PHD #203: We Take Care of Each Other Here
We Take Care of Each Other Here
Summary: Quinn and Trask bring Ulixes up to speed on the latest post-Victory developments in their dysfunctional makeshift family.
Date: 17 Sep 2041 AE
Related Logs: Any involving Quinn getting/being knocked-up.
Quinn Trask Ulixes 
Pilot Berths - Naval Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
Post-Holocaust Day: #203
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

Some old habits die hard, and while these 'old' habits are only a few months old they're positively McClaneian. Food might come from the mess, rationed as it is, and equipment may be issued by the quartermaster in regular military fashion but when you've been scavenging for so long it's tough to suppress that urge. To that end, Ulixes is in the (for the moment) unoccupied pilot berths digging through someone's footlocker that they've left unlocked, pulling things out and peering at them curiously before placing them to one side neatly.

Quinn knew that Shortcut was on board, at least in theory, but she hadn't actually seen evidence of her old squadron mate in practice. LSO hours unpredictable, tossing herself into paper work beyond that, doctor's appointments, and his own schedule meant that he and Maggie had just missed each other. Tonight, however, it seems their lucky evening. Maggie's just back from duty, wearing her blue slacks only done part of the way up, stretched tight tank tops and unbuttoned blue jacket. It's the best she could do as of late until someone figures out a sewing miracle and extra fabric. She blinks at the leaned over body, not recognizing him yet. "Officer… looking for something?" She asks sternly.

The footlocker in question? It sure as frak isn't Trask's. His footlocker has reinforced joints and an extra heavy duty lock. The man may not have many possessions, but those that he does have, he does not leave on display or otherwise susceptible to pilfering. The sound of wet flip-flops heralds his arrival and tracks his padding towards his locker. On auto-pilot, he was about to greet Quinn, whom he could recognize pretty much anywhere, but that is halted when he notices Ulixes, too. Scavenging, no less. Sure, he should speak up and deal with it as Shortcut's SL, but that's less lulzworthy than watching Maggie in-action.

"Not really," answers Ulixes, forgetting his place for the moment as he pulls out a polaroid of someone in a very questionable position and quirks an eyebrow at it, "Just getting my bearings." He puts the polaroid down carefully and picks up something else, a worn copy of a book which he flips through, 'Searider Falcon'. With a shrug, he declares "Read it" and puts it on the carefully-stacked pile with the rest of the belongings. Finally, he glances up towards Quinn and beams broadly at her, "Hey J-" he pauses, eyes catching site of the pregnancy belly, "Heh."

It's not just the belly which might make him stop. Maggie's got her hands on her non-existant waist and that look in her face of a mother hen about to peck all the way up someone's spine. "Look, Shortcut. First thing, sure as hell good to see you, was wondering if you were just a ghost it's been so long… Two, I know you been through hell and back and things look a frak of a lot different than they did when we all served together, but you ain't in the wilderness any more and that shit sure as hell ain't yours. 3. We take care of each other here… so you need something, you ask, don't dig. SO, last but not least, you SURE as shit better put every little thing back in that case that you were pullin' out and make nice with the owner whenever he comes back. Done?" The strangest thing is, along with her belly, Maggie's Caprican accent is totally gone. She's lilting Aerilon thick and easy, just a bit heavier because she's on the edge of being pissed.

Nonchalantly, Kal removes the fungus-fighting footwear and sets aside the items. Just as nonchalantly, he sheds his towel and commences the final round of toweling off before getting ready for rack time. For the record, even if he weren't some distance away from the others, to their backs, he'd still be smirking with impish amusement at the reunion in-progress.

"I was going to put it back," Ulixes answers, almost like a kid in the middle of being reprimanded, and begins to pick up the neat stacks of belongings and piles them back into the trunk, "It's good to see you, too. When'd you get pregnant?" Apparently, being stranded for so long with yourself for company leads you to believe you're entitled to ask any question you like.

