Crossed Wires

For most members of the Alliance SpecForce the move to Bothawui had been unexpected and sudden. Thankfully most had managed to see that footlockers with their most basic amenities were able to come along. Sadly these typically contained a few changed in clothing, maybe whatever contraband one could slip in, but for the most part personal items were in limbo. Charles didn't mind for the most part, she'd gotten used to wearing off-duty fatigues and had to admit that everything she didn't have was rather frivolous. Missions had been coming and going so quickly that there hadn't been much thought for hobbies and down-time.

But now that had changed. Ever since the botched mission, the General's looking in on it, and the moving around of several members of Dorn, there had been silence. No plans. No missions. Charles had secretly hoped she would hear from Intel, that maybe Starborn and her would be able to team up on something dangerous enough to keep her mind from getting bored, but there was no such luck. So that left boredom that even every day routine and training couldn't soften.

Then had come payday. It had taken Command a bit to get everything in order so when the pay had come, it had come good. Most had run off to the local bars to either pay off their tabs, start new ones, or somehow manage both while killing more braincells than any CO would have approved of. Charles had been planning on joining... and then had come Xander.

Her brother had the grand idea of going shopping. Charles figured she could stand to pick up a few things that were sorely missed and she did have to admit that it might be nice to wear something other than olive drab every once in a while. The decision to go had been moderately reluctant (Who needed hobbies when you could spend a few hours in the gym, dissemble and resemble a rifle for a while, and....oh who was she kidding?) but in the end she had gone.

If nothing else, it was a chance to spend some time with her brother where she probably wouldn't find some need to cause him physical harm. Off-duty time was perfect for attempting to repair their sibling relationship and Charles, although stubborn, knew damn well the benefits of not wanting to kill her brother.

Someone was going to pay.

Well, granted, the Rebel Alliance had already paid. Not much, mind you, but what with the danger money he'd picked up on the last few missions, and the fact that he didn't exactly need to pay for meals and rent, it actually worked out pretty respectable, all things considered; especially when you bore in mind the fact that all you really had to spend it on was booze and whores.

But no. It wasn't financial payment that someone was required to make. It was a... different... kind...

His mind stumbled, not in any fit shape to follow a logical train of thought through to it's conclusion. His head felt like someone had detonated a supernova inside his skull, then scooped up the ionized debris - with a coating of dirt and grit from the floor - and just dumped it right back on inside his cranium. He felt dull, and squishy, and scratchy, and the lights were too bright, and it ached, and damn, he could hardly remember anything that had happened in the bar the night before.

Frankly, he felt like utter crap. He'd almost considered spending the next week passed out while he recovered, but he was pretty sure SpecForce would frown on that sort of thing, even if no one else really cared. So instead, he'd opted for the two past times that almost never failed to make him feel better: retail therapy, and getting under Lottie's skin.

"Seriously, sis," he continued, in the middle of some sort of slightly slurred and rambling explanation; Lottie probably didn't notice the difference, given how she was too dumb to understand half the words he said at the best of times anyhow. "This is an entire culture - an entire fashion industry - designed for midget people like you."

"Hell -" He hesitated, a sidelong glance sizing up his sister. "- you might even qualify as tall around here. Usually takes Squibs and Sullustans for that, huh?"

Of course... hanging around with your brother did have its drawbacks. Since joining the Rebellion Xander had been on a nonstop mission to attempt to catch up on all the abuse he had missed dishing out on her during their years apart and today seemed like it was going to be double duty. Great.

She had long since given up on attempting to argue that she was in line with the average height for a human female. It didn't matter anyway, she was shorter than he was. Always would be.

"You can worry about attempting to find the tall section for me later. 'Freakishly huge' will be our first priority with you being unable to live without your summer wardrobe. The hells did you end up wearing last night anyway? Is that the reason you decided to drink yourself to-the-pain?" Everything was deadpan, without much gusto.

It didn't matter what she was saying, it was just going to be fuel for her brother's sharp wit. Charles had noticed he was in pretty bad shape, and having had that Oh gods, I'm alive? Someone quick kill me now hangover was something she had experienced more than just once. She almost felt sympathy for him.

Of course the fact the market was outdoors meant the sun would be blaring down on them, and the fact everyone had just gotten paid meant it would have a decent crowd. And a crowd like that made a good amount of noise.

