lastrat | ♠ | 026 | Voice + Spam

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♠ | 026 | Voice + Spam

[Bond's comm clicks on, and he sounds terribly exasperated, bored, and maybe a touch annoyed. It's mostly so he can talk over any questions coming through the network, so he doesn't have to answer anything. Just in case.]

I remember this flood. I'll be in the pub, if anyone feels like having their mouth taped shut. [Or jaw broken. Whatever.]

Chris, do us a favor and stuff a bar of soap in yours. [Or he could get earmuffs and do it himself, he would not be opposed!

And he is probably going to be leaving his communicator in his room, because no thank you, he enjoys his secrets. There's a very small window for catching him on the network.]

[Spam]

[Because he is not, in fact, going to the pub. In actuality, Bond is heading for the pool, where he is changing into blue trunks ~~that are too short to be actual trunks what the hell~~ and starting the first of many, many laps. Eventually, he'll tire and float in the deep end for a time.

He came here instead of the pub mostly because the pool is quiet, because he's not certain if he's affected, and because he doesn't know what answers would come out of his mouth if certain questions were asked. Why is he here? He knows that answer. But is it worth it? A mystery. Why did he fuck up so badly with Esther, with Ellie? He doesn't know. Why doesn't he just return to a world where his way of dealing with things is utterly acceptable?

It's too tempting. So he deafens himself with the water as he cuts through it, planning how best to avoid the Barge for the next few days.]

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[Peter's not really sure how he winds up here, mostly because it's not like he spends a lot of time in the pool, and it's not like Bond gave him any reason to think that he wouldn't be at the pub (even if he'd kind of hoped he wouldn't be there, he's still kind of not sure him having access to it at all is a great thing, even if stuff's been... better lately), but here he is, and here he's planning on staying, at least for the time being.

He doesn't announce himself or otherwise try to interrupt his laps, and instead finds a pool chair and just flops down on one, staring at the ceiling. He's not planning on poking at him to see how he's feeling or exploit the flood to find out anything, he just kind of wants to be around for the time being.

Weird how the Barge has (sort of) cured him of being totally socially awkward and incapable of maintaining long term relationships with people.]

[Very weird. Bond catches sight of him mid stroke, but he doesn't stop. He reaches the end of the lane, turns underwater, heads back the way he came, stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe. He's fairly certain Peter won't take advantage of the situation, and that's why eventually he pauses at one end of the pool, breathing hard. And when he's caught his breath, he heads treads water toward the edge Peter's chair is closest to.]

Hello.

[Peter sits up when he's addressed and manages a sort of apologetic smile.]

Hi. [And... then there's a pause because not being able to ask a question to continue this conversation makes the next step sort of difficult.] I'm pretty sure this makes you the smartest guy on the Barge right now.

I'm not sure why that was ever in doubt.

[Dryly; he's not being serious. He shrugs - water is great for distorting sound.]

A question, [And he only warns because it's Peter,] are you just going to sit there?

It's amazing your ego doesn't get you in more trouble than it does.

[He's teasing, he knows it's a huge problem. Obviously.

And if he minds about the question, he doesn't show it. Instead, he just shrugs and answers the question.]

I was kind of planning on it, I actually don't know if I actually have swim trunks that fit me. And you don't have to warn for questions, I'm affected, but, [And another shrug.] You already know about all the stuff I don't like talking about, so.

[It's no big deal, and he trusts him.]

[They happen to hate talking about the same shit. Makes it easier to avoid. Bond smiles wryly, pushes away from the wall to tread water again.]

You could always ask the Admiral for a pair. If you accept they'll be hideous.

I'm guessing tie dye rainbow with smilely faces or hearts on it. Might just be easier to wait until the next half decent port.

[Which is hopefully going to be soon, because he's starting to go kind of stir crazy here.]

Not easier, but certainly easier on our eyes.

[Though he would laugh a lot. A lot.

