Silver Lining (Chapter 10)
#10 of Silver Lining
Greentext
Second Person Present
Novel-Length, by chapter.
WIP
You, a newly minted combat pilot with all the associated buckle and swash, find yourself signed up to escort an airship carrying mysterious cargo to places unknown. It feels good to be the real deal finally, just like in the books and moving pictures, even if they did assign you a border collie for a partner. And besides, the two of you aren't in over your heads or anything, right?
- Chapter X: Prom Night
2.
>It's dusk by the time the alert's cancelled, and from the porthole you watch as the last flight of escorts melts into view along the horizon.
>You've since showered, and traded your bloody undershirt for one of your smarter articles of flannel.
>It's not much, but you aren't sure it's supposed to be.
>What do you wear to celebrate a first kill?
>You didn't know, and neither did Whitney.
>But she'd called you handsome when she'd seen it, and that was good enough for you.
>So now you're kicked back on the little wooden desk chair, legs crossed and resting on your bed, and book pinned open between your thumb and index finger.
>Treasure Island.
11.
>You'd brought it along more as a sort of luck token than anything else. It had been a gift from your father, as your uncle told it, and you'd read it at least ten times over the years since he'd first read it to you. By now you probably could have recited it from memory.
>You reckon that works out pretty good, though; you're really only playing at reading.
>The worn-out cover and the crease of the softened pages are rough and familiar in your hand, and right now you need that more than anything.
>There's certainly plenty to think about.
>The fight;
>Not running;
>The parachutes you didn't think to look for, but don't remember seeing.
>And they deserved it, didn't they?
>Of course they did. They tried to hurt you. They tried to hurt her.
>And this wasn't crime and punishment, it was survival.
>Yeah, you knew all that.
>But you sure are thinking about it, and, if the quiet rush of water from the shower is any indication, so is she.
>Frankly, you wish she'd hurry.
25.
> "Evening, Cap'n."
>You jolt up from your book as if you'd been dozing.
>A pale, blue twilight has settled over the room and washed the gold away, but it's still plenty bright for her fur to glisten where it's damp.
>She's wearing flannel too, now: A red-chequered shirt parted at the collar and first and last button.
>It fits a little tighter than it needs to, and in places that suggest she might have meant it that way.
>But her eyes tell a different story.
>They're enough to make you stand and reach a hand to her, and when you do she collapses into your healthy shoulder, and you find yourselves snared in each other's arms.
>She buries her face in your chest.
>You bury yours in kind.
>And then squeeze.
36.
>Her fur melts in your hands like beach sand.
>It's thick and warm and smells like summer, and you only seem to sink deeper as you hold her there.
>Deeper, until you lose yourself in the hints of salt and oil, and the thick, humid heat of her breath across your collar.
>For a long second, it's enough to forget everything that just happened.
>Enough to forget where you are.
>And then to forget everything, until there's nothing but the throb of her heartbeat against yours.
>And you feel again the way you felt when you danced with her:
>Somehow this is where you belong, and who you belong to.
>This stupid fucking kid who thinks she's John Wayne.
>You hold a little tighter.
> "I've got you, Whitney. No matter what."
48.
>She snorts at that, and reality falls back on you like snow from a pine bough. She shoves you back to an arms length with an incredulous sort of grin and throws a careful punch to your good shoulder.
> "Yeah, yeah; you too, Cap'n."
>The same paw drops back to your hand and forces a shake.
> "Told 'ya I'd do right by you."
>Embarrassment nips you, and you shake your head.
> "Look, Whitney, you can forget the stupid shit I said the other day. You don't have to prove anything to me."
>She just smiles.
> "Not too shabby yourself, Cap'n. I reckon we're both pretty well proven, whether you like it or not."
>She pulls you back in for another quick hug.
> "But thanks. It means a lot."
>You part again.
> "About the fight, though. You, uh, doing okay?"
>She flinches, but finds her smile.
> "'Wanna get fucked up and not think about it?"
> "Sounds like a plan to me."
