It's A Start
It's A Start
Summary: Jocasta and Micah make a fresh start. Sort of.
Date: 59 ACH
Related Logs: Fights and Misunderstandings (and the rest of the scene in the gym after half the Air Wing's departure)

Genesis - Deck 11 - Aft Stairwell

There's the sound of a door slamming, and booted feet thumping up the stairs. Up, because that's the direction the berthings are in, and hence a likely bet.

In terms of finding a sulky ECO, that is.

Ten points. Never let Micah's tactical skills be considered subpar. Stomping up the ladders likewise is Jocasta, fleeing for the berthings at a near enough a breakneck speed.

Hearing the clatter of booted feet that he could no doubt recognise as Jocasta anywhere, Micah quickens his step to catch up with her. Yes, he is in startlingly good shape, and no, he's not huffing much by the time he reaches the woman. Ass. "I want to talk to you."

Godsdammit. She was so close to escape. Cornered at the hatch to the 12th deck, Jo turns a shoulder and bitterly barks, "About what?"

Micah places a hand on said hatch, not quite boxing her in, but awfully close. "Ah've had enough of this. This… fratchin' an' bickering. Haven't you?"

Jocasta crosses her arms, exhales a heavy sigh, and then leans her head back against the bulkhead in order to stare up at the ceiling. The first few seconds between them pass silently, almost as if she might be refusing a reply, but… eventually… she caves. "Yeah…. yeah, I have."

There's an audible breath released, when she concedes. An audible, shaky breath that has Micah sinking his shoulder against the bulkhead and taking a few moments' silence. "I used t'love you, you know. How d'you go, from bein' in love with someone, to bitter enemies? The frak happened along the way?" It's mumbled, softly.

"..what the frak did I do wrong?"

Used to. It would have hurt less to hear that she was a 'frakking bitch' and that he 'hated her' instead of being reminded of the fact that this used to be the very opposite of where they once were; that they lost something which might have actually qualified as 'good'. Instead of sparing him the weight of her glare, she turns to cast her gaze over to the pilot and replies, "You didn't love me, Micah. You were in love with having someone to wake up next to but… the trick with that is you actually have to come home to them. You left me, remember?" Or so Jo seems to recall.

Micah firms his jaw when she says that. It's not an angry thing, the sort that's bound to be followed up with violence. It's just.. hurt. Maybe regret. He's quiet, listening to the sound of conversation out in the corridor, and then an enlisted who comes blundering past. He heads down the stairs without so much as a glance at them. "I was nineteen, Jo. You were twenty-four." Mumbled even more quietly. "I don't think either of us knew what the frak we wanted. I still don't." Ugh. Grr and argh. He scrapes his fingers through his hair, knots them there, and watches the ceiling. "Ah'm sorry. For.." This is unspeakably hard. "..for just leavin' you, like that. You want to know the truth? I took off because I didn't want you leavin' me, first."

"Congratulations," Jocasta says with a small dose of sarcasm that she just can't bite back. "It worked." When he confesses to confusion as to his own desires, she says, "I can tell." It's then that she draws her left hand up to press her palm against her cheek before she sighs with concession and extends the closest thing to an apology that Micah's likely to get any time soon: "Everything's so different now. I'm trying my best not to hold it against you." But, clearly, that's not working out so well.

The sarcasm rolls right off him, tonight. Only his eyes flit over, then down. The floor's suddenly become pretty fascinating. Her last words garner a shrug, but nothing saucy in reply.

The next words may come as something of a surprise when Jocasta asks, "So… what's she like?"

"..huh?" Yeah, that's definitely surprise, and a sense he's been jarred rather abruptly from his thoughts. Micah's hand leaves his rumpled hair, shoves back into the pocket of his fatigues to mirror the other.

"Your…" What's the right word here? Jocasta strains to remain polite. "…girlfriend." See? It's possible.

"Oh." Yes, this is really scintillating conversation they're having here. Micah's silent a bit longer, brow furrowed. Someone else clatters up the stairs, and again they don't ask questions. "She's… soft. She has a real pretty laugh. Sometimes I think ah'll break her, if I just…" No, this isn't helping. She really isn't like Jocasta at all.

Jocasta plies Micah with a 'spare me the details' look, brows flat and dark, gaze bordering on unappreciative… even if she was the one that asked. "You love her?"

He seems to be done with the details, thank the gods. The next question's possibly even more awkward, though. Love? Micah's not good with love. It was hard enough admitting he'd cared for Jocasta. It's also entirely possible he never thought to MENTION that to her before it was too late. "Don't know," he mumbles eventually. "Haven't had time to stop, an' catch my breath, an' figure that out yet."

Well, at least he's not dumb enough to throw it back in her face if he was… right? Apparently so. Jocasta finally pushes away from the bulkhead with a sigh and says, "Come on, Crow…" She gestures up the last ladder to the twelfth deck — flying squadron berths — and tries to force something akin to a smile over her lips.

Crow. That, at least, gets a fleeting smile out of him. His friends call him Crow. Everyone else calls him Jailhouse. He pushes away from the bulkhead, and heads off up that ladder.

Battlestar Genesis - Deck 12 - Air Wing Head/Ares Berthing

It's back up to the squadron berths, it seems, or at least to the shared head located in between. Jo makes no verbal indications as to whether she intends for them to go their separate ways or just continue their conversation standing in front of a sink.

They could both probably use a bath, all things considered. Not to mention a change of clothing. Micah's actually stripping out of his t-shirt and tank top as they approach the shared shower stalls. Time for a subject change. "You did good, on that last mission, by the way."