I'm already enough of a freak without adding that to the pile.

[Don't you dare request a pair for him.]

[Oh he's gonna do it.]

Have some confidence in yourself. I'm sure you could pull it off.

I don't think so. Blue and red spandex is as crazy as I'm going to go.

[He stops kidding for a minute and looks at Bond a little more seriously, honestly curious, and extending the offer because look, trust,] Do you want to ask me anything?

[He doesn't like making a show of trust. He doesn't particularly like trust at its core. It's too easy to betray. And yet, time and again he finds himself trusting people. Peter is one of them. James shakes his head.]

I don't think there's anything I need to know that Silent Hill didn't tell me.

Then I guess I'm glad that one happened before this one did. [Which is pretty much the only time he will ever be saying anything remotely similar to this, because holy shit, you know what wasn't fun? Silent fucking Hill.]

'Glad.'

[It comes out dryly, because he sure does agree. Do you know who he hopes never comes to the Barge? Flash. He will never be able to see him as anything but a monster.]

The Barge doesn't do glad very well.

[Hey, guess who's making a conscious effort to never think of that again, because he still can remember Flash trying to be nice after what happened to Uncle Ben, and also has to remember watching his head explode.]

Does it do anything besides weird and horrible well?

... Sorry. That was supposed to be rhetorical.

It's fairly good at reunions. Good and bad. [He didn't mean to say that, and lets himself dip under the water, just in case there's any more coming. When there isn't, he pulls himself up again. And splashes Peter. Just a little, because it was supposed to be rhetorical.]

[Natasha tries the pub first, but apparently she misses him, and leaves just as quickly before anyone else there can say anything. She has jet engine rated plugs of orange foam stuffed in her ears, but better safe than sorry. It doesn't take her that long to find him in the pool.

He's in the middle of a lap, and she waits at the end of his lane for him to surface so he can turn.]

James, what ar--

[He does surface, but he hears the beginning of a question, sees her mouth move, and he doesn't even question his first instinct. Bobbing up out of the water, he grabs for the front of her shirt, her belt loop, whatever he can grab, and tugs her into the water next to him. At least it's the deep end, there's almost no way for her to get hurt.

He's not even a little sorry, either.]

[His fingers twist in the soft cotton of her tee shirt, and down she goes. There is no flailing, because she does not flail, but there might be a soft 'eep' of surprise.

She smacks him when she surfaces, rather hard, because her jeans are tight and now they are wet which means they're basically painted on. So thanks for that. He's just lucky she didn't have anything in her pockets for the water to ruin.]

Cabin. Is. Safer.

[She articulates very carefully, her hand holding his wrist in a way that makes it very clear she will break it if he tries to dunk her again. The foam earplugs are also now incredibly uncomfortable, so she pulls them out. They float.]

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get out of wet tight jeans?

[He grunts at the slap, tries to swim backwards to get out of reach, but she catches his wrist and he stops trying to escape. He likes his wrist unbroken. The foam makes him smile, though, just a little.]

I suppose it would only be fair to offer my help.

[She makes a face at him. It is a face of general displeasure, but she undoes the button and zipper, and hooks her arms over the lip of the pool for leverage.]

Pull.

[It is not a request. Natasha hates the feeling of being fully clothed and soaking wet. Hates it.]

Yes ma'am.

[Bond doesn't even try to hide his little grin. He swims behind her, hooks his fingers in the edge of her pants, and tugs.]

[This is not the Sexy Undressing that Bond probably wishes it was. Natasha wears very tight jeans. Denim with a very high spandex content for mobility. This is like trying to peel the plastic coating off of those blocks of lurid bright cheddar cheese Clint likes.

But once he manages to get them over the curve of her ass, it's a little easier, and she tugs her plain black panties back up when the jeans try to take them down.

When Bond gets them to her calves, she can force them the rest of the way down and off with her feet, and she gives him a sour look as she turns.]

Was that really necessary?