64.
>The lounge looks different at night.
>The lights are bright, warm, and cheery, and the windows sparkle with scattered traces of civilization that burn like tea lights below.
>It's quite a bit busier, too, but you only recognize a few of the faces.
>You never really made an effort to get to know the others. You suppose you regret that, but you hadn't relished the idea of being a rookie. It was harder to say or do something stupid if you kept to yourself, and you could be a bit more careful about what version of you they met when they finally did. In your defense, you reckon you did a pretty good job of that.
>Still, now that their eyes are on you, you feel like a disappointment of a mysterious stranger.
70.
>You had gathered a little about your squadron over the preceding days, but it honestly might have been easier if you hadn't. Maybe then you could saunter in feeling like you'd earned your place there. As it was, you weren't so sure.
>There was Tucker, of course. He wasn't so bad. Just a big kid with a goofy grin who was either foolish or experienced enough that it seemed impossible to scare it off him. You knew him well enough, and his manner put you at a sort of ease. That hadn't stopped you gawking at all the silhouettes painted under his cockpit, though. The kid was an ace, plain and simple, and the others seemed to only get more intimidating from there.
73.
>Most were veterans of some form or another. As mercenaries at least, if not from the air corps.
>Like Kaz.
>Sure, you doubted his real name sounded nearly as cool as the one he'd managed to convince everyone to use, but you sure as hell weren't going to ask.
>Unlike Tucker, it was plain he had more than a few years on you, and, by the looks of it, many of them had been in one service or another. Even now he wore an old, well-patched Eastern Union army duster, and made no effort to hide the skeletal apparatus mounted where his right hand must once have been.
>He's got a friend, too: a tall, pale fellow with soft features and a build as thin as a rail. He was the more gregarious of the two, at least when he was drunk, but spoke with a thick accent you struggled to place. He'd been a foreign soldier before, and a good one by the sound of it.
>That was about all you knew, though, and now that you'd walked in, the both of them are paying you a lot more attention than you'd have liked.
>But you were the real deal.
>You both were; you'd proven it.
>So you find yourself a confident-looking grin and slip onto the stool beside them, doing your best not to cast any awkward stares or glances.
>Whitney settles too, and with and impeccable calm that just about drives you up the wall. She doesn't waste any time fishing a bottle from behind the bar, though, and she gulps the bulk of her glass the second she's got it full.
84.
> "Hey kid, heard you got tagged. Where at?"
>It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize it's you Kaz is addressing. You scramble.
> "Uh, shoulder, sir."
>It probably would have taken a good five seconds for you to realize you just said "sir", but Whitney's laughter gives it away. Kas manages a bit of a snort and gulps what you guess was a mouthful of whiskey.
> "Fuckin' hell, kid. This ain't grammar school."
>He offers a gruff, leathery hand.
> "Kas McCallister."
>You take it and throw everything you have behind the weight of your shake.
> "Anon."
>He kicks off the bar and rolls the stool around to face you, eyes incredulous.
> "Bull fucking shit. What are you, fucking mafia? Or did you get that from that book about the submarine?"
>You flinch.
> "Just a nickname that stuck. Never did go by anything else."
>Whitney's got your back, so you draw a little bit of courage.
> "Same as you, I reckon."
>He shrugs, face softening again.
> "Fair. Welcome aboard, Squawking Bird. Been awhile since we had any new blood."
>He motions you aside and leans across to Whitney.
> "And you, lass?"
> "Whitney Latham. It's a pleasure."
>This time he grins.
> "Been awhile since we've had one of your sort, too."
>Her ears perk.
> "The crew's been together awhile, then? Even the mercs?"
>She's quick to ask, but you're relieved not to hear any accusation in her voice.
>Kas nods.
> "You two are the first since Tucker; reckon he shipped with us three or four years ago, now. Eager kid, and a good pilot, too. Me? I 'been here near a decade."
>He pauses and takes a generous swig from his whiskey, then sets it down again with a rap like a door knocker.
113.
