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Rue Wydown

Oh Bugger (2)

Oh Bugger

Cdr Rue Wydown's Experiences on Earth

 

Two days. That's how long I lasted before I started covertly looking for new quarters. I've never been so homesick in my entire life. I started with making a few discrete inquires about where my former officers from StarFleet Medical were currently stationed, and if, by chance, they were off world, could I squat at their place - you know, to keep an eye on things. Unfortunately, the command classes I've been auditing have gotten in the way of any serious networking to find somewhere else to crash. I ran into some serious dead ends (not dead people, mind you, dead ends) and didn't have much energy to dog another lead.

Face to face social contact is needed for this sort of mission, and I am not able to do it with my nose buried in a book. Problem was, I saw both issues being a priority and I wasn't willing to give one up (even temporarily) so that the other could be dealt with.

I'm sorry, I sort of need those command audits. Not only because my career might just depend on my willingness to change my course in life, but also because...well...I find them fascinating. I know, I'm weird, eh? Usually the oldest student in the room too. Who thought classroom lecture lessons, required reading and simulation time was 'fun' for such a dry topic. Oh, and did I mention this was on top of my duties in the inquiry? Who has time to find alternative housing with all this going on?

By day three, I'd resigned myself to living in Casa Puke when what should my wandering eye spy leaning against the wall of the BOQ chatting up a pretty young lieutenant. Tall, dark haired and quirky, with lots of boyish charm. My ex-husband. Oh bugger. I'd been walking back, nose buried in a PADD of course, from an early evening lecture when I spotted him across the street. Apparently telling him I'll see him "later" (which in my mind meant next week or next month) had been an invitation for the slimy git to stop by this evening.

"Ah, the prodigal wife returneth," Slimy Git flashes a grin that is all teeth and charm when he spots me. Having been forewarned to his appearance by seeing him first, I try to make sure that he knows that smile does not affect me...at least on the outside. Okay, so he's not hard on the eyes to look at. In fact the way he looks at me, even after all these years, makes my heart flutter. I'm not about to tell him that though. He is slimy...at times. And can be a downright git...at times.

Ex-wife, I mentally correct him as I walk upon the scene. I waited until the young lieutenant he was chatting up has vacated the scene before I scold him. "I thought the divorce decree was pretty clear. I got this sector, you got the rock from which you crawled out from under."

"Is that any way to treat someone who's offering to buy you dinner?"

"You're offering to buy me dinner?" Thinking I missed a hidden or telepathic dinner invite in the earlier greeting."

"I was going to." Slimy Git grinned again, sliding nose to nose with me. Any closer and I'll be inhaling his nose hairs.

"How do you know I don't have a date tonight?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest to force him to back off and give me some personal space.

"You don't have a date," He smirked.

"I might."

"Yeah? Where is he?"

"You know, it might be 'she', Clay. Did you ever think of that?" I smirked. That comment threw him for a loop and he gives me combination a fascinated and horrified look. I can tell he's mentally trying to figure this one out, considering our repeated history together. (Some of us are destined to repeat history. When it comes to my ex-husband, I'm destined to bludgeon myself with it. Repeatedly). The wheels keep grinding to a halt in his brain with this possible development. I decide let him off the hook. "No date, boy or girl. Just a what if. Get your mind out of the gutter." I pause, deciding to poke a stick into the inflating ego before me at the realization that I'm still single and date-less. "So, where's your latest Barbie, hmmm?"

"We can find more interesting things to talk about than Evelyn," Slimy Git shrugs.

"Okay I leave your Barbies alone tonight if you leave my G.I. Joes out of it too."

"What's wrong with Ken, is he too--"

"Clayton Wydown, zip it."

"Bu--"

"Zip. It." I followed up by pantomiming zipping my lips and level a look at him.

Changing the subject then, "How about pizza then?" He motions to the sidewalk. My favorite pizza joint is within walking distance of the BOQ, another fact that Clay knows about me. I can't turn down anything with cheese...or bananas.

"With pepperoni and pineapple?"

"Why do you have to ruin a perfectly good pizza by adding fruit?" He asks, linking arms with me as we stroll on down. I can't help but laugh. And, dear goddess, it feels good. *I* genuinely feel good for for the first time in weeks.