[Yes, it's a question. Deal with it. You dunk tank'd her.]

[He manages by planting his foot against the wall, swallows his smirk as her panties start to come down as well. At least he waits long enough to for her to get a hold of them before continuing. It's definitely not sexy, and it definitely takes more effort than he imagined pants ever could, which he thinks is saying something because he certainly wears tight suits too.

Just not this tight.

At least it's the sort of question he can smile at, when she finally turns that sour look on him.]

No. But it did brighten the day a bit.

Well, glad I could brighten your day.

[She has a momentary stutter in her expression at having admitted that, but she moves smoothly past it and starts treading water. Which is a little difficult when her knees keep getting caught in her shirt. So she strips that off. It's gone pretty much see through, anyway, so it's not doing her any good.

Sensible black bra matches sensible black panties. They are cotton and comfortable and they are sexy because of the body they're on, not their design. She likes comfortable.]

Do you trust me to not take advantage of this situation?

[He's got a very self satisfied smirk on his face, but he's kind enough to grab both jeans and shirt so he can toss them back over the lip of the pool.

A sigh catches in the back of his throat, and he runs a hand over his head before shaking it.]

No.

[She is gorgeous, but he keeps his eyes on her face when he answers.]

I don't trust much anyone. Especially not with this.

[Natasha sighs a little, though she can't exactly blame him. Her bright orange ear plugs bob in the water near them as the tangible (and eye searing) proof of that.]

Then I suppose we're done with questions.

[She could press the advantage, but that would probably be the end of their time spent together. So that's that.]

There's always Marco Polo. [Driest of dries. He smiles wanly, and gives into one small temptation.]

Do you trust me not to take advantage?

Yes.

[Conditionally, and the fact that it is conditional won't let her stop there.]

I trust you to not take advantage if I ask you not to. I believe that you value having a relationship with me more than you would details of my past that might be interesting, but will not translate to any real gain in your situation here.

I trust that I'm worth more to you as a friend than I am as a puzzle.

[It doesn't really surprise him, perhaps only that conditional trust for her translated to a partial yes. Conditions more often become nos, for him.]

All right. [He pauses, and adds,] Can't say you're wrong. [He has enough puzzles, not nearly enough friends.] Or that it's far from how I feel.

[She's getting better at relating to people. Slowly but surely. It's the result of active effort on her part.

And, because she already admitted to it in her conditions:] Please don't take unfair advantage of this situation.

You have my word. [Sometimes his word isn't worth more than the air it takes to give it, but in this he's serious. He's curious, of course: that she would ask makes him wonder, but in the end, she's right. He'd rather find out by other means.

And in the end, it takes a very particular kind of person to do what they do.]

Did you come looking for me? [There is the faintest smirk on his lips. This doesn't count as taking advantage, right?]

I did.

[She started off in the pub, ended up here, and she doesn't see anything wrong with that.]

Are you glad I found you?

I wasn't. But it's not as if I can swim through the entire flood, and if anyone was going to find me, I knew you would be a top contender. [It's more than he really wants to say, and there's a tightness in his jaw that betrays that. But none of it is terrible to be saying, at least not yet.]

And I'm gladder now than I was when you were dressed.

[And with a choice to be embarrassed or smug, he will go with smug every time. It's the truth, after all. He might as well own it.]

Sorry, all requests must be phrased in the form of a question.

Oh good.

Cassel or me: which one is more adorable?

You're equally adorable. [His thumb is hovering over the off button. If a question he doesn't want to answer comes up, he's shutting it and answering into the nether.]

Boo, cop-out.

Would you rather have sex with a goat and no one finds out, or not have sex with a goat but everyone thinks you did?

Not have sex. No one would honestly believe I was that desperate.

I'm putting the communicator away now, Chris.

Aww, come on, I was just getting started!

[Nope, communicator is off, bye Chris]

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♠ | 026 | Voice + Spam

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