milliways_bar | (no subject)

Lincoln has decided that not sleeping at all is better than facing those dreams he's been having most recently. Someone pointed him toward coffee: consequently, he's all ajitter. He spots Jordan at the Bar and, without thinking, pulls up a seat beside her.

"Hey! They make great bacon, you know. And I owe you five pieces."

"Oh," Jordan smiles for Lincoln and nearly falls off her stool when she lurches to hug him hard. "I was looking for you. I thought..." Well, she hadn't really thought about it until just now, but supposing he hadn't been in Miiliways at all? Not even worth considering.

Bacon pops up, five pieces. She picks up one undercooked piece and taps his nose with it tartly. "You like this better." She bites off one end anyway.

The hug, he's decided, is safe, and really quite nice once you get used to it.

The bacon-to-the-nose, on the other hand, is new and surprising. It makes him laugh. He rubs at the spot of grease on his face. "There's a lot about this place to like better. How'd you sleep last night?"

"Dreadful. I had nightmares. A lot of them had to do with...the Center," she is able to say the name, and doesn't dwell on it. "But there were some weird ones from that video." Her face feels hot, but she's entirely sure why. "I didn't really watch it," she mutters.

She gnaws on the bacon a bit then says, "I don't understand what we're supposed to...do." She gestures vaguely, bacon still between thumb and forefinger, and gets frustrated by her own lack of words. "I feel like we should do...something."

The problem is: what? There are many more choices now, and none of them relate to what they've known. So, what now?

"You too, huh?" Lincoln shifts in his seat. "I've seen some strange stuff here too. They never told us anything about most of it back at the Institute."

At her frustration, he nods. "I know. We have to tell everyone, and get them out, and make it stop. But I have no idea how. I'm thinking about all the things we'd need -- a boat, for one -- and I feel so helpless. But the worst thing is we have to go back and look around before we can do anything. And I'm really stuck on that."

"I know how to get back," she says, quietly, looking at a spot on the floor. The tile she came up out of isn't any different than the ones adjacent to it, but she can tell just the same. She has a good memory, and, were she to walk over to it, she would remember the view from that exact spot.

"We have to go back." She agrees with him, but she doesn't want to. If she goes back, time being somewhat funny in Milliways as she's been given to understand, would she find herself still waiting in the white room? That would be weird. She might not see herself, she might instead come in right where she left. That would be...useful; they wouldn't know she'd left, wouldn't expect her to be aware.

"I'm thinking," she mumbles, still looking at the floor, "that I can go back and not be missed. If you came with..." she looks imploringly at him: don't make go alone, she doesn't have to say.

A light comes into Lincoln's eyes, and he furrows his brow. "Could we?" He says it quietly, as he follows her gaze to the floor. He'd been able to go back from the floor too.

There's no question of him leaving her behind. He put his hand on her arm. "Jordan, you can't stay there and let them take you away. We'd have to leave right then and there. Where's the room? Do you remember how you got there?"

"Yes," she nods, looking him in the eye for the first time since considering this new plan. They have to think, and, while not stupid, she knows he's smarter than her. She spoons a bit of her breakfast onto her toast and munches it, puzzling a minute.

"There was a room. There is a room. I got on an elevator near Dr. Merrick's office, and they let me out into a white room. Benches, too, also white. There was a door. The guards had key passes to open it. And the elevator worked with the passes, too. We'll need one of those, won't we?"

"I know how to get around from Dr. Merrick's office, that's for sure." A note of cynicism creeps into his voice. "I haven't been past it, though. The key passes, I'm not sure what to do about. I've still got the one that got me into Sector Six, but that might not work."

He tries to think about how Christian could help them, as he'd volunteered, but he was from 1899 and probably wouldn't know much about the technology. His train of thought veered in the opposite direction. Maybe Wash or John Sheppard could give them advice?

"If we can get to Merrick's office, we can run the rest of the way. I know how. Or I have an idea, anyway." Hopefully that will be good enough, because at this point it's all he's got.

