the situation was likely to produce some kind of beneficial result. Hopefully.]

Did we not bond enough when you tried to jump my bones a week ago?

Dover. And you must be Nashville. I hope I’m not too late for this…party.

[Nashville gave him a wink, moving over to the table. Leaning over Dover, possibly closer than was strictly necessary, Nashville put out the bowl of cheese. Last piece to the puzzle. And now it was all set.

He just needed his team.

Taking a seat next to Dover, Nashville gave him a look, eyebrow arched.] 

Is that what you think happened?

Trust me, Dover. If I tried to get into your pants, I would already know how you like your eggs.

And yeah, I'm Nashville.

[He grinned at Candice, gesturing to the empty chairs.] 

Take a seat. Do you want something to drink? 

Alas, there was not grilled cheese. Only spaghetti. What a damn time to be alive. Dover just looked around a bit awkwardly, feeling somewhat incomplete and incapable without Leo by his side. Leo always knew what to say. Dover did not.]

Is dinner really the only excuse you could manage for a meeting?

Look at that. Pep has arrived.

Take a seat. Nothing formal, just some pasta. You want something to drink?

[He nudged out one of the chairs closest to the stove for Dover, going back to his cheese.] 

Meeting? Oh, man, no. I'm not, like, a leader or any of that shit.

I just figured that before gunfire starts we should get to know each other. That okay with you, Pep?

[Oh the doorway of every Alpha team member’s room, as well as posted at several places in the Restoration Bay for the A.I.s, was an invitation. Nashville felt he’d gone far too long without actually sitting down and getting to know his fellow team members. After all, trusting someone in battle started with sharing a meal.] 

[Well, one thing was fucking clear.

Nashville was a flirt of the highest goddamn degree. He flirted like he had absolutely no doubt that he’d get what he wanted. Typical pilot. Lincoln had been around pilots, and they all had that cocky, confident attitude—them and snipers, peas in a pod.

But Lincoln wasn’t here to get into a relationship, no matter how good Nashville was at flirting.]

Yeah, you pronounced it just fine. [Lincoln makes a noise—it’s a laugh, but it sounds more like a very quick cross between a snort and a grunt. It’s about the closest he comes to a belly-laugh these days.] For an American.

[Honestly, Lincoln doesn’t know what the fuck to do, being flirted with. It’s been a long time, even longer since he flirted back with anybody. And really, he shouldn’t even be thinking about trying. He had shit to do.]

Soldiers weren't typically the boisterous types, especially not when you got higher up in the ranks, when you were around men and women who'd seen that much blood. That much destruction. The laughs got shorter, the smiles more sparse, as if they were afraid to attract too much attention to them. As if the gods on high the whatever would come down and smite them for daring to be happy while trapped in hell.

As if their lips had forgotten uses other than screams and shouted commands.] 

Oh, for an American. I see how it is.

[He was laughing back, smiling up at Lincoln. This was...

This was nice. Too many people on this boat were overly serious. The war effort was apparently not enough, they had to be dour in order to make it really hit home.] 

I'm tougher than I look, Lance. Might surprise you.

"I-it’s, um, it’s f-f-fine," he said, trying to recover both control over his breathing and grasp of his own voice. "I j-just, ah…it was my f-fault. No. I m-mean, I didn’t mean t-to - "

Swallowing, Charleston risked a glance at Nashville. The man was still smiling, trying to make things better. Charleston almost wished he wouldn’t.

"I, ah, I l-like you, but I’m w-w-with Dover, a-and I don’t want t-to - I j-just want friends, o-okay, I mean, even though - i-if you really want to be frrriends, I m-mean - "

It was like he was back in high school again, grasping at straws to say one thing. It was stupid, and all he could think back to was Nashville questioning his ability to communicate over the stupid radio - he felt like he was failing some unspoken test. He quickly shut his eyes and went through a quick breathing exercise. That was something the old Charleston did, the weak one, but it wasn’t that easy to shed his old identity, he supposed.

"I’m s-sorry," he apologized again, swallowing and looking back at Nashville after a moment. Charleston stood his ground, neither approaching nor distancing himself from Nashville further. "I’ve, um, I’ve not been f-feeling great this week."

Honestly, Nashville couldn't remember the last time he'd come across a man in a relationship in the active troops. It wasn't something that happened. Maybe the more death you saw the more you realized how utterly pointless it was, to try and connect. To attempt to make more out of what time they had. 

When the entire world was burning to ash around you, why try to hold on to the dust? Everything would slip through your hands regardless of what you did. The only thing that could last were the good moments you created out of the shitstorm.

"Come on." Nashville took a few steps forward, hand going out to grasp Charleston's arm. He thought better of the motion, though, before it was completed and he let it fall away. "Look, I don't know you that well, so maybe I'm way off base. But you kind of look to me like you need...something. To talk to someone, or to punch somebody in the face, I don't know."

Nashville wasn't really one for deep and abiding friendships. There wasn't a point in it. But that didn't mean he didn't care. And if one of the guys he'd be flying into a fight, someone he'd trust with watching his back, needed help? Nashville was going to do what he could.

Dover was an asshole. A gorgeous asshole, but still. Not really the type of person Nashville imagined someone like Charleston getting all doe-eyed over.

Also, totally not his business.