> "Niko, too. He shipped with us during my first voyage. Ain't that right, Niko?"
>The foreign man grunts and raises his glass.
> "Ten years already? Fucking hell."
>There's that accent again: thick, but soft and rounded. Like someone put a spaniard through a tumble-dryer.
>He stretches and stands, then slides behind the bar himself. Before you know it, you've got a whiskey shoved in front of you.
> "Drink, Veli! Like your partner!"
>His weight shifts to a shoulder and he leans up against the bar, casting you an expectant look until you raise the glass and swallow a mouthful yourself. He grins then, and then wider as Whitney shoots another. You catch yourself smiling too.
> "Aye, you're with us, now! And when you meet a girl in a bar, you tell her you're a fighter pilot! It works, Veli. Every time."
>Whitney huffs a little and bares a few competitive teeth.
> "Yeah? Well, what if she's a fighter pilot too?"
>Niko laughs and tops off her glass.
> "Then she won't accept anything less, now will she?"
>She chuckles: A sweet, birdlike laugh that tugs at your heart like well-set fishhook. She chases it with another swig.
> "No, she won't."
>Now you're grinning like an idiot, even as your heart skips a few beats to flutter.
>She really is something, isn't she?
>This whole fucking thing really is something.
131.
>It isn't long before the night starts to blur.
>You're on your third glass; Whitney's on her fourth. The whiskey churns warmly in your veins, and the brazen glow of the lightbulbs seems to melt and smudge like butter.
>You're standing now, arm locked and resting on the rim of a billiards table.
>It's not much of a game.
>Whitney, lacking either your foresight, vanity, or both, had accepted a game with Niko.
>It couldn't have started more than a few minutes ago, but you're already having trouble seeing the solids for the stripes.
>Somehow she's still got a predatory sheen in her eyes, though, even as the cure ball slips neatly past the five and into the corner pocket.
>And she's talking, too.
>Telling a story that involves a lot of wild gesticulation, and wearing a grin so broad that whiskey leaks in big, golden drops from the corner of her muzzle whenever she pauses to shoot or drink.
141.
>Her voice is loud and chipper, and her words free of the weight the day had piled on them.
>You're listening to her.
>Hell, you might be listening more intently than you ever have to anything, but your mind swims anyway.
>It's something about some stupid shit she and her brother had done when they were kids. How they'd gone hiking or hunting or something, and decided to save time on the way back by lashing a raft together and taking a rough-ass river back down the mountain they'd climbed. How she'd insisted her knots kicked ass, and there was no way in hell anything would tear that raft apart when she was done with it. And then she told all about the water, and the rapids, and the rocks; and just how wrong she'd been.
>You're trying to listen, but you keep staring into her eyes and watching the light and shadows play across them, and thinking about how you've never heard someone laugh so hard about needing so many stitches.
>Love and loyalty drip like honey from her words.
>The way she talks about her brother,
>Her parents.
>You never had anything like that, but somehow, the way she tells it, you aren't jealous. It's captivating.
>Or is it just the way her eyes shine when she smiles, or how her canines slip vampirically past her lower jaw?
>And why hadn't you seen any of that before? Why hadn't you heard it?
>Maybe you had.
154.
>Sometimes you wish you could be more like her.
>Just a little bit wilder. Enough to know what to do with an adventure when you got one.
>Maybe she was making a fool of herself, but she was also playing pool, and laughing and talking with the guys like she'd always been there.
>Like a hero in a moving picture.
>You were a hero too, weren't you?
>A fighter pilot?
>Niko had said so.
>And if it was a movie, what would you be doing?
>You have a pretty good idea what.
>The eight ball sinks, and a new feeling clamps down on you: a strange mix of elation and nerves.
>But this feeling you've felt once before.
166.
> "Hey, Kid."
>She leans on her cue and pivots to face you.
> "Hey, Cap'n. Next game?"
>You cool your voice as best you can and take her paw in your hand.
> "How 'bout a dance?"
>Your heart slings up your throat to gag you, but her eyes light up before it can.
