| Overrated |
| Summary: | Wherein in the necessity of marriage and the qualifications of a good father are briefly discussed. |
| Date: | 10 Aug 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Up to Quinn or Tillman to post. |
| Players: |
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| Pilot Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #165 |
| The battlestar's pilots call this place home. Bunks line the walls with grey curtains to cover their sleeping areas. Lockers sit between each pair of bunks and a round metal table sits in the center, furnished with simple but comfortable steel chairs. A hatch at the rear of the room leads to a communal head. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
Fairly late into third shift, Maggie would have normally been back to sleep if she was spending the night in her berth tonight, but any night she and Clive have off together she's always asleep in the XO's quarters. Therefore, it's a bit of a shock that the sweats clad woman is now pushing open the hatch and stepping back into the room. She's not sobbing, but silent, choked tears continue to streak down her cheeks and she can't stop them, no matter how she's tried.
At this hour, Trask is dead on his feet, so to speak, and the only reason he is not yet dead asleep is that he has the foresight to at least put on a pair of boxer briefs before climbing into bed. Running around naked during Condition One really isn't that lulzworthy. Well, not when it's him. For the nonce, he's still toweling off, growing increasingly heavy-lidded, with aforementioned skivvies sprawled across Quinn's unoccupied bed.
Quinn steps over towards her bed, pausing as she sees some boxers there. Frak. She turns her head away a moment, trying to hastily wipe at her cheeks and eyes. She really doesn't need Trask seeing this, he'd probably take it worse than her. Of course, if she could shut the damn hormones off, she probably wouldn't be crying in the first place, her breath catching in her throat a moment even as she's trying to hide all evidence. She silently reaches down, grabbing his skivvies and tossing them up on his bunk before climbing into her own, back to the room. Maybe he'll think she's just sick. Or being a bitch.
Add the exhaustion from working 14-hour (minimum) shifts since he became SL to the non-stop off-duty consideration given to the four potentially fatal recon missions he has to help plan, then multiply by the expectation that Maggie is sleeping elsewhere tonight. What does this equal? Kal not noticing that (1) his boxer-briefs have been tossed into his own bunk, and (2) the bed below his that should be empty is not empty. What he does notice, when he distractedly reaches in to grab his undies is that he, instead, inadvertently grabs the preggo's ass. "What the— ?" Taken aback, a surge of adrenaline widens his eyes and flares into momentary hyper-awareness that quickly sputters and dies when he realizes what just happened. "If you could hand me my knickers before I unintentionally feel you up, that'd be great." With how tired he sounds, it'll be a moment before it registers that Something Is Wrong.
Quinn jumps a moment as her ass is grabbed, though unintentionally. Just as she thought it was going to be safe to cry in peace. Maggie breathes in, really trying to control the tremble in her voice as she calls back to him, "I put them on your bunk." There is a raspiness that isn't there in her voice normally, like she was a lifetime smoker when she wasn't, but otherwise she's hiding fairly well. Maybe he won't notice.
"Oh." That's all he has to say with lagged understanding. Idly scritching his scalp, his other hand half-covers a yawn while en route to reaching into his own bunk to retrieve the item. Garment shaken out, one leg goes in, then the other. Somewhere during the shimmy, Kal questions, "Wait…? Why are you here? It's Tuesday, innit?"
Quinn reaches her hand up, wiping her cheeks once more, just in case he makes her turn around. She swallows tightly for a moment. "Long story… just… gonna get some sleep, Kal," Maggie mutters quietly to him, her voice cracking just a bit on the end there.
No longer naked, Bootstrap slinks into the bunk o' Jugs. Huddled as she is, there's enough room for his ass to land. It's all he needs to annex more space. "That's fine," he murmurs, maneuvering to get one arm underneath a pillow and thus her neck, "I won't say no to a bedtime story." The end result isn't quite a hug, but it easily enough could become one if the redhead repositions herself just a bit.
Quinn stiffens just a bit as he actually climbs into her bunk, instead of his own. It's really going to be impossible to hide at this point. She shuts her eyes tightly, still stiff as can be against him, not melting into his arm or relaxing any more for him being in her bunk. "I… I'm not up for it tonight, Kal… maybe tomorrow. You… you had a long day, just… go to sleep, please…"
"You're not gonna puke, are you?" Faintly, tired eyes crack open somewhat incredulously as his head faintly lolls in her direction. "You need some water, or some of that," the question is interrupted by another yawn, "um, whatever the frak Lunair gave you?"