Shortcut's response seems to satisfy Maggie, or at least she doesn't have the heart to lecture the man after so long. Her anger melts away, moods as shiftable as the weather, and she flashes him a quiet smile, stepping back and waiting for him to stand so she can lean in for a proper hug. "Beltaine. Drunk off my ass and stupid as a teenager…" She admits with a touch of an embarrassed grunt. She rubs his back warmly. "Damn good to see you." And then she calls over his shoulder, "And don't think I don't see you over there, Kal Trask… you been duckin' me for weeks, it feels like."

"Kinda hard not to see me," quips back Bootstrap, seeing how he's stark naked save for his dogtags. Oh, and the towel he's rubbing over his scalp. "And, no," he pre-emptively and drily adds for Ulixes' benefit, "the kid is only mine insofar that I own it, even though I'm not the one who popped that bun into Maggie's over."

"Well, shit," Ulixes says with a broad grin on his face, "I missed watching my stories on T.V. and as a reward for my patience and perseverance in the wilderness, I'm rewarded with getting to be in one. I'm gonna get amnesia just as soon as I'm done packing, here."

Quinn rolls her eyes, giving another groan. "You two are incorrigible. Both of you. How the hell did I forget that? And no, this baby is not Trask's in any way unless he is very kindly offering baby sitting duty… Then he gets to change the diapers, at least." She winks towards her ex-ECO now SL before she steps back. Considering a few moments, she looks around the room then heads for the coffee set up. She doesn't move to make any, but she scoops up three of those little sugar packets, ripping one open immediately. She needs her fix!

"The frak it's not," Trask maintains about his claim. "It was in the fine print as due compensation for the loss of my freedom. You got your replacement Ess-El, and I get future slave labor." Towel flung over one tatau covered shoulder, the man then goes about unlocking and opening his locker. What he does not mention is that any offers involving babysitting really is more a matter of saddling Evandreus with the task.

"Babies aren't much use as slave labor," Ulixes points out to Trask, finishing loading up the chest and closing it tight, "They tend to just want to eat and crap. Trust me, I know. Anyway, I'm glad to see you're looking good, Jugs. Can't say the same for you, Bootstrap, but if you didn't look like the day after shore leave the universe would probably cave in."

Quinn tosses back that sugar packet like she was taking a shot of something, some relaxation passing through her shoulders a moment later. That's the stuff… Maybe her craving will wear off for just a few moments now, but she shoves the other packets into her pocket for when the need hits again. She then moves for her locker, finally taking off her jacket. "Thanks, Shortcut… and Trask just tries to act all tough and cold to hide the fact that he's squealing like a little girl inside for when this baby comes. He can't wait to be stand-in-dad…" Since the jerk ass who knocked her up hasn't spoken to her in weeks.

Not missing a beat, Kal carries on, "I'd be worried if I looked good to you, Shortcut, 'cuz that'd mean I'd either looked like a twelve year old girl, or breakfast." Beat. "Possibly both." Because it's never too early to trash talk about cultural stereotypes and/or traumatic experiences. Retrieving a pair of dark boxer-briefs, the Taurian begins to shimmy them on. "More like groaning," is the remark to Quinn. "You're mistaking nausea for giddiness." In a rare showing of sensitivity, there is no comment about dads of any kind. It's not like he'll lack in future opportunities to totally rip on Tillman.

"It's the pigtails," Ulixes says, shaking the insult off like water from a duck's back - he had to overcome a lot of prejudices to join the military, after all, "And that schoolgirl outfit you wear when you don't think anyone's looking. Be still my beating heart." When Quinn mentions Trask will be the 'stand-in' dad, he glances at her and nods, "So, if he's stand-in dad then who is actual dad? "

Quinn unzips what there is of her slacks and then she pauses, looking down. Boots off first. She grumbles to herself and sinks down into her bunk, leaning over as best she can with belly in the way, so she can untie her shoes. It's still not TOO difficult… but it's getting to be a bit of a ride getting boots on and off. The question about the baby daddy makes her smirk. "He's still pining after his dead wife on the colonies and decided he'd rather his very alive child be a bastard than marry me, because his wife might still be alive and he doesn't want to hurt her." The words from Maggie are like acid, the most actually pissed and hurt that Ulixes has ever heard her. No, apparently she's not gotten over it.