Charles didn't care if Xander had noticed that malicious little smile she had when they had left the compound that day. He would have his fun jabbing at her at every opportunity and she would have her fun by well... just watching him.

Freakishly huge?

Xander was in the midsts of giggling at the immature innuendo latent at that phrase, and wasn't paying much attention to anything Lottie was saying or doing - concentrating on more than one train of thought at the same time seemed to be an ability that was elluding him this morning.

Her mention of his wardrobe was enough to tumble a brief strand of focus across the front of his mind however, and he turned a little to glance fully in her direction, peering over the top of the sunglasses he'd plucked from the face of an unsuspecting Devaronian on his way out of quarters this morning.

"Some of us," he muttered back, a hint of reproach in his voice, "Look fantastic whatever we wear. We don't need fancy clothes to create the illusion of better looks, or to act as a crutch." He cupped his hands absent-mindedly around his chest. "Or any other kind of support infrastructure, for that matter."

"Considering my job... I think I'm just fine, thank you." A small laugh glance was given to her brother before she shrugged her shoulders and even went so far as to motion towards her chest.

"Any bigger and they'd just get in the way of all that sneaking around they have me do. Not everyone can be temporary morale boosting eye candy for the troops that prances around in a skin-tight body glove." Charles smirked. "Which is why I didn't get transferred."

Not nice, not nice at all. But when you couldn't direct insults at the person you were with without knowing you'd be outdone ten-fold...well, you had to go elsewhere.

Another glance was cast in Xander's direction. "You didn't really tell me how last night went anyway. So, with that hangover...amazingly awesome or horribly bad?"

What little colour had managed to creep into Xander's face tumbled rapidly away; his eyes snatched his gaze elsewhere, hiding behind the protective cover of his shades. If the subtle jab at Captain Tallen hadn't been enough to make him feel uncomfortable - if he was honest, he felt more than a little responsible; and Charlie hadn't exactly been lacking in provocation, truth be told - then mention of the night before certainly did the job.

Last night had been when he met Maxx, and, well -

Yeah. She definately won't want to hear about that.

His eyes swept the area ahead, searching for something - anything - that might serve as a viable distraction. The market stalls that lined the street were filled with various wares from all across the Sector, not to mention the Alliance worlds beyond; but so far they were a billion and one different varieties of fruit or vegetable, maybe with the odd bread type product thrown in for good measure. Nothing that Xander could be all Oh, hey. Look! about.

Five foot something of solice caught his eye amongst the swarm of bodies that were already beginning to choke the streat ahead. He almost sighed in his relief as he glanced back at Lottie, gesturing in the appropriate direction. "Hey, isn't that the Major?"

"Nice deflection." The slightly sing-song tone she used let it be instantly aware that Xander wasn't totally free from answering the question, but for now he'd successfully avoided answering.

He wasn't lying though, standing not too far away at one of the marketplace's booths was indeed Glayde. All things considered she shouldn't have been too surprised to see that he had answered the same call that many others had in the possibility of obtaining something aside from standard military rations. But still, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Maybe it was that odd realization that - Yes, Charles, your CO is a normal person. Of course, some of the NCOs may have felt the same way about her and any other officer. It was something she had never quite understood, perhaps because every group she had been a part of in SpecForce had always been anything but ordinary.

"Don't tell me you want to go see what he's here for. Something tells me its hardly black-mail worthy."

An eyebrow ached up Xander's forehead, and while his eyes were hidden, he still managed to express indignance in the disguised look he threw in her direction. "I'm hung over, not blind," he grunted, letting the look linger for a few moments longer before he swept his gaze back in Glayde's direction.

He peered past the crowds to the market stall where he seemed to be busily negotiating with a trader. A frown drifted across his features. "Looks like farrberries, sunfruit, vweilu nuts and -" His eyebrows climbed higher; a hint of a rueful smile creeping onto his lips. "Why Major, you sly dog." The smile flourished a little more as he flicked his glance in Charlotte's direction. "He's getting the ingredients for a Neuvian Sundae: one of the most expensive, indulgent, and not-to-mention romantic desserts that you can make."

He offered a casual shrug. "I used to make it for Laura, before -"

He trailed off, another glance thrown in Lottie's direction, a frown forming on his features. "What's the matter - can't see over all the people?" He laced his fingers together, and offered them in her direction. "I can give you a leg up so you can sit on my shoulders, if you want."