> "You mean it, Cap'n?"
>You aren't sure how to reply to that; thankfully she doesn't give you the time.
>You're in the middle of the room before you know it, and she's already hit the Victrola.
>This song you know in an instant.
>You'd know the drumbeats anywhere.
>They mean you're going to be in it for a long haul, but somehow, in this instant, you wouldn't have it any other way.
>Her paws are firm in your hands, and her eyes locked on your own.
>The horn cuts in, and she takes you away.
181.
>It's nothing like last time.
>It's fast now; twice the speed at least, and her eyes are bright, honest, and locked on your own.
>This time her feet are fast and sure, and the music rattles your brain the way the guns and cylinders had.
>You don't have much form, but somehow you don't feel you need it.
>You take the lead.
>A spin first, and a tug after.
>A wave that rolls from your shoulder and snaps taut at your fingertip.
>And your shoulder cries out from beneath a sea of whiskey, but you don't care to listen.
>It isn't so different, is it?
>It's nothing but force and motion, so the tempo picks up and you throw her around a little harder.
>Beneath your shoulder this time, then back to the tip of your palm and taut again, taut and straining, like the wings on the wind,
>Only this time she pulls you through to her.
194.
>You should have been surprised, but you weren't, and the tension slacks as you slide her way.
>But you sling past her, and then taut again.
>And past, and taut.
>And past, and taut.
>Just hard enough, and harder still as your hearts and the drums beat faster, but not enough to slip.
>Not enough to stall.
>But then it's pull and twist all over, and this time she breaks from your fingers and spins on her heel to lock eyes with you, shirttails fluttering about her waist like streamers.
>But you've got the time still, and so does she.
>It's locked in the span of your feet as they strike heel to toe, and as they kick at the ankle twist from the knee.
>It's faster than you ever knew or thought you could, but the strikes are firm and stable just the same.
>The horn swoops in, and you reel yourselves back together.
>Your hands clasp, and it's away.
207.
>Pull.
>Spin.
>Faster still, like you'd never stopped.
>She drags you close, eyes burning and teeth flashing in the room lights as they whirl around you.
>That predatory gleam again.
>The music lurches, and she leaps.
>It's funny.
>It's almost like she doesn't weigh anything at all.
216.
- ***
218.
>Midnight's passed, and you're hanging on each other like a couple of tree snakes.
>Whitney had wanted to go for a walk, and somehow, suddenly, so had you.
>So the two of you left the music behind, and now you found yourselves alone, heads swimming through the reef of girders and tension lines that weave about the pectoral catwalk at midship.
>It's quiet here.
>The engines drone, but you've heard them so long they may as well be your heartbeat.
>And dark, too, save for the moonlight glow of work lights in the upper rigging, and the bands of lime-green tritium that mark out the path ahead like breadcrumbs.
225.
>Somehow the swaying of the catwalk doesn't bother you so much tonight, nor the maw of shadow below.
>It's the booze, maybe, or maybe perspective, or even the way your arm wraps around hers to clasp at her paw.
>Whatever it is, it's good enough for you.
>Even as she turns and the catwalk narrows and climbs beneath your feet.
>So you walk, and bask in the solitary company as you pick your way into the backwater of Echo's metallic sinew.
>You're lost before you know it, but her pace is steady and purposeful.
>You're happy to follow.
>What else was there to do?
>Sleep?
>There wasn't a chance.
>You'd never had a day like today.
>Never had these feelings; Not all at once.
>They seem distant now, but you can feel them churning eddies in the ebbing tide whiskey.
>You aren't sure what to make of them, but you know you don't want to be alone.
240.
> "We goin' somewhere, Kid?"
>You've made your way high into Echo's dorsal structure, far from even the midship engines. There's nothing here but the steady rush of wind. You're the first to break the silence, and you feel a sort of trespass now that you have.
> "Reckon. Ain't gettin' all bothered on account of the height again, are 'ya? You got a handrail."
