jeriendhal | Fic: Altered Trajectory, cont.

“Rufus,” Hazel called again, her artificial claws tapping on the deck as she chased after him down the corridor. “Would you kindly slow down?” She reached out and grabbed his flesh and blood left arm.

He stopped. It was either that or let her claws tear through a perfectly good tunic sleeve. “Hazel, forgive me. I don’t particularly want company right now.”

“You don’t want it. You’re getting it.”

“No.” He turned to glare at her.

“You think you’re the first person in the universe to be grounded, milord?” she asked, he eyes locked onto his. “If you’ve got the same thoughts going through your head right now that I once did, you don’t want to be left alone. You think you want to but you don’t.”

He lowered his eyes, and he felt her grip on his arm relax slightly. “Speaking from experience?”

“Too much experience. Try getting told you’re being discharged ahead of a court martial while you’re still coming down off your last injection.”

“What happened?”

“My squadron mates weren’t stupid. They followed me back to the pilots’ quarters and basically sat on me for the next twelve hours until I’d dried out and had a good cry.”

“What would you have done if they hadn’t?”

“I’m not quite sure. And sometimes that Not Sure kept me awake for more nights than I care to think about.”

“Right.” So she followed him back to his cabin and took the small stateroom’s only station chair while he sat on the bunk and tried not to think about the injector that he no longer hid under the pillow or any other pillow he’d owned for nearly a year now. “What now?” he asked.

She straddled the chair and rested her arms on the back. “We talk. Or do something besides talking.”

“No mercy fucks please,” he begged. “I’d rather not think I’m that pitiable.”

She shook her head in agreement. “I’ve got a grass chaser plushie named Henry back in my quarters, if you need something to cry into.”

“Don’t feel like crying either.”

“What do you feel?”

“I don’t know. I should be angry. Was angry. Except I shouldn’t be because…”

“I pulled a rotten trick on you, bringing up my own grounding,” she told him, interrupting his confused thoughts. “Just because I hurt doesn’t mean you don’t hurt as badly, or worse. I’ve at least got a shot at convincing people I’m clean.”

He flopped back onto the bunk and stared up at the ceiling light. “I don’t know how I’m going to fight this. The drugs became a matter of will. “Today I choose not to do this,” can be a powerful mantra, if you repeat it often enough. But this… How do I fight my own head breaking down?”

“Look, you threw up. Lots of people throw up in zero-g.”

“Not vulpines. That why the Dominion always wanted us to be pilots.”

“Okay, so learn how to fly like people who aren’t vulpines do. They do teach us IFR navigation in flight school for a reason.”

“Have you ever met a vulpine who actually used it? It’s instinctual for us. Blindfold a vulpine and toss him headfirst into a zero-g chamber and he’ll be able to right himself towards what was designated as the floor in a few seconds. I don’t know if I can fly with instruments. Not well enough to stay alive in combat at least.”

“Humans and others do it.”

He didn’t really have a proper retort for that, so he just stared up at the ceiling some more until Hazel poked at his side. “Talk,” she ordered. “What’s on your mind?”

“You said I didn’t have to talk,” he pointed out.

“I reserve the right to be inconsistent. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking it’s going to be a bit difficult playing a mercenary pilot if I can’t actually fly.”

“So? You can be a mercenary co-pilot. I could always use a Weapons System Officer in my crate. Besides, what we’re supposed to be doing is information gathering. You’re much better at charming people than I am. I’ll get us there, you do the rest.”

“Hmm, that’s a possibility I suppose,” he agreed reluctantly. WSO’s job descriptions were rather dependant on keeping an eye on the instruments rather than the view out the cockpit, so he should be able to do it without any further accidents, especially if he avoided eating beforehand. “I take exception to being called charming though. I think I’ve come to think of it as just another form of lying.”

Hazel stood up from the chair and sat beside him on the bunk. “I like Charming Rufus.” She was sitting at his shoulder, her tail curling across his pillow and over his head. He could feel the heat of her body warming his face. “He’s very pleasant and always makes me feel like the center of his world.”

“That’s because you are.”

She smiled down at him, then neatly reached over and pressed the disconnect latch on his arm. It popped loose and powered down as she set it on the station chair.

“Hey, I need that!” Rufus told her.

“No, you don’t,” she said, straddling his chest.

“I told you I didn’t want a mercy fuck.”

“Who said I was going to give you any mercy?” Hazel asked, pinning his good arm over his head.

After that arguing was a bit difficult, so he didn’t bother.

TBC