suicidemission | (no subject)

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He’d told her nine and abruptly left, fleeing the situation like it was a hive of bees chasing after him. He’d promptly gone back to his room where he’d taken a cold shower, drank a gallon of water to free himself of the warm, lingering buzz that he’d obtained from either the alcohol or her presence (he couldn’t be sure what was truly the cause), then sat on his bed and vented at Max for several hours – Max, who very patiently sat there and listened to all of it.

He didn’t have a lot of input, though.

When Chuck had at least some of his sense back, he takes a proper shower and puts on clean clothes and finds an ancient bottle of cologne stuffed in the bottom drawer of his dresser that, on further inspection, expired about three years ago but still smells okay, and shoves what he’d had on and his previous, soaking wet set into the laundry chute.

He kills more time by walking Max through the ‘Dome and ignores most people that talk to him, allowing only Miss Mori to pet his dogs head before he swings by his old mans room, pawns the animal off on him with barely a word (save for insistent pestering as to her name - Rhoda, it suited her), then doubles back to her room where he raps on the metal twice and waits, hands behind his back, face affixed with the usual, surly look he was so often seen with.

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"I insist. Tomorrow, at seven."

He gives her hips a squeeze.

"I'll come get you, yeah?"

"Okay."

Hell, it's easy enough for her to agree, and it's not like he's asking that much from her.

Shifting again, she slides off his chest so that she's lying beside him, using his shoulder as a pillow so she can look up at the stars.

He easily allows this and he keeps an arm curled around her just...holding her close as he stares up.

He's hit the jackpot lottery and he hadn't even been playing.

This is pretty unexpected for her too, if she's being honest. She certainly hadn't planned for this posting to include fooling around with the youngest current and, arguably, most famous pilot in the whole fleet.

But she's not complaining.

It's a nice night and he managed not to fuck it up somehow. He walks her back to her room and kisses her in front of anyone standing there, long, slow and deep, then saunters back to his room, feeling invincible.

The next day passed slow, but eventually seven rolls around and he shows up outside of her door and taps, a huge basket over one arm.

Chuck seems to take to the idea of wooing her like a duck to water, walking her back to her room like a perfect gentleman and then kissing her like not a perfect gentleman, leaving Rhoda trying to keep down very undignified giggles as he swaggers away. He's such a boy, she has no idea why she's attracted to him.

That's a lie.

The next day is indeed a little slow, but Rhoda immerses herself in her work and before she knows it, it's time to go to dinner. As instructed, she's eschewed her heels for a more sensible pair of flats, and even has the blanket he requested.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"If you're thinking 'is that a basket', then yes." He winks at her and rocks back on his feet a little, brows up.

So he's a little sarcastic, sue him. He's just feeling on top of the world and like he's just won a million dollars. He can be afforded a little leeway.

"I'm thinking 'is that a picnic, smartass."

She folds the blanket over her arm and steps out onto her little 'porch,' sliding her arm through his.

"Right, so where are we going?"

His grin widens and he smirks a little, sliding the basket from his arm to hers and wriggling away so that he can blindfold her.

Yep.

"It's a surprise. That alright?"

She freezes, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

"Are you kidding right now?"

She doesn't stop him, though, just gives him an incredibly skeptical look as he ties the blindfold around her head.

He ties it tight, making sure she can't see before coming back to her side and taking the basket, a hand touching her elbow to guide her.

"Not kidding. It seem like I'm kidding?"

She grabs his hand and hold it tightly, squeezing his fingers in a tacit warning not to be a dick and take her somewhere to embarrass her. Because then she's going to murder him.

"Right, lead the way, then."

He gives her a squeeze back because Rhoda he is not stupid.

He leads her down the halls and to the maintenance bays, around technicians who looked quizzically at them both but didn't say anything, towards the elevator, up the lift, and directly into Striker's conn-pod.

He's careful with her, telling her to step up once they're inside. Only once the door is shut does he pull off the blindfold, and wait for the reaction.

He better not be fucking stupid. Or she will kill him.

She's glad she's not wearing her heels, because while she's perfectly adept at walking pretty much anywhere in her heels, she'd rather not have to think about that tonight.

She has an inkling about where they're going based on the ambient noise around them and the fact that this seems suspiciously familiar. It doesn't detract from the wonder she feels when he takes her blindfold off.

"...Oh my god."

"That good or bad, doll?"

He's settling the basket down, eyes fixing on her in mild apprehension. He knows, realistically, this isn't really romantic. It's sort of anticlimactic really, but honest to god it's the best thing he could come up with.

"It's just sandwiches," he says, gesturing to the basket. "But they'll be alright, yeah?"

"This is so cool."

Okay, so it's not traditionally romantic, but it's still amazing. There are a few photos of the interior of conn-pods floating around the internet, but almost nobody gets to see them in person.

She just hums distractedly when he talks, too busy wandering around the perimeter, taking everything in.

The reaction gets better and better as the minutes tick by. He's starting to get a sense that's he's done at least alright, and he grins a little as he swipes the blanket and spreads it - Striker hates crumbs - and sets things up.

"I'm uh, not great at romance. But I figure this would do. 'S private, doors locked n all."

She may or may not almost skip over to him, wrapping both hands around his bicep and stretching up to kiss his cheek.

"This is great, Charles."

Chuck doesn't do a lot right in his life - not outside of piloting the Jaeger whose conn-pod they're currently standing in. He's well aware it's what he's best at because it's been (mostly) his personal choice to make it so. He's practiced, worked and fought for this spot and to be so entirely out of his element leaves him floundering a little.

It's only natural that he reverts back to what he knows, even if it isn't exactly what a girl might want.

But she seems pleased and it warms him to his core that maybe he's done this right, and he drops a kiss to her forehead and grins.

"Yeah? Don't bring anyone up here. Not really allowed, but I wouldn't bring 'em up anyway, even if they were."

He's trying to say she's the first, she's the only, but it's not coming out correctly.

She grins up at him, pressing herself close to his side, her fingers pressing into his arm.

"Are you telling me I'm special?"

"And if I am?"

He's giving her a sort of apprehensive kind of look, brows raised and lips a little pursed, even as she comes in close.

"Well, I guess I better give you special thanks, then."

She tugs on his arm so she can lean up some more and kiss him properly this time, smiling against his lips.

"This is incredible, Chuck, thank you."

He slides both arms around her waist and draws her in, leaning down so that she's able to reach him.

"Welcome," he mumbles, face a little red but he's secretly very pleased with himself. He's trying, here, and it's a pain in the ass and she's a pain in his ass but so worth it.

She is absolutely worth it, Hansen, and the sooner you accept it the better. Her arms slide around his neck to keep him down at her level and she kisses him again, then once more, then finally pulls herself back a little.

"You said something about sandwiches?" Not that she particularly wants to eat, even though she's hungry.

She wants to be given a detailed tour of the conn pod and also maybe make out some more.

Yes. Yes, she is.

"Mm? Yeah. Stole some from the kitchens." Because he's not Raleigh, he can't smile and bat his eyes and get whatever he wants.

Smug ass motherfuck.

"Lessee...ham and cheese or...ham and cheese?" He's holding one in each hand and giving her a very serious look. "A difficult choice."