>She stops short and turns, checking you over her shoulder. You're a little surprised to find concern in her eyes. And something else. Something self-conscious.
> "I'm alright."
>You stop beside her and lean casually on the opposing guidewire, wishing immediately that you hadn't as it bows under your weight.
> "I was in a dogfight today. I think I can handle airship rigging."
>She smirks and sets a paw on your shoulder.
> "Yeah, you'd think."
> You shift back and set your own on her hip.
> "Yeah. So where 'we headed?"
>She turns back and sets to walking, a little less confidently than before.
253.
> "Well, you see, there's somethin' I wanted to show you, Cap'n. A sort of secret."
>You wake up a little.
> "You learn something about all this?"
> "Not like that. More like, well, you ever have a treefort, Cap'n?"
>You had. It hadn't been much to look at; just a few planks in an unassuming tree in the forest behind your uncle's place. But it had been yours.
>She nods at that.
> "Me too. Gotta' have a sort of dominion, 'ya know? Somewhere that's just your own. Somewhere to sort out problems that ain't nobody else's. 'Course you swear you won't tell nobody, and you make your best friend swear, 'n 'fore you know it you're fourteen, 'n up there passin' around some booze you snuck to all your buddies like it's a speakeasy. But you know what I mean."
>A twinge of nostalgic jealousy nips you in the shoulder, but you're pretty sure you get the picture.
> "Yeah."
> "Well, it's like that. You see, 'fore you came aboard I was doing some snooping. Turns out Echo's got a real fancy meteorology package. All electronic. Humidity, pressure, wind direction, everything. Evidently the thing even detects thunderstorms a ways out."
> "How the fuck does it do that?"
>She shrugs.
> "Electromagnetic somethingorother. Beats me. Point is..."
>She reaches for the ceiling and pulls. Something pops, and a narrow hatch swings down before you.
> "...the old weather observation deck's a ghost town."
>She scurries up like a sort of tree squirrel, tail whipping over the rim and out of sight.
> "C'mon Cap'n. It's really somethin' else."
>Her voice echoes back as if from under a bridge.
>It's funny; she's right.
>Something about the scene makes you feel twelve again.
>You can't help a bit of a grin.
275.
>The far side of the hatch greets you with darkness, and a frigid draft.
>The wind is louder here. It sings in the warrens and guidewires, and stirs currents that spatter like sea spray at your hands and collar.
>You shuffle forward a little and hunt the darkness for a wall, but she pats you on the shoulder and finds your hand again.
> "This way, Cap'n. Your eyes'll adjust in a minute."
>But you don't have to wait.
>A few staggered steps and you stumble out of the metalwork, then suddenly it's like you just up and jumped off the ship altogether.
282.
>The sky's as black as record finish.
>All about you mounds of coffee creamer cumulus shine rich and milky in the light of a sand-dollar moon, and stars so thick you could paint with them.
>You've never seen so many. Not hiking, not flying, not ever.
>They seem so close, its as if you could reach up and drag fingers through them.
>Like you could sift them through your palm and feel on your skin all the space and depth and bonds between them.
>You reach out, and it's the icy glass of a broad, shallow dome that greets you.
>But tonight it feels like you just touched the face of God.
>Your hand falls limp and drops to her shoulder, and before you know it you've pulled her tight.
>Her eyes dig into yours, and you lose yourself in them.
>She just squeezes back.
> "Told'ja."
294.
>The room fades in like a photo negative.
>It's not actually that big, though the dome could have fooled you.
>It stops at shoulder height, and after that it's just a couple desks; chairs; and old, brass instruments bundled up in a nest of sheet aluminum.
>The whole thing couldn't have been much bigger than your room at your uncle's place, and the wall panels are weathered and, in places, loose enough to rattle.
>Wind booms and breaks like surf across the arch of Echo's back just beyond them, but somehow, in that little hut, you feel safe.
>Maybe it helps, the way you're clinging to each other:
>How it feels as her nose bumps against yours;
>The stars in her eyes;
>The heat of her breath on your neck.
