milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[Not-quite-OOM, just prior: Physical therapy.]

"One more" turns into three more exercises by the time Gaeta departs the infirmary. Awful as he felt, it didn't feel right to leave off after so few; at least this way, he isn't wasting his or Dr. Tam's time with such a brief session.

Whether he'll be able to move from the couch he just collapsed on is another story. After requesting a glass of water from a waitrat, he gulps down three painkillers (the usual dose is two, but frak it, he hurts so much right now) before stretching along the couch's full length. Some minutes later, the same waitrat returns with a silver tray.

Gaeta eyes the tray's contents. "Um."

The rat chitters.

"Sorry for the language, but...what the frak is that?"

Squeak.

In lieu of pointing out that he doesn't speak rat, Gaeta just sighs, scoops up the small -- very colorful -- magazine, and opens it to take a look.

Apparently there's a tie-in comic book series for that famous squopera, Tentacles of Our Waves. Who knew.

[ooc: in and out for a bit, but back for good at 10 PM eastern!]

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At the mention of lemon, Gaeta looks briefly taken aback.

Gods. Even with having Milliways as an occasional respite, the idea strikes him as ridiculously decadent.

A touch more hopeful: "Could I have both, please?"

He's earned that lemon, godsdammit.

"Sure," says Steve, and thinks as he goes to the bar that Mr. Gaeta must have it even harder than Steve did as a kid.

And likely, all of his people do, too.

It's a sobering thought.

He returns with a tall glass of cold water, complete with ice and a few slices of lemon. "There you go."

"Thank you," he murmurs. Gaeta takes a long sip, suppresses a cough, takes a smaller sip the next time around. The cold and the citrus both sting his throat a little.

"So, ah..." He wipes his lips with the pad of his thumb. "How's your time in the service going so far?"

Steve perches on one of the low ottomans before the fireplace. "Well...not what I expected. More greasepaint and theaters, less marching and getting shot at."

Frankly, Gaeta counts that as a blessing -- but he's sidetracked from saying so by the mention of theaters. His forehead wrinkles.

"What exactly are you doing?" he asks, faintly incredulous.

"I'm assigned to a division called the USO," Steve explains. "It focuses on morale. Packages, entertainment--in my case, war bond sales."

"Huh." He peers at Steve a bit more closely. "I'm surprised they picked that for your posting."

Maybe, in spite of the...whatever the frak happened to him physically, it didn't do enough to get rid of all his ailments. Maybe he's still technically a 4F, just a...much more built one.

"I caught a spy," Steve says. "A photographer got some pictures and they were on the front pages of pretty much every newspaper in the country. The sponsor of the science division that did this," he gestures to himself, "thought I'd be of better use as a--" Don't say dancing monkey, don't say dancing monkey --"symbol."

His frown deepens.

"I'm guessing they sunk a lot of money into the..." Gaeta waves a vague hand to indicate all of Steve. "Changes. Seems like a waste."

"They hoped to give more men the treatment," Steve says. "But that spy, he killed the only man who knew the formula.

"I was the only one.

"But I'm raising money for the war effort, so that's something."

Which seems to Gaeta like even more of a reason to put Steve on the front lines, from the standpoint of his superiors. If he's the only one, why the frak would they even think about wasting him?

(Of course, the inverse is also true: if he's the only one left, all the more reason to protect him. Gaeta knows that impulse entirely too well.)

"Yeah. Something, at least," he echoes, and tries to make it sound at least a little heartfelt.

Steve smiles wryly.

"Yeah, I know."

For a brief moment, Gaeta manages a smile that just about mirrors Steve's in wryness.

"Anyway, um -- " He picks up the comic, letting it slide closed (it is really not a big deal if he loses his spot), and holds it up for Steve to get a better look. "I honestly have no godsdamn idea. One of the waitrats gave it to me."

Beat.

"There's squid romance."

"Well, it's a comic book," says Steve. "I used to draw them, back in my civilian life. May I?" He holds out his hand.

"...squids?"

Deadpan: "Squids."

He hands over the comic without delay.

Steve looks at a few pages.

"Wow," he says, "there's definitely...squids." He looks up at Felix with a disbelieving chuckle. "It's like a romance comic.

"Maybe the rats thought you needed a distraction?"

"Best guess I've got," agrees Gaeta, absently rubbing his right thigh. "Or something I just don't have to think about a lot."

Beat.

With something approaching amusement, "I don't really want to think about some of those panels too much."

"Me neither," says Steve, turning the book lengthwise to look at one of the panels from another angle. "Though I guess...squids are just really flexible."

"They'd have to be, with no bones," says Gaeta: absent, but still smiling a little. "Cephalopods are pretty much all muscle."

Lucky cephalopods.

Steve laughs at himself. "Of course. It slipped my mind entirely."

"I'm always kind of surprised how much I remember from my biology classes." Gaeta shifts a little to make himself more comfortable on the couch. "I mean...I guess they weren't that long ago, but even so."

"I spent so much time studying the human body I forget about other creatures. Looks like I need to spend some time at the aquarium."

"Is there one near to where you're stationed right now?"

Curious.

"I mean, ah, I doubt you'd have the time to visit it anyway, but..."

"I'm not really stationed anywhere," Steve says, closing the book. "I spent a couple weeks in Los Angeles but other than that, I'm constantly on the move. We've got over two hundred cities to visit.

"I'll just have to find some time in a city that has one."

Or wait until the war is over. His list of things for then just keeps getting longer.

Gaeta lets out a low whistle.

(His heart still aches a little at the mention of so many cities, all healthy, all thriving. It's an old ache, though; it's not as pressing as the current one.)

"I hope you can," he says. "Wish I could spend some R&R like that."