Maggie /is/ fond of her pigtails. Trask is a good sport and lets her bask in that. Instead, he rummages for a pair of clean socks and banters back about the school girl uniform, "I knew you were watching." The cheek of the comment is highlighted by the flirtatious delivery. One sock is donned, slowly pulled and adjusted as though it were a silk stocking. Coyly, he looks over towards Ulixes to cheekily bat his lashes. "Now, now, Magpie. Don't be so harsh. I'm thinkin' ol' Clive simply wants to feel more in common with the kid and simply doesn't realize that a literal bastard isn't the same as a figurative one." His sarcasm may lack Quinn's bitterness, but no one who knows the man can mistake just how biting he's being beneath that lightness of tone.

"Clive?" Ulixes glances from Quinn, to Trask and then back to Quinn, "Okay, this isn't fair. I'm not the gossipy sort but keeping this from me isn't fair. Does this guy need his ass kicked or what?"

Quinn deadpans coldly, "He's the XO. I'm not really sure it's worth the trouble." Yes, mama hen actually got herself in way, way over her head here, a touch of shame crossing her features at the thought of it. She pulls out another one of those sugar packets now that her shoes are off, knocking it back as smooth as a pixie stick.

Pfffft. Yes, he really makes that noise. "It's a matter of principle, Mags." Without fanfare, the other sock is drawn on and up. "Although, honestly," the ECO adds more earnestly, "I think he's frakkin' off his rocker. Seriously lost his shit with the whole Abbot fiasco and simply has degenerated from there. He served under Strye, for frak's sake." As if that somehow expressed the staggering depths to which Tillman has fallen.

Back to Ulixes, he elaborates, "Major Clive Tillman. A man who once had been worthy of a great deal of professional respect." An endorsement from Bootstrap, it should be noted, is no small feat. Of course, the statement and the tone certainly convey that no such respect exists on a professional level and most certainly not on a personal one. "That was before he lost any semblance of good sense and had the CO arrested in a public place." It's so great an event of 'wtf?' that Trask is still boggled.

"Man," Ulixes says quietly, standing up from where he is and holding out an arm to gives Quinn a one-armed 'It'll be alright' hug, "If I'd have known things were that frakked up here, I'd probably have stayed in the hole."

Quinn returns the one armed hug, not really able to put it any better than Trask just did. Hell, she's doing her best to stave off one of those I'm-really-not-going-crazy moodswings. Hell, she's a redhead, she had crazy mood swings before she got knocked up! Now momma hen is just trying to be more aware of them. "Thanks, Shortcut… but… nothing to do about it now but move on… So… you all get to share diaper duty and we'll manage. No issue. We're glad you came aboard. We sure as hell needed you."

Retrieving a tank top, Kal finally closes and locks his locker. The towel is then discarded in the communal dirty towel bin. That done, on goes the shirt. Moving back towards his bunk, which so happens to be above the redheaded preggo, it is with utter nonchalance that he picks up Quinn's boots and puts them away in their usual place. After all, the way he shows he cares certainly isn't verbally. Case in point? The jerkass then plops down on his ass and gathers Maggie's feet into his lap and starts to rub. True, it's no professional massage, but it's good enough for aching feet. "Oh, come on," he cracks to Ulixes, "this is so much better than those soap operas of yours. Well, apart from the whole risk of death an' physical, emotional, and mental trauma." This show involves audience participation.

"Yeah, yeah," even minor forms of praise do not sit well with Shortcut, who waves a hand with a half-awkward smile and settles down on the bunk that's designated as his own, "I don't have much issue with diapers. Changed a lot of them." He leans forward to rub his eyes and spots a copy of a skin magazine, pages well-turned, half-tucked under someone's pillow and snatches it up quickly to begin flicking through it, "Hey now … "

Quinn wasn't expecting that, but as Trask is offering, and her feet really are noticeably swollen, there's no way in hell that she's going to be able to say no. She just smiles a bit wider, a small groan crossing her lips as she sinks back into her bunk, even forgetting about taking off the rest of her uniform. "Oh Trask… maybe I will sell the baby to you for slave labour…if you just promise to do this every night…" She mutters, eyes half shutting already, though she steals one last look in Toby's direction and smirks. "Good night, Toby… have fun!" she calls after him.

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