>The man on the silver screen would kiss her.
>But you don't kiss her, and she pulls away.
306.
- > "They had me on with the work crew 'fore I had a partner. Six to a bunkroom, Cap'n. Six. Was going crazy without somewhere my own. 'Til I found this."
308.
>You nod and she beckons, and the next you know she's pulled you down into a nest of old jackets bunched up in the U of a desk to the aft.
>You sit, but she stands again and hunches over a hatch in the wall.
>Then she throws it wide.
>The wind barks and your ears pop, but then the churning settles to a low and steady howl, and there's nothing between you and the sky at all.
>Then the jackets rustle, and she's beside you again.
314.
> "Really somethin' else, isn't it? It's so calm down in the guts and gondolas you could almost forget you're flying, but I don't like to forget."
>You fish her paw back out of the jackets and give it a squeeze.
> "Kid, it's incredible. It's--"
> "Like how you imagined?"
>It's startling how neatly the words fit.
320.
>She smiles slowly and shuffles closer until her hips and shoulder rest against yours.
> "I thought so. Well, was it for you? Family? Stories? Or were you just born this way?"
>And you smile too, remembering.
>The heat-lamp warmth of the spring sun on your skin.
>The rustle of the wind stirring the meadowgrass.
>The sky, sharp, blue, and clear.
>You were six. A smart little biplane was ambling across the sky like a chicken picking at seed, and suddenly you could be anywhere and anything you wanted.
> "It was just a mailplane. Don't know what happened. I'd seen it before, but that day I looked up and saw magic."
> "And when you went flying, Cap'n, did you find it?"
> "Well, yeah. I think so. I mean it was a lot of work, and you get sidetracked and all, but sometimes--"
> "It's exactly how you imagined."
> "Yeah."
>Her head flops on your shoulder and comes to rest there.
> "Just checking."
> "For what? Faith?"
>She sighs.
> "I 'dunno. It's just, when you're six, you don't usually dream about fighting for your life, ya' know? Me? I always 'been like this. Father, too, so I guess it's blood. But today you and I went up there and traded bullets with some folk. Don't know about you, but I got scared I was 'gonna die, you know? First time in my life I ever wanted down."
>You squeeze harder.
> "You'd better believe I was. Terrified. You were there, Kid. I panicked. Plain as day. Would have gotten us both killed if you hadn't gotten on the trim the way you had. And I know I should'a known. Should at least have tried to do something. But I just freaked. Got hopeless. 'Dunno what's wrong with me..."
>She breaks your grasp and shifts her paw to your chest.
> "Hey, that ain't my point. Don't beat yourself up, okay? We did good. But we got put through the ringer up there today, Cap'n. That's kinda' why I came here. Wanted to make sure nothing changed. Make sure it was all still beautiful. And it is, Cap'n..."
> She hesitates a little longer than you'd have liked.
> "Don'cha think?"
>You hadn't really thought about it. The adrenaline had burned away the details, but snapshots come when you look for them:
>The gleam of the sun in your opponent's canopy.
>The depth of the sky in the loop.
>Even the strain of the metal, and the courage that coursed in the howling engines.
>And you knew what she meant.
>You'd wanted down too.
>But you'd lived, hadn't you?
>And the part of you that came back wanted back up more than ever.
> "As beautiful as ever, Kid."
>She buries her face in your neck.
> "Good."
>You throw your arm around her waist and hold her there.
> "It's okay to be scared, Kid. It don't make you a quitter."
> "Thanks for sayin', Cap'n, but I don't mean to be all somber. Reckon we got reason to celebrate, and besides, it's hardly the only reason I brought you here."
>There's a quick tug at your chest and collar. The whiskey sloshes in your brain, and the both of you flop back into the jackets.
359.
>The stars in the dome are as bright as you've seen them. Even lying down the jagged backs of the Ursas are simple to pick out against the murky backwater of the upper Milky Way.
>It's a friendly sight, and somehow warm, even as the midnight wind licks frost onto the glass.
