Covered Up
Covered Up
Summary: Timon discovers that Thea knows more than she lets on.
Date: PHD126
Related Logs: Grey, Et in Arcadia Ego, Stubborn and Contrary


The Tool Room has long been known as Thea's personal office. When someone has an issue, here's usually where she can be found for the private, not-really-business chats. And here she is, curled up on her crate, humming as she works on a wrench.

"Evening, Captain." Timon knows precisely where to find her — a remarkable thing, really, given how lost he was upon arriving aboard. He even has the grace to slip in without so much as a whisper, apart from the groaning of an opening and shutting hatch.

Thea glances up and offers Timon a smile. "Evening Ivory," she says, dipping her head. "Come pull up a crate. How are things out in the hall? Any Marines throwing things around again or is it safe?"

"As Thorn would say, they're probably off t' paint t' walls t' red. Or something. Which is to say, we're all clear outside." Timon tries and fails to imitate his ECO's gravelly accent, grabbing said crate and sitting down. "Anyway. I just thought you'd be interested in how things are going with the CAG."

Legacy chuckles quietly and looks back down to the tool in her hand. "I figured one of you would get around to telling me at some point in time," she replies, a brow arcing very slightly. "Dare I ask?"

"Am I dead?" is Ivory's rejoinder, quick as a rapier flash. He's not quite in an ebullient mood — Timon doesn't do ebullient, after all — but there's some amount of relief in his usual mild tenor. "I wish we had a film crew on board. This would make a great movie."

Thea groans softly and shakes her head. "Am I going to have to be dodging the CAG for the next few weeks," she asks him, glancing over briefly. "Or did you kill him and hide his body in a Viper engine?"

Timon assumes a look of injured innocence: Who, me? "PT every morning, CAP every other day, meals, sim-time — " The lieutenant shakes his head. "I can be a very compliant shadow, you know."

She grins at him, which does, perhaps, express the trust she has in her second. "You haven't answered the question," she points out, though there's a twinkle in her eyes. "You'd best tell me now if I have to go hunting for the body. I was never any good at hide and seek."

"We're getting on all right," says Timon after a moment, his chuckles fading into quiet contemplation. "I wouldn't quite go so far as to say we're getting along, but — " There's a pause. "He's different," is what Ivory comes up with, brushing back a few strands of hair. "And speaking frankly: I think his ego's too big to let him admit he listens to what other people have to say, but behind the mask? He — does." Lame ending. Timon was never all that good at public speaking.

Thea dips her head as she listens, apparently in agreement. "It -appears- his ego's too big to let him admit he listens to what they have to say," she corrects quietly. "It's honestly not. He's just a man, trying to do a job, trying to do the best he can with an utterly shitty hand." Another small smile for Timon. "I'm glad you two are getting to spend this time together, getting to know each other."

Ivory bobs his head, a rueful smile on his face. “I stand corrected,” the man admits — and he actually bites back whatever response is about to come out. “And — actually, that was the other reason I came by. One can’t but suspect you had something to do with this novel form of discipline.”

She shakes her head to that. "Not me, Ivory," she says with a soft laugh. "I had nothing to do with it. I just got the memo about it. This was all the CAG. I don't know that it's discipline as much as it is a chance to get to know you and how you work better. Under the guise of discipline, of course." Of course. That's said a touch tongue in cheek.

"Just seems like something you'd come up with, is all." It's a compliment, if a subtle one: Timon has always been about talking around an issue, and — true to form — he doesn't elaborate, falling back into silence for a few seconds. At length, in a total non sequitur: "How have you been holding up?" Pause. "If you don't mind me asking."

The cloth moves over the tool with ease - and care. She does love her tools, after all. "Not too bad," she says quietly, laughing a bit. "A bit better than before. Each day is…a bit of a challenge, a bit easier. It's a little difficult working -for- Karim rather than working with him." Karim. Not Marek. Not Spider. More familiar, but there's a hint of something behind it.