"I can do it," she says, surprising herself. He knows the way from the elevator, so all they need to do is get on the elevator. They need the pass to get on, so they'll get the pass.

"Or you can." A little something like a plan occurs to her. "I can go back, wait for them. If you come with-" she tugs on his hand, excited and nervous, "you can surprise them, take the key pass." It seems simple. Of course, it isn't, but it seems like something she could manage, and horror is settling into outrage within her. She wouldn't mind conking one of those guards over the head for all this trouble.

"What, you mean like an ambush?" He whistles, impressed. Jordan never fails to surprise him. This is probably why she always beats him at holo-sparring. "It could work." He nods, getting excited at the thought of outsmarting Merrick and getting away from right under his nose.

"You'd have to have your white suit on. Maybe I could disguise myself as a censor. That way, if I was escorting you somewhere, we wouldn't be stopped. If not, we can just go back to Plan A." How they're going to take out an entire team of censors, on the other hand, needs some more thought.

She chuckles, thinking of Lincoln in black and loving it.

"I'll need to get my suit cleaned," she nods, holding out her arms and surveying the dust and streaks of gray that have been imbedded on it. "But yeah." She has a momentary flash of Lincoln hitting the censor and stuffing him in the ceiling, and it makes her feel better.

"Okay."

"You can get new clothes from the Bar, you know." He hasn't worn his suit since he got stuck here. right now it's just a pair of dark jeans and a hooded sweatshirt he's grown inexplicably fond of.

Unbidden, the thought of what Jordan would do while her suit was being cleaned sprang into his head. He pinched his nose and shut his eyes, trying to will it away. And things had been going so well!

"This is without a doubt the strangest bar ever, then."

Fortunately enough, lacking an imagination is actually what is called for here. She needed a new suit and she knew just what it should look like already.

"Bar, I would like clean clothes," she whispers, leaning over. She likes Lincoln's new clothes--they're loose and personal--but keeps her mind on her suit. Another time, perhaps, she will get a loudly colored floral shirt like the one her friend Mike had. That would be fun.

A white track suit with a blue stripe on the arm and sides of the top appears, folded neatly, pristine and brilliant. She runs her finger over the zipper, feeling familiar fabric.

"Just like any other morning."

"Good morning, Jordan Two-Delta," Lincoln says in his smoothest Community Announcer voice. "You have no missing shoes today. Your meal choices are: anything you like. Outside conditions are: the universe ending. Your Proximity warning level: is far too high. You're going to have to separate!"

"Stop it," she laughs despite herself. He's very good at that imitation. She's not surprised he's lasted out here; his sense of humor seems to be the norm in a place like Milliways.

She sticks her tongue out at Lincoln. "I should go change." She gathers up her new suit and hops off her bar stool but hesitates. She pecks him on the cheek before heading for the bathroom. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Lincoln stiffens. She's brushed his skin and has stepped back by the time he gets his voice back.

"I'll--" He gulps. He can't even smile or raise his voice above a whisper. "I'll be right here."

And he will. Between feeling frozen and very, very warm, Lincoln's not going anywhere at the moment.

Wash, in a completely separate continuity from his entrance post, is at the Bar, fishing through his pockets and trying to come up with more than a few bits of platinum.

That tab of his is getting higher every day.

Lincoln is still trying clear his head.

Jordan kissed him.

On the cheek, but still. That was the biggest Proximity breach he'd ever encountered. He realized why it was never allowed before, because you'd have to be stupid not to want to do it.

He's beginning to see the wisom in Wash's words about sex.

Hey look, there's Wash! Imagine that. Lincoln makes to wave him over, but he can only croak out his name, so hopefully he's heard over the dull roar of the Bar.

Six platinum, total.

Wash looks at the pieces forlornly, then sighs and drops them on the bar. "For my tab," he says, and they vanish, the number next to H. Washburne ticking down a bit.

When Lincoln says his name, he doesn't hear it. He does, however, happen to glance over and spot him anyway. There's a nod and a quick wave hello.