>It had been a big day, and now it was over.
>But still, there they were.
>Same as always.
>And so were you, close as you could tell.
>Maybe lighter a bit of blood, but there.
>It's almost hard to believe.
>Not that you don't feel any different; you do. But you had imagined it would be like how you imagined growing up would be: you'd wake up one day and molt the life you'd been living an old snakeskin. But you'd grown up and hadn't molted. Maybe you thought it was waiting for something. If that were so, you'd have figured today would have done. But the hour's late, and you still don't feel anything peeling.
>Just a steady ache in your shoulder, buzzing in your mind, and the soft folds of her shirt where it bunches against you.
>She's so quiet.
>So calm.
>Part of you is still pacing in circles.
373.
> "Hey, Kid?"
> "Mhmm?"
> "If not just for the beauty, why else'd you bring me?"
>There's a long pause, then a bit of a sigh. You can't quite see her beside you, but you can feel her lips purse as she hunts for the words.
>Finally she pats you on the hand.
379.
> "Hey, so, this might sound kinda silly, but bear with me, okay?"
> "Of course."
>She swallows.
> "Right. So, back in the day, sometimes my brother and I would get together with some friends and we'd go down to the shore at midnight and watch the waves roll in. And it was usually a sorta' party, you know? But we'd always get quiet, and talk real different. Dunno why, but I felt like I could say things there you just wouldn't anywhere else. And not even 'cause you were keeping secrets, but like you didn't even know those things 'fore you came. Almost like they washed up in the surf or somethin'. Went all the time for all kinda' reasons, and today I reckon we got plenty."
> "You reckon we got secrets?"
>You half-expect her to flinch, but she answers plainly and flashes a devious grin.
> "I reckon I mean to find out. And don't make me ask you to play Truth or Dare. It'd be real childish and embarrassing, but I'll do it if you make me."
>You take a bit of pleasure in giving her the laugh you can tell she's crossed her fingers for.
> "What do you want to know?"
> "How 'bout your name? You know, your real one?"
>There's a hint of unease in her voice.
>You're not sure why, but you feel it too.
>When you told people nobody called you by your real name, you meant nobody.
>Not your friends, bosses, or instructor,
>Not even your uncle.
> "Kid, I've been 'Anon' so long that I--"
> "Hate to tell you this, Cap'n, but that don't sound as cool as you think it does. I call you 'Cap'n' for a reason."
397.
>You smile, but hesitate.
>You are going to tell her, aren't you?
>Surely she's earned it.
>Surely you owe her.
>But the words feel fake on your tongue.
403.
> "Really? And how does it sound?"
>She snorts. That probably should have stung a little, but somehow you're grinning.
> "Like you're a cowboy in a penny dreadful. How'd you wind up with it anyway?"
>Part of you'd hoped she wouldn't ask. You'd thought it was a big part, but, now that she has, you don't seem to mind so much.
> "Just kids being kids. It's stupid."
>Her smile dulls. With sympathy, you think. Or maybe regret.
> "Yeah?"
> "Yeah."
>The silence drags on a few seconds, and then a few more as you come up with the words, but you relent. Part of you had wanted to tell the story for a long time, only nobody had ever made you.
> "There was a whole load of confusion while I was moving into my uncle's care after, well, you know. I was five or six and didn't really understand what had happened. It was my first year of grammar school, and I guess the teacher had my Uncle's last name down for mine on the roster since he'd been the one to enroll me. 'Course she decided I was ignoring her when I didn't answer the roll call, and being belligerent when I tried to correct her after. Wound up getting my knuckles whacked, being stood up in the corner, the works. It was a hell of a production and I don't exactly blame the kids for laughing like they were, but after that I was the weird kid who didn't know his own name."
>Her smile's since faded, and she's set her paw back on your hand. A few seconds drift by in the wind noise. Her voice is delicate when she speaks again, but something about it makes you feel understood.
> "Sorry. I didn't realize it had to do with what happened."
>You flip the paw around and take hold of it yourself.