A bemused "tsh" left her, as she scoffed at his suggestion. "And give away our position?"

Okay, she had to admit... she was curious. As far as Charles knew the Major didn't have anyone to make romantic desserts for. She may have guessed it was some sort of going-away-party for Tallen, but the Captain had already left. The thought of that new Dirge girl was a possibility... and the guilty pleasure of wondering if it was some nice Bothan lady almost brought a laugh out of her.

The thought was entertained for a few more brief moments before she rolled her eyes.

"Come on, let's see if any of these people know how to make a decent home-brew. Hair of the dog or something..." Charles attempted to hide the smirk at her own pun.

"Hair of the -"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Francis could come up with a better pun than that, and he's a fish." He hesitated for a beat. "And he's dead."

He sighed, shaking his head as Charlotte tried to steer their path away from the Major and off into the crowd; but Xander wasn't having it. His hand lanced out, snagging Charlotte by the forearm, and dragging her just like he did when she was little, and their mother wanted him to take little Snottie Lottie to buy something feminine and lady like for some sort of posh party type engagement of their father's, which the children would be expected to make an appearence at for all of ten minutes before being hustled off to bed.

A wave of whistful fondness washed over Xander as he remembered those parties; or more specifically, the hours afterwards, when their parents let them share the room; let them raid the linen closet and the box room, and convert Xander's bedroom into a fortress, or a military encampment, or a secret jungle outpost, or whatever it was that tiny tom-boy Charlotte felt like playing that night, and Xander felt like playing along with. Emergency rations - junk food that their father smuggled in without their mother knowing - sent them into an insane sugar high; and they giggled, and joked around, and watched holomovies on that crappy little portable projector that Xander had picked up at a junk sale, and dad had helped him fix; and then they crashed out, convinced it was in the super-early small hours of the morning, when in fact it was only an hour or so past their normal bed time.

Xander and Lottie had their rough patches over the years; more rough than smooth, truth be told. But those nights were perfect. If every memory of all his life had to be stripped away bar one, that would be the one he'd cling onto so tightly that it would make his fingers bleed.

He let out a contented sigh, and then shoved Charlotte in front of him, the troublesome two-some forming a barrier between Glayde and wherever it was he planned on going. "Not another step, Major. This is a -" He looked at Charles, hoping for some help or inspiration. She just glared. His mind fumbled for something on it's own. "- random commerce inspection." He pondered the makeshift excuse, and offered a curt nod to reinforce his point. "What's in the bag, sir?"

Lost inside the depths of his mind, Glayde didn't notice the presence of the two Tur'enne's until he'd nearly collided with them, and found his eyes absently focused on somewhere completely inappropriate. He wrenched them up swiftly, frowning into the face of Xander, his expression shifting from confused to bemused to amused as the Specialist spoke.

Ordinarily, he'd be expected to stamp out such informal behaviour among the members of his team: SpecForce soldiers weren't meant to tolerate that kind of attitude. However, Dorn Force was something different - different in both good and bad ways, admittedly - and it had been necessary for an attitude not unlike a starfighter squadron to cultivate itself. We certainly have the sexual exploits of a fighter squadron, he mused, ruefully.

"Charlotte, Alexander," he offered, with a nod of greeting to each. His mind reverted to forenames rather than surnames or ranks in the interests of sounding relaxed and informal - and because "Tur'enne, Tur'enne," would have just sounded dumb - but he'd completely missed the step of contracting them into something less formal. He resisted the urge to wince, and instead offered a warm smile, just to reinforce the fact that he was being friendly. "Just some culinary supplies," he responded casually, raising the bag ever so slightly for emphasis.

His gaze shifted to Charles for a moment, a slight hint of a frown forming. "Speaking of - can I borrow you for a minute?" He lanced Xander with a pointed look. "In private, if that's alright with Mr Morning After."

The first thing Charles had to do was give her brother that look. The one that clearly stated that if he were to make some sort of smart ass comment or even look at her funny in that very moment: he ran the very real risk of waking up the next morning with his tongue removed.

With that out of the way, however, she could turn back to the Major, who was still 'The Major' in her head no matter what he had just called her and Xander. Not that it really changed how she spoke to him.

