WHO: Tracey Dawes & Jaime Tyburn WHAT: The two celebrate the 10th year anniversary of their friendship. Sort of. WHEN: C Day WHERE: Ganymede WARNINGS: Mild cussing, otherwise we got nuthin'.
Tracey had lost no one personally to RAC duty, but she still respected those who had gone before her. Much of the time someone of her mother’s calibre had lived through perilous missions not simply due to grit and gile (or being ‘better’), but because she had been lucky. Sometimes all it took was a second more, a second less, a jumpy gunner, a weapon jamming - and then you were dead.
Pro patria mori, she had thought as the ceremony drew to a close, and she rose to her feet along with the other sombrely clad attendants. Afterwards she had changed into something else - still nice, as she had promised Jaime, but of a different hue. Tracey wore black often enough in her day job, but funeral wear was funeral wear and it felt— disrespectful almost to take her black dress out on the town afterwards.
“Mexican or Chinese?” she asked, falling into step with Jaime.
"Thai? Italian?" Jaime countered, with a shrug. "I don't know. You're the lady, you decide." Decidedly the less socially conscious of the two, Jaime hadn't had the forethought to bring a separate set of clothing. Out of respect, his hair had been combed and slicked down for the service but the ends were beginning to rebel against the gel. More so after Jaime ran his fingers through his hair again as the two walked. Some things were just not meant to be.
“‘The lady.’” Tracey smiled. “You’re a gentleman to say as much.” Not that she thought that knowing her way around a ship’s bones and being able to handle herself in a fight made her any less so, but she seldom thought of herself as being particularly girly.
She was feeling a little less grease monkey-like in her dress, however. It wasn’t a change she cared to make on a particular basis, but it was a nice change. And whether or not she had done a twirl after trying it on was something no one but her would know. “Italian? I think we’re more likely to get sparkling wine there than at a Thai place.”
The mention of sparkling wine summoned a loud groan. "Val says I can't drink alcohol." Jaime made a face, "I don't know if he's pulling a fast one or not. I mean, what has it been? Two weeks?"
“Medics don’t joke about things like that. Sorry.” Tracey’s tone was not particularly sorry. She’d had her share of knocks that had forced abstinence. “How is your head these days?” she added, slightly softer.
"Fantastic." Jaime drew out the word and flashed his friend a wide smile (too wide?). Pride and a wounded ego rendered him reluctant to admit any lingering effects from his injury. Yes, he wasn't particularly eager to talk about anything related to how a vagabond had caught him off guard and knocked him out. Or what happened to his assailant afterwards.
"Are you hungry? We could just walk and see where our feet take us," Jaime suggested instead.
“Sure.” Though her training meant that she received them less than the average person, Tracey had experience enough with injuries to recognise a deflection when she heard one. A couple approached them, as melded together as if they were running a three-legged race and giggling. Tracey rolled her eyes good naturedly and stepped aside.
“So. Ten years, huh? Who knew I’d have put up with you for that long.”
Jaime watched the couple until they disappeared. They looked happy and as carefree as anyone could be. Lucky bastards.
"Lies," he replied with a pointed look once he dragged his eyes away, "You loved every single second." Tracey gave a skeptical snort. Jaime responded by draping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her arm. "I'm really glad we're doing this. Felt like forever ago since we've had a nice talk in person."
“Yeah, when we do end up in port together, it seems like there’s not usually a lot of overlap in our schedules.” Tracey bunted her head against his shoulder. “I never really appreciated how much our social lives were on tap, being in the program. Until it stopped, I guess. Now instead of being stuck with one hundred or so other people, it’s just down to eight. At least I can stand my crew, I guess.”
Jaime shook his head. Tsk tsk. He couldn't let his buddy suffer from a non-existent social life. "Speaking of social lives, when was the last time you went on a date?"
“More to the point is, when was the last time I gave a shit?” Tracey shrugged. It wasn’t that she was adverse to relationships as that she didn’t see where they fit into her life. Her mother had been in the RAC. Her mother had tried. It hadn’t worked for her. Wishing that she weren’t single was a bit like being a starfish and wishing for a tail - pointless and unnecessary. “If you’re itching to set anyone up, I’d recommend Ireland. Maybe one of those ‘68 girls you hung out with the other day might fit the bill.”
"Hey hey hey," Jaime trumpeted, "I'm just saying. It ain't easy meeting nice people in our line of work. I wouldn't be surprised if you're keeping a secret life outside of the RAC. But-" he raised a finger in a shushing motion before he could be interjected, "-I'm not interested in being anyone's matchmaker. Ireland or the Sixaters."
“Hmm.” Tracey was not convinced. “Seems like you don’t have enough to do, if you’re asking questions like that.” Her lips quirked. “You must really need a drink.”
"Tracey Dawes, that's the second time you've mentioned alcohol. Are you trying to get me drunk and out of my pants?" Jaime matched her expression and continued dryly, "Or am I really such a bore? It's only been a decade. What are we going to do when our friendship hits its twenties? Or thirties?"
“You wish that I was trying to get you out of your pants. Maybe Sahra had a point the other day.” Tracey raised her eyebrows at him. “I’m pointing out that you seem kind of squirrelly, is all.”
"Excuse me?" Jaime inquired with faux indignation. But genuine interest. "What exactly have you been gossipping about behind my back? I'd like to weigh in you know. For scientific purposes."
“It wasn’t behind your back. It was right in front of you.” Tracey smiled. She was not a girl who missed - or forgot - much. Jaime however… “About your wank bank, remember?”
The navigator went blank for moment.
Jaime made a dismissive sound. "It was a joke. You are never going to let me live it down, are you?" Tracey shook her head. That was what she was here for. He dragged a hand over his face. "Wait, I think we're lost. You know this area?"
“You’re lost. I’m not.” Tracey took his wrist. “This way.”
Jaime nodded and hid a satisfied smile. Topic changed. Reunion dinner saved. Maybe.