| Until Then |
| Summary: | Zaharis and Eve talk on the Observation Deck while the pilots are heading to SAR. |
| Date: | 118 ACH |
| Related Logs: | Lost Boys logs. |
| Players: |
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Roosters Nest (Obs Deck) Genesis - Deck 9
118 ACH 23777 Souls
The observation deck is at the fore of the ship. The viewport allows those who come here to relax and enjoy a little quiet time with opposite sex. When the ship is under Alert levels, the viewport has a steel shutter that automatically comes down over the viewport for protection of the glass. The seats here are single and double and set up like a theater. They are cushioned and some recline back for those quick naps.
This is how Eve spends her free time lately, though there's not much of it. Married berthings seem…awkward when you're only one half of a pair, so she'd rather tuck away in here. Right now she's curled up in the front row of seats, a throw blanket pulled up around her shoulders and bunched up to her chin with her fists. A book is nearby, but she's watching the stars instead of reading.
Everyone needs a breath here and there. Zaharis doesn't take many, but the opportunity has presented and so here he is. Detouring on his way elsewhere with a small pile of folders, he unbuttons the top flap of his fatigues jacket as he quietly walks in.
Eve glances up at the soft sound of boots, scooting a bit higher and making a quick wipe of her eyes with the blanket. Nope, she wasn't crying. If so, she'll deny it. "Sir." She says on the tail end of a throat clearing.
"Lieutenant." Zaharis sounds slightly surprised that the place wasn't empty. He shifts the folders in his arms, glancing at the table of coffeeless hot water before turning more towards the couches. "You alright?"
Eve puts on a fantastically brave smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Hanging in there. So they're launching the SAR? Is that what we're even calling it anymore?" She wonders aloud while her attention drifts back to the view port. "Have they come up with a projected success rate?"
Zaharis shakes his head. "I haven't heard." He sits down on the edge of one of the chairs, resting the folder pile down on the table. "There's only so much statistics are worth in this kind of situation. They have all of their best on it. We're simply going to have to wait."
Eve looks over to the grouping of files, then back to Zaharis' face. "Don't suppose you'd make something up. To comfort?" Her smile quirks again, but doesn't seem hopeful that he'll comply, so she just continues. "Waiting. I'm quite good at waiting."
"With Pieter Gaelan down there?" Zaharis runs his thumb along the edge of the folder. "I'd say as close to one hundred percent as any man in charge could possibly get."
Eve looks to her knitted hands, swallowing a little harshly and her smile trembles just a hint, but she's remarkeably holding it together. "Thank you, sir." She murmurs into the quite Observation Deck. "Do you pray?" She asks, lifting her chin again, putting some rigidness back in her spine.
Zaharis is watching the stars by the time she asks that question. "I try to," he says, after a little while. "Do you?"
Eve folds the blanket down onto her lap, so it no longer looks as if she's about to take a nap. "I do now." She says simply, eyes finding the stars once more like Zaharis while he talks. "Its strange, the way your thinking gets turned upside down when a child gets into the picture. I should write a paper on it." Her voice an almost wistful thing, as if she has time to write papers. Or as if there is anyone left to publish or read them.
"Yeah, it sure does." Zaharis rests his arms on his knees, folding his hands. The stars have his attention for a while before he asks out of nowhere, "Do you have a set of prayer beads?"
Eve gives a slight shake of her head. "I'm afraid I don't. Not the sort of thing I put stock in while. My parents weren't the type to take me to the temples or.." A shrug. "I always respected religion, for the way it can affect a person's way of thinking. Respected. But never appreciated. Now…well. I suppose there's a whole litany of converts following a cataclysmic event."
Zaharis hehs. "Always the way." His silence seems pensive, and it lasts a while. Then he shifts in his chair, reaching into his pocket and pulling up a small string of prayer beads. Wooden and very small, a child's set. They're painted purple with little gold dots on them. "You can…use these till St. Germain gets back." He lets them dangle off his fingertips, holding them out for her.
Eve reaches out, touching them with a tentative finger. She lifts her eyes to Zaharis', hers shining with a new glint of tears but she won't dare let them fall. "Sir…I couldn't.." She seems, awed and humbled all at the same time.
"Just take them." Zaharis turns his hand, leaving the beads dangling on Eve's fingers. "Just till he gets back. It won't be long."
Eve folds her hand around them, as if treating them like a precious treasure, which perhaps they are to Zaharis. She strings them over her knuckles, looping them around her palm. Slowly her thumb moves over the beads, her attention on that action. "How are the withdrawls. From the cigarettes, I mean?"
"Not as bad as I expected," Zaharis sits back, keeping his eyes off the beads he's just lent away. Lest willpower give out. "Probably just too busy to notice." He shrugs. "I'm taking you off the quarter rations. You'll be at full, and I want you to be sure and eat them."
Eve chews on her bottom lip a bit. "Thank you sir." She's lost five pounds since the rationing began, but she hasn't said anything as her fundus has still been increasing. Baby is growing, even if she is diminishing. "I saved them, you know. All those cigarettes you gave me way back when. I've been meaning to give them to you, but you've worked hard to be over that addiction.." And she apparently hasn't given them to her chimney of a husband either, so she's held onto them for /some/ reason.
Zaharis cuts his eyes towards the psychiatrist. Oh he really doesn't want to give in, but…but… "Seriously?"
Eve gives a little nod. "Call it my own social experiment. To see how long those around me would be willing to give out smokes, despite the fact of eminent lack of available tobacco. I've been waiting for the right time to give them back. I think now is right. That is, if you still want them."
Zaharis hehs quietly. He thinks about it a few seconds before he nods. "Sure. Might as well have something handy to smoke for when they get back, huh?"
Eve starts to fold up her blanket. "Oh, I have cigars for that. A little paranoid about my friends smoking them, but…My father gave me a box when I graduated OTS. Four for every promotion all the way up to Admiral. Now, seeming how I never dreamed of making it that far, Micah got one when he made Jig. Reed got one when he made Colonel. I'm thinking…well. I'm thinking they aren't worth saving. No time like the present when it comes to celebrating what we have now, instead of what we could have later down the road, hmm? But I'll dig out those cigarettes for you."
"I don't know. There can't be enough said for having a little hope, somewhere," Zaharis says quietly. He nods to the cigarette offer. "Thanks. They could be three years' stale and I think I'd still enjoy them."
Eve lifts out of her chair, with a bit of aid from the thing itself to get her back on her feet, center of gravity being off and all. "I'll save a few then. Just in case I break Major." She grins a bit, tucking the borrowed prayer beads into her pocket. "I'll bring them by your office tomorrow. I think I need some rack time, if I can manage it. Sleep well, sir, when you get there."
"Shit, if I can do it, you can," Zaharis comments wryly, on the Major thing. He lets his head rest back against the chair and tugs his ankle up over his knee. "I will. Get some rest."
Eve leaves for Corridor 9A [O].
Eve has left.
