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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"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."

"Thanks."

Steve hesitates a moment, then says, "You can visit other people's worlds, did you know that? If I can carve out a little time I'd be happy to come get you. I'm sure we could make accommodations for whatever you need."

Gaeta swallows against a suddenly dry throat.

"I wish I could." Quiet. "I just..."

Earth remains something very nearly sacred. It was all right to share with Louis, and with Demeter so close by, but to have it offered so casually --

"I shouldn't go that far from my post."

"Okay," says Steve, watching his face with concern.

It takes a couple of beats for Gaeta to notice (and process) the look Steve's giving him. Once he does, a wry smile flickers across his face; he shakes his head.

"I've seen Earth already," he says, as if trying to reassure. "I'm just nervous about getting locked there by accident."

"Can that happen? Seems like people pretty much come and go as they please."

"No godsdamn idea," he admits, rubbing his forehead. "But...it's not worth risking."

"Okay," says Steve again, still looking worried--this time about the other invitations he's offered, and if his friends could get trapped in 1943 if they're not careful.

And it seemed to simple to him previously.

Gaeta studies him for a beat.

"Have you ever gone for a while without being able to get to the bar?"

Steve shakes his head. "There's usually a few weeks between visits, but I've never been able to not get here when I wanted to."

"I've heard it can happen to people," he says. "Sort of, um, like the reverse of being Bound, I guess. It happened to me not that long ago."

Gaeta tips his head toward his ruined leg.

"When that happened."

"So I guess being Bound means you can't leave the bar," Steve says flatly.

"I had no idea."

"...Really?"

Gaeta's eyebrows lift in obvious surprise. (And faint chagrin. He would have at least tried to bring up that part a little more gently, had he known Steve hadn't heard it before.)

"Frak, I'm sorry. Yeah, that's, uh, that's a thing too. Your door can disappear or just...not open sometimes."

"But how can that be? It's just a door."

Only a little dryly: "How can the whole rest of the frakking bar even exist in the first place?"

Steve barely chuckles at that.

"True enough."

Gaeta's mouth twitches in a wry smile to match.

"Anyway," he says. "I've heard bringing something from the bar home with you, like...a napkin, or something, helps prevent you from getting locked out. I don't think anybody's figured out how to stop from getting locked in, though. Or how to reverse it once you are locked in."

It just kind of happens.

"Yeah, I heard about that the first time I came here." He hunts in his pocket and takes out a battered matchbook. "I always have this on me."

Edited 2012-08-19 03:19 (UTC)

Gaeta's smile warms toward something a little more genuine at that.

"Well, there you go," he says. "No wonder you never get locked out."

Steve smiles at the little book and puts it back in his pocket.

"I have come here without meaning to once or twice, after the first time. Bar still takes me by surprise."

"Me, too," Gaeta admits. "It's about half and half -- either I'm trying to grab some R&R, or the bar decides to force me to grab it, I guess."

"She's like a cross between a prankster and a protective mom," Steve muses.

"The first time she brought me here I'd just gotten beaten up and needed a place to rest for a while."

Gaeta winces, tries to stifle it, and gives up with a perceptible air of frak it. He's too tired to hold back.

"Glad she was able to give it to you," he says. "First time for me was also my first day at a new job. That was frakking fun."