"Of course. I'm sure Morning After Boy can find a remedy without me for a bit." The smile she gave her brother was sickly-sweet.

It was strange how her mind worked, at that moment all she could figure was that the Major was finally going to give her a quick rundown on some assignment that would alleviate the boredom. It refused to accept that 'Speaking of' that had followed mention of what exactly the Major had been purchasing.

Glayde frowned, trying to muster something appropriate to say. When it came to work, he was an elloquent professional; but small talk wasn't exactly his thing. He scrubbed his free hand across his jaw; with so much downtime lined up for him and his team - at least until he finished finding replacements for everyone that the General had shuffled around - he'd cut himself a break, but now was feeling decidedly rugged and unpresentable.

He snatched his arm down; forced himself to meet Charlotte's gaze with at least a modicombe of confidence and determination. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Charlotte," he said, choosing his words carefully. He glanced around, gesturing at his surroundings. "But this isn't really the best place."

He offered a slight shrug. "My quarters; say, twenty-hundred? I'll even cook you something." He brandished the bag for gentle emphasis. "I'm no gormet chef, but it'll be a damn sight better than whatever they're serving in the mess tonight."

It didn't take long for her mind to start going into spirals over what exactly it could be that the Major wanted to see her for. Or why it warranted a home-cooked meal. All that showed through was a small quirk of her head and a half smile.

"Sure. I'd be downright stupid to refuse an offer like that. Can't remember the last time I had something that wasn't prepared en mass and had to wait in line for." Her answer was carefully pitched in volume, loud enough to make it over the general sounds of the marketplace, though soft enough that if her brother was no-doubt standing nearby he wouldn't be able to make out much of it.

Hell, Charles had even considered using a few hand signals instead of speaking the reply since she was sure Xander hadn't learned all the intricacies of that sort of thing. Of course, that would have tipped him off all the more. Though despite her conscious need to keep her brother's teasing down to a minimum, she couldn't think much of the whole going-to-the-Major's-later-for-dinner thing without tying it back to work. Admittedly, some part of her almost hoped that Glayde was going to brief her on some stupidly suicidal mission that he was sending her on. That sort of thing made sense to be delivered in a more personal setting. Cool.

"So, your quarters, twenty-hundred..." The repeating of the information was done without much thought as Charles made the mental note stick. She smiled again and shrugged a shoulder for no particular reason other than it felt right to do so. "I'll be there."

A strange mix of emotions flashed momentarily across Glayde's face - was that relief? Happiness? Panic? A barely suppressed grin?

He quelled them all before they had the opportunity to register. "Excellent," he said, with a slight smile and a nod of aknowledgement. An awkward silence threatened to descend as his eyes flitted briefly away and back, wondering what more there was to say. He reinforced his smile; echoed the lopsided shrug that Charlotte had offered moments before. "I guess I'd better go get cooking then," he offered, brandishing his bag of ingredients a little for emphasis.

His first few steps were backwards, retreating into the crowd. "Twenty-hundred hours," he added as a parting statement, a confirmation for himself as much as for Tur'enne. And then, without another word, he turned on his heel, and disappeared.

Xander watched in stunned silence. It was like some kind of freaky nature documentary, only with his sister, instead of an animal type creature. He only vaguely picked up a few words from their conversation, his skills at lip-reading and covert observation letting him down; combined with the fact that his attempts to watch them while casually pretending to purchase things from a nearby stall were severely hampered by the actual act of purchasing things from a nearby stall.

Even so, he picked up enough for his purposes. And of course, his 'purposes' were causing as much frustration and irritation to his younger sister has possible. "And so," he said softly as he stepped up behind her, keeping his voice low and strangely alluring, like the presenters on those nature holodocs always seemed to. "The adult Commando has made his first move, and his courtship of the female has begun."

A grin split across his face. "Got yourself a date with the Major, huh?"

"Huh?" She couldn't have faked the complete confusion in her voice in that moment.

Her mind had to back pedal quickly, forcing her to speak up again before Xander could make some cruel comment about her not understanding basic, or being too slow to get the gist of what he was saying, or well... any other damn mean thing he could think of.

"Frink you talking about, 'a date'?" A small tsch accompanied the slightly disgusted look she pulled. "Some sort of mission briefing or something. No one goes on dates around here and certainly not with their CO."