Oh bugger.

~~~~~~

"So how bad is it?" Clay's leaning forward so we can talk in semi-privacy. He's dabbing the grease off his fingers with a flimsy paper napkin. I become so distracted that I have to focus down at the half eaten remains of our pizza pie before I become too tongue tied.

"You know the girl in the horror movies that you yell at for being so stupid as to open the front door to the masked killer standing in plain view front window? Yep, that's me."

"Are you also wearing high heals and tripping at inappropriate times?" Clay asked, attempting to inject some form of levity into our conversation.

"No doubt." My answer is lacking enthusiasm.

"Oh bugger," He exhales heavily, frowning as he looks up at me. He's gone from Slimy Git to Shining Knight mode in the span of two slices of pizza. He's always been a decent man under the bravado and family tarnish. I love that he wants to fix this for me. And, although I'll pretend to be annoyed, I love that he'll be clucking at me for the next twenty minutes. "I'll contact legal and see if they can help--"

"Clay, you don't need to do that. I all ready have legal counsel."

"But--"

I run over him with my own explanation. "I have a JAG rep that I'm confident can handle my case. You know me. I'd be the first one squawking if I didn't think he could handle it. Besides, it would take too long to read a civilian representative in on the whole darn process. This...this...this..." I'm at a loss as to how to describe what's going on. I feel Clayton give my hand a squeeze and look down, realizing for the first time that he's holding it, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. How long this has been going on I have no clue and it gives me shivers as well as the confidence to continue. "...whole debacle is on a collision course with a black hole, at maximum warp. I don't have time to orient more passengers; I'm all ready on red alert."

"I love the weird things you 'Fleet types come up with." Clay continues to gently stroke my hand. "What can I do to help then?"

The question has thrown me. Usually Clayton would be off on another tangent, attacking the problem from another angle and rubbing my patience raw. He's never given up on a problem or fighting with me to help solve my problems like this before. Has he finally figured me out after all these years? Or is he as tired of fighting about these things as I am? I hesitated. "I don't know."

There's an awkward silence between the two of us. I'm not used to Clayton refraining from 'superhero' mode. (Of course now I have a mental image of him in tights and a cape...Squirrel!) And I'm guessing he's not used to my silence.

"I'll guess I'll just listen then." He spoke quite intimately. He could have told me he was in love with me, he was dying, he was propositioned me, he was getting married, he was really a sultan or serial killer, he was a hundred of other things and I don't think those words would have affected me as much as that simple sentence there. My heart constricts at that moment. Now I really don't know what to say. And I feel the blood rush to my face.

Of course he had to ruin it by adding a few heart beats later. "And get you of that bloody slum. You own a house a few blocks away, remember." He scowled.

"No." I answered carefully. "I do not. I sold that back to you when I got the commission to the Yukon." Clay's guilty reaction, sort of like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar, told me just about everything I needed to know. "You just put money in my account, didn't you. You tosser!"

"In my defense, you won't take any of my money otherwise." Clayton shrugged. "How else was I going to help you out?"

This leads me to wonder how many more of my past life mementos has he said he's sold, giving me the proceeds but is secretly stashing somewhere. "First off, that's not a defense. That's lunacy. Secondly, I don't need your money. I live on a bloody starship where all my basic wants and needs are taken care of."

It's once these words leave my lips that the gravity of my situation comes crashing down around my ears. I might not be living on a starship where all my wants and needs are taken care of after all this. At best I can expect a reprimand, a black mark in my jacket that will affect any future promotions. At worse, the loss of my commission all together. My medical licenses wouldn't be affected, so I could still support myself. But that's little comfort for someone who loves adventure.

What's worse, my facial expression has, in minute ways, reflected my train of thought. While most acquaintances barely notice would barely notice, Clayton usually picks up on when my emotions has gone south. (I say usually because there are the rare times when he confuses disgust with desire - which usually results in a swift thwap to the head). I feel his hand tighten again in mine with another squeeze, then a tug as he shifts out of the booth and encourages me to follow.

"No ship tonight though. Let me take care of your needs and wants tonight."

"You can't take care of all of them," I tease. It's my turn to try to inject some comedy in this tragic night. "We're going to be friends this time. Just friends." And I stop him before starts. "And not friends with benefits either. Just. Friends."

"What if I want to sleep over tonight?" He's teasing me now as he escorts me through the crowd and to the door.

"We can sleep together." I smirk at him. "You sleep in your bed. I sleep in my bed. Never the twain shall meet. And in the morning, you go back home to London. No cohabitating."

"I wouldn't dreeeeeaaaam of it." Clay grinned, linking arms with me once we were outdoors again.

Ha! Famous last words.

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