If there is, Ivory doesn't catch it, listening more to the content of her words than the mood in which they're spoken. "He does take rank and protocol quite seriously," is the man's considered response. "I'd say a bit unnecessarily, but — " Timon scratches at the back of his neck, a faint smile on his face. "That's what got me into this mess to begin with."

"Mmmm," she murmurs. "Just trust that there are some things we may not know all the answers to, and that there's a reason for everything. Sometimes we can't know the reasons." Thea flashes him a little look, a smile, as she meets his eyes. "So, what else is going on with you?"

"Apart from begging at Thorn's feet for every scrap of information he can give me about his job?" Timon shakes his head at the thought, that faint smile turning wry momentarily before fading altogether. "I skipped the service," he says at last. "For Merlin and the rest."

Fingers slide over the piece of metal in her hands, slowly and delicately relieving it of its burden. Her head dips slightly, hair brushing her shoulder as she listens. For now, she's quiet - a friendly ear.

Whatever led Timon to bring that up, he's not going to divulge it here; indeed, he doesn't look so much sad as he does weary, though then again, the man has been trying to learn another job over the past few days. "Did you go?" he wonders aloud.

Thea shakes her head. "I couldn't handle it," she admits quietly. "I just…couldn't. Not yet. I took CAP and mourned Danika in my own way." Her eyes remain on the tool. "As well as the others."

Timon rests his hands on the table as she speaks, his head propped up on the top of his palm, nodding only when the Captain's done. "Yeah," the man says — a note of agreement, maybe, or maybe a substitute for a sigh. "I don't think we're supposed to really get over it," he offers, a few seconds later. "Just — a little less, every day, like you said."

"No, we're not supposed to get over it," Thea murmurs quietly, going still as she studies the tool. "We'll never get over it. We're supposed to just go on and take the lessons we've learned." One hand slides up to brush her hair back behind her ear. "It sucks, but that's what we have to do."

"Poet asked me something the other day," murmurs Timon. "He asked — 'Are you happy?' And I didn't quite know what to say, other than to flip the question back on him in an attempt to figure out why he cared." A low, whisper of a chuckle. "And you know what he said? He said — 'Maybe there's simply too few happy people these days,' or something like that."

At the mention of Poet, Thea's face lights up, smile warming. "He's a good man, and he's right," she says quietly. "It sounds like he was trying to see if you were happy to point out that maybe you needed to be. He's…tricksy like that." Yes, definitely clear fondness there for the man. "How about it? Are you happy?"

Timon takes his time with the question, chewing on the top of his lip; his eyes lose their focus for just a brief moment, drifting to the top of the Captain's head. "Yeah," he says. "Or — content, at least, which is more than I could have said a week ago." He flicks at a stray bead of sweat now dripping down his neck. "I've started working on my dissertation again, if you haven't heard."

A brow quirks a little and she grins over at him. "That's wonderful, Ivory! I hadn't heard. How's it going?" Yes, oddly enough, Thea's genuinely interested. She does, however, catch him sweating. Hmmm.

Sometimes sweat is just — well, that, and besides, Timon perspires easily. She knows. She's seen his flight suits, after all. "Better than I'd expected," he replies, "but slower than I'd hoped. I'll probably be done with the lit review in a day or two, maybe less, and then it's on to figuring out just exactly how I want to argue what I'm arguing." His explanation is clear but devoid of substance. Why? "I'd probably bore you to tears if I started up on that, so." The man nods, his palm knuckling under to accommodate his head. "There's another thing."

Thea laughs softly as she looks at him, both brows going up as she goes utterly still. "Ivory? You can't figure out how to argue something?" She sounds utterly aghast - teasingly so. And then he mentions something else. She goes back to the tool - perhaps pointedly so. "So, do you think the frat rules will be relaxed now that the world's ended?"

"The grapevine's a wondrous thing, isn't it." Well. That was easy. As for an answer: "I doubt it. Nothing else has been, after all."