Growing up, Xander had always been the smart one. Well, okay. Mom and dad were pretty smart. When Xander was pounding his way through some lengthy explanation of some awesome new scientific theory that he'd been reading about, dad was smart enough to at least follow along vaguely, and ask the odd half-intelligent question so that Xander could explain those particular concepts in more depth. And when it came to computers, mom had picked up enough during her days with CorSec to handle most of the problems that a data terminal could throw her way - she and Xander had a running eyeroll joke whenever dad was flustered and bumbling because the computer wasn't quite doing what he wanted it to.

Lottie on the other hand wasn't quite so brilliantly minded. She wasn't stupid, or anything. Hell, she was pretty smart, when she set her mind to it. Unfortunately, most of the time she was too impatient to actually engage the cognative cogs in her brain, and Xander had grown accustomed to having to explain everything at a snails pace for her, to make sure she understood each itsy bitsy tiny little detail.

Apparently in this instance, Xander's explanation skills had atrophied; probably because he was used to being surrounded by scientists and weapons designers with an intelligence level roughly in the same ballpark as his. Despite the months with Dorn, surrounded by soldiers with their sharp wits but dull minds, he hadn't managed to recalibrate his expectations yet.

"Sure. It's a harmless mission briefing, for which the Major is going to the effort of cooking a fancy meal, and preparing a romantic dessert. This being the same Major who seems to be bending over backwards to make you happy lately, what with that whole Cresh thing." He shook his head and sighed. "Use your brain, Squib. Not even Glayde is enough of a holomovie nice guy to do that for purely altruistic reasons."

Her mind kicked into full denial mode. It just didn't make sense. No way would the Major overstep bounds like that... would he?

"I think you've watched one too many holodramas, Xan. He just said he'd be cooking, that fancy stuff could be for tomorrow night or something." Her hand waved slightly as if trying to brush off the accusations, heavens knew that words alone never really got through to her brother.

"Besides, you've told me a million times how hideously deformed I am and considering what I've seen of the Major's past... mutant midget doesn't exactly seem like his type." It was obvious by her tone that Charles didn't exactly believe what she was saying, there was a harsh spike of sarcasm that laced the entire thing.

There was a small seed of doubt that had been planted though. Glayde had been awfully nice to her lately. Which meant that the whole damn thing was going to be really awkward if he actually meant for it to be a date and it wasn't actually some sort of military business.

Her mind wasn't quite racing, but it was taking a nice leisurely stroll into the realm of attempting to contact the Major and find out exactly what the nature of the dinner was going to be. Maybe even asking if he'd like to go somewhere more... public.

The simple matter that her mind was even headed in that direction was Xander's fault. Charles looked away from some garish piece of clothing she'd someone zoned out on as she attempted to rationalize the whole thing. Which brought her back to looking at her brother. Yep, this was his doing.

"You're such an ass."

Ordinarily, Xander would have taken Lottie's statement, and converted it into some sort of compliment of his own pretty much perfectly sculpted posterior. The fact that he made the conscious effort not to filled him with a small amount of pride, and with the sensation that he'd grown as a person.

Taking his uncharacteristic restraint further, he allowed a sigh to escape from him. "Make fun of me for this and I'll kill you," he warned, "But truth told, calling you a hideous mutant troll might have been a bit of an exaggeration. I mean -" He stumbled, struggling to phrase the awkward half compliment. "- you're not exactly that bad looking; you've got mom's looks and stuff. You look... nice, you know?"

He winced, failing miserably at his attempt at sibling flattery. Knee-jerk reactions kicking in, a hint of a wry smile emerged amongst his features. "Besides, with Captain Hellcat gone, it's not like he's swimming in alternative options." He hesitated, cocking his head to the side slightly, and flashing Lottie a wink. "Not unless he plans on 'defecting', anyhow."

"Keep dreaming, Xan. But hey, I've never seen the Major completely trashed. You put enough booze in him and who knows how he'll swing."

Some part of her refused to acknowledge the fact her brother had said anything even remotely kind to her about her appearance, and the part that did register it was too busy being completely confused on how to respond...

"Unless he wake up feeling like you do right now, he may not even care!"