> "It's no big deal, Kid. Sounds worse than it is. Honest."
>She whimpers faintly.
> "Don't know what I'd do without my dad."
>You shrug.
> "He'd been at war a few years by then; I was barely talking the last I saw him. I wish it could have been different. Uncle was pretty broke up about his big bro; the way he told it, he must have been one hell of a guy. But I guess I don't really know what I'm missing, you know?
>She relaxes, and so do you.
> "I guess."
424.
>Time rolls by slowly, the both of you staring into the stars. Finally she speaks again.
> "And you just let 'em all call you 'Anon'? Just like that?"
>You scratch at the paw a little.
> "Reckon I probably fought it for awhile, but I barely remember. Come ten or so and I'd adjusted a bit, and the rest of 'em had figured out I was also the only one without a curfew or rules or any of that. Before I knew it I was wearing that no-name brand as proud as any. When the time came to sign up it seemed a fine name for a flying mercenary. Good and mysterious."
>Her smile is back, so you ease up on the scratching.
> "Better than that "Screamin' Eagle" callsign of yours, I'll give you that."
>You'd been planning on forgetting that. It makes you wince.
> "I hadn't thought about it. I panicked."
>She elbows you.
> "Yeah, well, between you and me, I like 'Squawking Bird'. I reckon it suits us."
> "Me too."
>The silence rolls back in, but then she jabs you in the side again.
> "Hey, you're not getting out of it that easy."
> "Hm?"
> "Your name, Cap'n. Spit it out. Mystery plays a lot better in the movies."
>You try the words again; this time they come a little easier.
> "Daniel Epson."
>It's the first time you've heard the name in years, and it rings in your head like a church bell. You're quick to find words to drown it out.
> "...at your service."
444.
>She grabs you by the shoulder and makes you face her.
>She's grinning ear to ear.
> "Pretty."
> "Please don't parade that in front of the guys."
>She ruffles your hair.
> "Don't worry, Danny-boy. You'll always be 'Cap'n' to me."
>Next thing you know she's wrapped her arms around you and rolled you onto your back.
>You're nose to nose again.
>The man on the silver screen would kiss her.
>But you don't.
>She sits up in your lap.
456.
> "Ya' know, Cap'n, Sober Whitney's more responsible, but between you and me, I don't think she's quite as honest. There's a lot we don't say that we probably should, 'n it shouldn't take booze to make us, but it does. I reckon that's why we invented it."
>She rocks a little on her hips, grinning.
>"...So, while I'm still a little drunk...,"
>There's something intoxicating about the moment.
>Her weight, firm on your lap.
>The honesty in her eyes.
>The loyalty in her voice.
>Equal parts safe and enthralling.
> "...I want to tell you that, crazy as these past few days have been, I wouldn't trade 'em for anything. I've been on a team before, Cap'n, but I ain't ever had a partner, and I reckon the feeling is one of the best there is."
>Your heart beats faster with every word and flash of starlight in her canines.
>Faster as she rocks on your lap and leans into you, planting a paw to either side of your head.
>Faster as her breath splashes in your face like a bull's.
>It's enough to make you feel faint, and your words are whispers when you find them.
> "So, those things you said when we thought we might not make it...."
> "You're damn right I fucking meant them! Didn't you?"
>Her eyes sharpen like cutlery.
> "Well, yeah! I--"
>You're cut short by the clamp of her jaw around your own. It's strange and awkward, but your brain flashes like a pan of gunpowder. Strange, but you let her lean in closer, and closer still, and then grab her by the waist and pull her down.
>Pull tight, until the both of you are tied together.
>Tighter, until your hearts seem to touch.
>Her nose is warm and wet on your cheek, and you're the man on the silver screen.
>You're the Sheriff Marty Wales.
479.
>When she breaks off, it's like waking up from drowning.
>Your head spins.
>Your vision swims.
>She sits back up to straddle you again, her tail thrashing against your shins.
> "That was reason number three. I thought we ought to get it out of the way."