“There's a quiet sigh at that and the Captain nods. "Sucks sometimes, I think. I mean, I can understand it. But it makes things rather difficult for supervising officers. We're not monsters, we believe it love as much as the next person. However, we have regulations to uphold. And it looks pretty shitty if our people can't…control themselves. Especially if it comes out that the supervising officer knew and did nothing about it." Nope, she's not being subtle at all. "I mean, suspicions are one thing. A supervisor can overlook suspicion. But proof - that's the bad thing."

Timon doesn't say anything for a long, long time. You thought those previous pauses were long? Yeah, not so much. Then, very softly, his voice a near-whisper: "I talked to one of the fellows in the mess," he confesses, doing his best to hold back a smile. "And I have plenty of access to bleach, cleaning fluid, and whatnot. Not," he adds, "that I think any of that will be necessary."

Thea glances over at him, giving him a 'Captain' look for a moment - and then that look dissolves into a mock stern look. "Timon Stathis," she says quietly, pursing her lips. "You are NOT allowed to stab the CAG and dispose of the body. Just think of the mess it would make!" A pause while the woman considers. "Airlocking is better. No evidence."

"In that case, I should befriend a doctor — or get Thorn to trade a few of his cigarettes for a sedative to slip into the coffeemaker in the lounge." For a moment, Timon looks like he's actually considering the notion — and then he can't hold off the smile any longer. "You were right, you know," he says, rocking back on his crate.

"Mmmm," comes from her throat, quietly. "I usually am." There goes that lip twitch thing again. If it weren't for the fact she's known for the dry sense of humor, one might think she has a nervous tic. "What was I right about this time?"

"Think back to the first time we talked in here." So Timon will play coy. "After I wondered aloud whether I had to prove my sexual orientation after the chess game with Poet. Fleet and family," he adds as a reminder. Just in case.

Thea coughs quietly and shakes her head. "Suspicions, my dear. Just remember suspicions. I really wouldn't want to have to give you an order that both of us would hate." It's a gentle warning - but a warning nonetheless. "You can tell me all about everything when things are…legal, hmmm?" After a moment, though, she glances at him, briefly. "But for what it's worth, I'm glad."

"Suspicions," Timon echoes — and then, rapping his knuckles against the table, he stands. "Thank you," he says, rubbing furiously at something that's just got caught in the corner of his eyes.

Her lips quirk at the corner. "Heading off to get some rest," she asks quietly, watching the man for a bit. "Or are you just stretching your legs?"

"I figured I'd begin my search for the nearest airlock tonight," says Timon, dabbing at his forehead with the flats of his fingers, "but if more tools need to be cleaned — " Well. He'll just sit right back down, judging from the way he gestures back down at his create. But humor aside: "I was being serious, there, Captain. Thank you." Another awkward pause, of which he is, if not the master, pretty damn close. "For everything."

Thea laughs softly and shakes her head. "No, I'm fine Ivory," she says with a warm smile. "I promise. I'm just going to finish up in here then go find something to get into. There's bound to be some trouble somewhere herebouts. Go get some rest."

"Spider and I were testing out the AGMs a few days ago," Ivory observes. "If Thorn gets wind of the fact that he'll be able to use big guns against the toasters — " Well. The consequences of that would be too horrible to explain. "Just a head's up." And then he's off to the door, opening the hatch slowly so as to make as little noise as possible. But before he goes, he can't help one last look back, as if taking the measure of his Captain and commander. "Day by day, sir," says Timon, voice just a little raw around the edges. "And if I may be presumptuous: you'll get there."

"Mmmm," she murmurs, going back to her tools with a grin. "Find me a testosterone overloaded Marine officer with a bunk big enough for two and I'll be exactly where I want to be." She's kidding, right?

"You'll have better luck with the Marine than with the bunk," says Timon, a wan smile on his lips — and then he's out the hatch, shutting it behind him with the gentle thunk of metal against metal.

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