The whole thing about the Major inviting her on a date was still something she would love to have avoided talking about the rest of the day. The thought that Xander must have been mistaken continued to repeat itself enough that it seemed to lose meaning.

"Speaking of which..." her voice trailed just long enough to steer her mind in the direction the conversation would hopefully follow. "You didn't answer my question earlier. The hell were you up to last night anyway?"

Glayde had allowed Xander to sneak out of answering earlier and odds were her brother would just redirect things back to that whole weirdness about dinner, which he was totally wrong about, but it was worth a shot.

The question was a repeat, but since Charles had asked the first time, the back corners of Xander's mind had been rummaging around for a suitable excuse, response, and rebuttal, and he was ready for it this time, taking his pick of the few options that his brain presented.

"Last night," he said with a slight edge of mischief, wrapping an arm around Lottie's shoulder, "I met guy in a bar." He let the admission hang for just a moment; long enough for it to sink in, but his response was too quick to let his sister interrupt. "Don't worry, I'm more than happy to go into detail. Glorious, technicolour detail, with vividly painted mental imagescapes, and possibly even suggestive hand gestures and everything."

He grinned, his eyes twinkling as if to say that yes, he was teasing; but he'd most definately follow through if she forced his hand. "So how about we find you something less trampy to wear, and then I'll braid your hair and tell you all about it?"

With an eyebrow quirked, about the best Charles could do was mouth the word 'trampy' in a questioning manner as she tried to process, filter, and ignore most of what her brother had unleashed.

It was strange when you had to go and remind yourself that you had a sibling at all, that you were supposed to be a soldier, that you were at war... all the while fighting the urge to ask when her big brother became a big sister and when her CO become some sort of suitor with a dinner date. It was maddening and unwholesome and Charles couldn't help but wonder if she really did feel more at home when she was in a spot of solitude with just her blaster rifle and a spotter for company than well... all this.

Xander acting like a brother and the Major apparently wanting to get to know her better... what the frink was the galaxy coming to?

The befuddled look on her face faded into a sarcastic sneer. "Yeah... sure..." If the tone of her voice wasn't enough to throw the entire scenario out the window, surely her eye roll would accomplish the feat.

Charles let out a loud breath as she eyed her brother. "Or you know... we can skip you touching me and getting all explicit and you can tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do about tonight."

She let it hang there, silencing all the gripes about how she was still certain Xander had to be wrong about the whole ordeal and if he was right then how Glayde was obliterating protocol and all that... Not that she was ever really one to follow it... but still!

Several Hours Later, Glayde's Quarters

One of the worst things about being a member of the military was the food. It wasn't that the food was bad per se; and in truth, Glayde was one of those strange individuals who actually didn't have an aversion to the field rations that the Imperial military pumped into it's troops - the same rations that the Rebellion routinely stole.

The problem was more to do with selection, and preparation. Even if you found yourself on a large enough starship with a decently-stocked galley, or on some garrison base with access to local food reserves, everything you ate was mass produced and done to a strict menu; and a strict budget.

That was the beauty of Bothawui: one of the few upsides to the team's current base of operations. While some military personnel had been placed in barracks, or in dorm halls that had been loaned to the Alliance by the Military Academy, others found themselves in bespoke officer housing at some of the larger bases, and even in private homes, if any were available and their military wages could cover it.

Glayde wasn't quite important enough for a house of his own, but he had been granted a modest apartment, which came with one very important feature: a kitchen.

Foolishly, his mind had decided that this one meal absolutely had to make up for a decade of rations and mess meals. One home-cooked meal, from family recipes, with the closest approximation of Corellian ingredients that he could find. And who better to share it with than a fellow Corellian?

In his over-ambition however, he had completely lost any concept of time. And so, despite having had hours to prepare, he was still shirtless and mid-sauté by the time Lieutenant Tur'enne arrived at it's door.

"Come in!" he shouted, hoping his voice would carry far enough.

If the meeting in the marketplace had been awkward, the next few hours she had spent at her brother's hands had been a new form of hell all together. His constant insisting that there was more to the meeting than something formal had burrowed all sorts of seeds of doubt under her skin. The only way she could get him to half shut up and make it stop was to let him help her decide what to wear and it wasn't without several fights that they had both agreed on a pair of well fitting pants and a black sweater.

Of course...

If that had been a new form of hell...