Quinn shakes her head. "No, no… not going to puke," Maggie confirms, even if her voice sounds a bit sick. She'd been doing so much better the last few weeks, truthfully. It'd be strange for her to come down sick now.
It's a soft 'mmm' of acknowledgement that is his reply, although he's not entirely convinced. "Well, you don't sound so hot. You're not getting sick, are you? I have…" Yet another yawn and a pause before his conversational ability reboots. "…some vitamin C and zinc." Which he's offering.
Quinn shakes her head quietly, "No, no… I'm not sick, I'm fine. Just… just been a long night. You worry too much. Now get your butt to your bed and to sleep, mister." She tries to sound stern with that comment, but it's an odd statement. She never has complained about either of the boys being with her.
She's not sick. He also is not leaving, let alone leaving the subject alone. Still sounding sleepy, the man is no less serious when he says, "What did Clive do or not do?" Trask is tactless and uncomfortable with emotionality, but he is not obtuse. "I mean, I'm gonna go after his kneecaps and/or nads whether or not I know exactly /why/ I am." Quinn's upset. That's reason enough. No need to sweat the details.
Quinn closes her eyes tightly, just the question bringing another wave of stinging there. Frak hormones. Frak them to Hades and back. She swallows tightly, turning her face into her pillow as she tries to fight for that precious and nearly impossible control. "Nothing, Kal, just frakking drop it… it's not your business or your worry so just forget it, okay!"
Now he's getting cranky. "The frak it's not my business," he half-snaps. There'd probably be more force to it if he had the energy. "You're my best friend and you're upset. That /makes/ it my business." Shifting, his face contorts a bit as he readjusts his arm, and then the rest of his body, to spoon her. "So, you can either tell me, or I'll get it outta him, one way or another." Bootstrap has spoken.
Quinn rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "It… it's nothing… I just brought up… I thought… hell, I hoped, maybe, one of these days we'd be getting married. I was apparently wrong… stupid of me to even think. Haven't even known each other a year. It's fine, it'll pass… it's just the damn hormones," Maggie admits, though voicing it out loud does make a bit of a sob catch in her throat. She's going to cry again, dammit.
Oh. So /that's/ the reason. Maybe it's due to his own feelings about marriage, children, and simply affairs of the heart, but righteous indignation isn't the Taurian's response. "His loss." It's that simple. "I hope that this kid," Kal's topmost hand reaches to lightly tap Maggie's belly, "doesn't inherit his idiocy." Never mind that this assertion of the woman's worth is subsequently undermined by the insulting opinion of her baby-daddy.
Quinn swallows a bit more, though another racking breath catches against her lips. "…Frak, Kal. I know… I know… it shouldn't matter, I don't care… but frak… I… I wanted more for this baby. I guess I was stupid… wanted… More for myself. Stupid frakking little town Maggie Quinn…"
Ever one to call a spade a spade, Trask doesn't let the lie slide. "You /do/ care. It's okay. It's human. Sometimes, human nature is dumb. It simply is how it is. No sense in denying it. Just gotta make do with the best you have. Besides," he cuddles a bit closer, utterly chaste, "you have me an' Buns. We're awesome enough for a dozen kids."
"I know… I know… you'll be better family than I could have ever dreamt for this kid… It's no big deal…" Maggie gasps out, still trying not to cry and still failing horribly at it.
"Fathers are overrated," is murmured, rue tinged with something darker. Kal is too sleepy to censor thoughts he'd ordinarily censor. "Better you know now than later. A lack of a father is better than a bad father." Which is the most he has ever spoken of such things and not something he'd be inclined to express were he awake.
Quinn tilts her head slightly, looking at him, a slight frown pulling at her lips which actually draws her out of those tears she's trying to fight. "You… wanna talk to me about somethin', Kal? Father's are… good to have around. They do make things better, if they're there. Any family helps." Says the woman who had over a dozen family members she loved.
Dozing off, Bootstrap rebuttals, "Good fathers are good to have around. Dunno if marriage is necessary for that, but he's still off to a bad start to make you cry so…"
Quinn frowns, listening, uncertain… but he's dozing off, and she'd rather not go to pieces around him tonight, so she lets him fall asleep… she staring at the ceiling for a much longer time. Eventually, though, she'll drop off to sleep.