"Thanks," she says, claiming a towel from a storage cubby and slinging it over her shoulder. She pauses for a moment to pick at some residual tape goo left on her knuckles before she adds, "'m just glad we were able to dig some up, ya know?" Jocasta then slowly moves over to a bench and begins to peel out of her clothes, boots first and from the bottom up.

Micah fetches a towel as well, and tosses it onto the bench. One booted foot's kicked up, so he can unlace it and tug it off. Then the next. They both know this drill. "Aye. Ah'm glad, too." Fatigue trousers and underpants are next, and he really doesn't seem to give a frak if she sees him in his skivvies, or without them. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, several times. "Also glad we made it out of that storm in one piece."

"Yeah. About that…" Jocasta's stripped down to her skin with a relative swiftness, though she isn't so much in a hurry to suggest that she's overly anxious to be naked. Unlike the last time the two of them shared the head, there are no ulterior motives here. Leaving her bench behind, she says on her way in search of an open shower stall, "…maybe next time you’re in a Raptor you could put a little less effort into trying to get us killed, huh." She's teasing. Mostly.

"Maybe you could explain t'me," Micah replies, slinging off his dogtags and letting them pool atop his discarded clothing, "how, exactly, I was tryin' to get you killed?" Of course they can talk and shower. It just means they'll have to shout. The faucet's turned on for a quick blast of warm water, then off again so he can soap up.

Jocasta is soon following suit, making with the no-nonsense business of personal hygiene with an unabashed fervor. "Oh, what. Were you lookin' to pick up a souvenir from that asteroid field? You gotta hold back on that hot shot bullshit when you're in the Raptor box office. More lives than just yours you gotta look out for…" In other words, Raptor pilots are bred to be more responsible beasts… at least in so far as Jocasta's opinion is concerned.

It takes him a moment, it seems, to figure out precisely what's being talked about here. Oh. That. "Oh, that." He finishes with skin, and soaps up his hands next so he can lather his hair. "Frak, so I came in a little hot. I got it straightened out, though, it could've been worse. You still sore over that?"

"Yeah. That." Jocasta lathers up — head, shoulders, knees and toes — and reads the mini-riot simultaneously. "Grateful as I am not to be dead and all, if you can't handle flyin' like a grown-up then do me a favor and stay out of a Raptor. I've gotta be able to trust whoever's in the front seat not to get me killed with their idea of thrilling heroics." Ouch, damn. However, she's not all ire and brimstone and, indeed, her attempt to soften the verbal ass-chewing is delivered in addendum as, "Look, I know you hate bein' a glorified taxi driver…"

"Sweet flyin' frakkin' Artemis on a stick." Yes, looks like they're back to the cursing and fuming again, in record time. "I didn't intentionally try to make swiss cheese outta us, you know. In case you hadn't looked lately, ah'm a viper stick. Ah'm used to maneuverability, I took it a little hot. I corrected for the mistake." And, let's be honest, it was a damned good correction too, for someone who hasn't logged flight hours on a raptor in.. how many years? "What the frak more do you want from me, anyway." That last part's mumbled. It's probably rhetorical, anyway.

And things had been going kind of almost okay up until that point, hadn't they? Of course, Jo brought this upon herself — sometimes she and Micah both suffer from 'foot in mouth' disease. Instead of allowing things to dissolve into a rehash that threatens to ruin their newfound accord, she simply says, "I know, Micah, I know." and lets the conversation drop.

Bayless has arrived.

There's a frustrated sound from Micah. A huff of air blown through his nose, before he switches the faucet back on and begins the process of rinsing off. It's a good ten seconds before he talks again. "Ah'm sorry. Look. Let's.. just start over from the beginning, aye?" The water's switched off, and he pads back toward the bench to fetch his towel. The pair are currently showering, Micah with some skin and some ink visible as he dries himself off.

Jocasta, too, has a smattering of tattoos to be seen — primarily located all on her right arm — though odds are pretty sound that Bayless has already managed to catch the picture show a while ago. With a towel wrapped around her middle for the sake of some kind of modesty, she returns to where her clothes were lumped and gathers up the pile before finally replying, "I don't know if I can do that, Micah." Great. "…but, I'll try." That's fair enough, right?

Bayless heads into the barracks, taking her fatigues jacket off as she shoves the hatch open. She tosses a nod to Jo and Micah as she tosses said jacket onto her bunk. She pulls out a chair from the center table and works towards untying her boots.

Micah bundles up his clothes under one arm, and his boots in the other. Jocasta's first few words draw his gaze sideways for a bushy-browed look. The fact that she relents to trying, well. He nods just a little. The sound of the hatch opening across in the Ares berthings, attracts his attention briefly. "How 'bout a game of triad, then? Call it a peace offering." That, to the ECO.

Unfortunately, Jocasta's had enough of competing with Micah tonight and she readily recalls the outcome of their last Triad game rather vividly. She shakes her head and says, "Maybe later. I'm on the crew heading down to the planet tomorrow with the Marine recon. I should probably get some sleep." And, besides, she has a whole frakkin' heap of stuff to think about if she ever has any hope of keeping her head screwed on straight.

"Good hunting on that run, Jammer," Bayless says to Jo as she grabs her boots and jacket and stows it in her locker. She grabs a towel and sits back on the chair to get just enough of her kit off before she heads for a shower herself. "Be sure to ask Flask for double-sweetener and a shot of espresso on the way out," she says with an amused grin.

"You, uh.." There seems to be something Micah wants to ask. Probably, the offer of a triad game was his way of offering his company. But the presence of someone else here, seems rather to have bludgeoned some of his confidence. "Aye. All right. Good hunting down there." He flashes her a quick smile after the echoed 'good luck', and then starts off in the opposite direction. Well, it's a start anyway.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License