Then what would anyone consider walking in on your commanding officer standing around half-naked, covered in a light sweat thanks to a hot kitchen...

Charlotte was determined to prove her brother wrong. Determined. And so she stood at the doorway, taking on at at-ease stance, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

"You uhh.. need any help there, Major?"

John turned, a cook-pan and a whisk still held in his hand. It took a few seconds for it to register in his brain that he was staring. Aside from their mission together on Corellia, he couldn't remember a time when he'd seen her wearing anything that hadn't been requisitioned beforehand.

His face threatened to flush as he remembered one of the things that had happened over the course of that trip. He looked away, embarrassed, staring down at the half-thickened roux he was in the process of creating. More seconds passed as his brain stumbled for something to say.

"It's taking longer than I expected," he offered lamely, by way of an explanation.

His mind should have been formulating an answer to her question, but it was already a good twenty steps away, rifling through his wardrobe in search of something that wasn't one of the scruffy-looking black t-shirts that he always wore.

The mental cavalry finally rode to the rescue, and he abandoned the roux on the stove, waving his hands towards it. "Keep whisking that," he instructed, "And yell in panic if it starts to burn."

"Since when have you ever known me to yell in a panic?" The cocky air in which she answered was an obvious overkill response to the fact she felt entirely foreign with any sort of cooking utensil in her hand.

Her mother had tried to teach her, but Charlotte never did want to find out much past how do I not burn toast. And when she was old enough to actually find that the skill would come in handy...well... full time solider meant no-time chef.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, but it helped take away from the oddness of the actual situation. Charlotte couldn't actually remember the last time she was supposed to be casual, not just fake it in some elaborate ploy. Not that it had stopped her from appraising the entire room when she entered. A mental layout of all possible exits was now burrowed deep in her brain. She couldn't help it, it was just second nature... Just like the whisking was just following another order from The Major.

If Xander could somehow find out, he would give her hell. Can't you just...turn off? Just for a little bit? Charlotte put renewed focus into the task given to her, anything to just keep herself from answering with the resounding 'No.'

Until now, Glayde had never had much of an appreciation for how bland his fashion choices were. Hangers creaked uncomfortably across the clothes rail as he rummaged through his wardrobe, searching for something - anything - that wasn't either military issue or some black item of civvies pretending to be. He finally stumbled on a shirt that he managed to convince himself was a very dark blue instead of black, and dragged it on over his shoulders, fumbling with the buttons a little more than he should have.

Finally convinced he was at least moderately presentable - to a quick glance of his neglected facial hair confirmed that the emphasis was on the moderately there - he strode back out into the main room, still fumbling with the buttons on his cuffs.

He almost laughed at the sight before him. He would have done, if it hadn't been such a tragic sight, and if doing so wouldn't have been as detremental to his health; Charlotte was standing in a kitchenette full of knives, after all.

Autopilot kicked in, memories flooding back of all the times he'd stumbled across his sister and her best friend Sel, converting the family kitchen into a culinary battle ground. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself gently adjusting the way that Charlotte gripped the utensil, tweaking the angle of her hand. "You're trying to whisk it, not interrogate it for information," he teased, with a hint of a rare smile. "Whisk with your wrist, not with your shoulder."

"What if I want to interrogate it? I'd like to know what my food was up to before it ended up becoming a part of me."

For a tiny moment, it looked like she was being completely serious, and in truth, some part of her was dead serious... not the words, but certainly the tone she was maintaining. And then a smile cracked it all, breaking down whatever barriers she was attempting to keep up. Well, maybe not entirely, but it certainly put enough of a dent in them to see clearly over.

So what if Xander was right? So what if this was meant to be a date? They all could die on the very next mission they went on... why not enjoy a decent dinner for once and not try and be the ice queen? Even if her brain wouldn't shut off from her training, at least she could try and not act like this was some sort of survival scenario.

But that didn't mean she was just going to give in to whatever alternate plans the Major had. If he had any. He was, after all, still the Major.

Which meant he was all the more deserving of whatever innocent meanness she could dish out on him.

"You can let go now. I'm not going to somehow flail about and stab you with this thing."

John's hand snapped away a little more quickly than he'd intended it to; mainly a result of the surprise realisation that he'd just been holding Charlotte's hand. His mind fumbled, searching for something to say to distract from things becoming too awkward.

"Death by whisk isn't exactly the way I imagined going out," he tried. "But if anyone could kill someone with one of those things, I'm sure it'd be you."

Fantastic plan, his mind hissed. Had it posessed a head and body of it's own, there would have been a great deal of head-shaking and disapproving arm-folding taking place. Distract her from the inappropriate touching with an inappropriate compliment. Way to go, Major.

This wasn't what he'd intended at all. This was supposed to be perfectly benign; perfectly innocent. He already knew Tallen far too well, and he'd even managed to learn enough about the likes of Onashi and O'Hurn from the kind of casual conversation that filled in the blanks between missions, or in the men's locker room. But Charlotte Tur'enne was something of a mystery. Factually, he knew far more about her than most because of what he'd read in her files: but personally, she was a closed, bound, and welded shut book.

It was all her bastard brother's fault. That passing comment in the hall a few hours ago - I hope you haven't got any inappropriate intentions with my sister, Major - had derailed his mind completely. He'd convinced himself that his motivations were purely innocent, and purely objective. He'd convinced himself that Charlotte would understand exactly what this was, and that it would be the appropriate, civil, absolutely fine meal between two fellow officers that he had always intended it to be.

So why did he feel so on edge?

And why, Gods damn it, did Charlotte have to go and let him find out what it looked like when she smiled?

"Ha." She glanced away, just for a moment from the task at hand, her grin full of triumph. "I challenge you to find me something I couldn't kill someone with."

Charlotte wasn't entirely oblivious to the unease that Glayde was feeling. She couldn'tbe, no matter how hard she was attempting to ignore it. But the conversation was at least going a direction she could handle, even if it wasn't the most polite conversation. But to hells with that. Why should she try and be something she wasn't?

"You know me," Glayde tossed back casually. "Always a sucker for impossible missions."

He fought the urge to smile. Or rather; he fought to turn his smile into something a little less enthusiastic than it wanted to be. Ordinarily, his face displayed emotions with a hint of subtlety - mild annoyance, slight frustration, and an assortment of other downplayed expressions: a necessary life-saving precaution that he'd learned in the Imperial military, when serving under such frustratingly incompetant men.

By now it had become second nature; but sometimes some stupid urge came away and threatened to ruin it all. The amount of damage one overzealous smile could do to his reputation with the team didn't bear thinking about.

"So -"

He changed the subject, searching for something trivial and conversational, but not too generic; asking about the weather or something similarly bland was a sure-fire way of making it look like you had absolutely nothing interesting to talk about.

"How are you finding Bothawui? You settling in okay, or are you starting to miss that old asteroid cave of ours?"

"It's nice to have actual ground under my feet again but can't say this would be my choice for a place to have a vacation home."

A small frown threatened to encroach upon the general good-feeling she'd settled in with and she looked around, once again stricken by the absolute strangeness of their situation.

"I guess I was just hoping for more action. It seems like we barely had time to sleep when we were on the station, but now... It's like command just up and forgot about us, Sir."

It left her before she could stop it and she gave Glayde an apologetic glance.

"Wait, am I supposed to ask for permission to speak freely before I start mouthing off about that sort of thing? Not that it would stop me, but you know, I'd like to know if I should at least be expected to follow regulation here."

"Even when you're meant to ask permission, you don't anyway," John quipped back.

It wasn't entirely true. In fact, it was very much untrue, and decidedly unfair. While Tur'enne had her rough edges, her hot temper, and a laundry list of personality traits that made her an 'interesting' soldier to command, she was at least the kind of soldier who could be commanded. If something was ordered of her, Tur'enne made it happen. She didn't always do it in the tidiest or most polite way, but she was one of the most reliable soldiers that Glayde had served with in a long time.

Not that he'd ever tell her that, of course.

He frowned for a moment, coming to a decision. "No uniforms," he pointed out, "So how about we drop the Sir, and just go with 'John'?"

She'd called him that a few times, mostly when trying to make a point or when it just didn't seem appropriate. There was just something strange about using a person's first name, though. Maybe Charles had just been involved in the war for too much of her life...

"Yeah, I guess I can do that."

Charles still felt a knot of tension between her shoulder blades, the whole sitaution was still just wrong. Only one real fix...

"You don't have anything to drink, do you?"