This is a moment of crisis. A good crisis, but a crisis all the same. Lincoln squirms in his seat. Jordan said not to leave, so he can't go over and talk to him.

Next best thing: stand up in your chair and waves your arms a bit more frantically. He tries again. "Wash!" Why has his voice gone all high and strangly like that?

-- whoa.

Wash's eyebrows go up in frank surprise. Quickly, he gets to work worming his way through the other Milliways patrons until he reaches Lincoln.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Jordan's in the bathroom getting changed," he gushes, a truly ridiculous grin on his face.

Ohhhh.

"She's who what getting changed into what now?"

"What? Oh. Clothes. Not a turtle or anything."

He leans close to Wash. "Listen, she kissed me!" Lincoln points to his cheek. "I didn't tell her about sex or anything! She just did it! It wasn't creepy or slimy or anything! Isn't that great?"

This strikes Wash as a lot funnier than it should be. He admirably manages to hold back an outright laugh, though.

"Congratulations," he says instead, grinning. "I'd call that a step in good and right-making directions."

Jordan ties her hair back in her usual ponytail. Without her brush from the center it's not perfect, but it's neater than the wild look she'd been sporting. She smooths down the front of her jumper and exits the bathroom. She spots Lincoln talking to a man in a vibrantly colored shirt; it reminds her of Mike's.

Demurely, cautiously, she approaches both of them. "Lincoln? Who's your friend?"

Lincoln had just been about to say something to Wash, and it's probably good that Wash was spared whatever was about to come out of his mouth. When he notices Jordan, he stands up too quickly, though this time there's no falling over.

"Jordan! This is Wash, the -- well, one of the guys I was telling you about. Wash, Jordan Two-Delta. I told you about her."

Understatement of the year, Six-Echo.

Wash grins and offers a hand to Jordan.

"Gāoxìng jìandào nĭ, Jordan," he says. "Yeah, you with the reputation preceding, I was wondering when I'd get to see what Lincoln was talking about."

And he can certainly see why Lincoln talks about her so much.

Hey: married, not dead.

"What is that?" The words he speaks are utterly foreign to her, in a different way from the way all else has been here. It sounds..."That language...it's...beautiful."

She takes his hand and squeezes it, not sure what else she should say.

"Mandarin Chinese. Everyone speaks it where I'm from," he explains, giving her hand a firm shake. With a good-natured eye roll, "Nobody does here. I keep threatening to corral everyone and give lessons, but then I get distracted. It's a fault."

"It's beautiful," she repeats, debating where to sit. Lincoln's lap looks most comfortable and convenient so they can all see one another and chat. She ought to ask if this is okay.

She doesn't. Hoppity hop, and up she goes, catching herself from falling by wrapping one arm around Lincoln's neck.

!!!

That's pretty much what's on Lincoln's face as Jordan lands on him. He reels back into his seat and, of their own accord, his arms wrap around her waist to stabilize her.

He peers around her shoulder at Wash, eyes approximately the size of motorcycle tires. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to point out she's not usually like this. (Then again, is he complaining? Not at the moment, anyway.)

And Wash is Not Smirking At All. Nope.

"So, Jordan!" he continues brightly, as if this is nothing out of the ordinary (which it isn't) and Lincoln doesn't have the 'ohgodhelpme' look of a virginal thirteen-year-old on his first date (which he...okay, that's still up for debate). "How long've you two known each other?"

"Three years," she says with a grin, and allows herself a luxury she never has been allowed: she ruffles his hair. "Lincoln thinks he's so smart, but he was so lost when they found him. I look after him. It's important to have someone who does that for you."

Lincoln looks like he's about to die. Whether from embarrassment or ecstasy, it's your call. "She thinks that just because I let her beat me in the ring sometimes, she can tell me what's what."

He shakes his head, trying to correct her mussing it up. Well, if she's going to take liberties, so will he. Lincoln pokes her in the side.

Jordan squeaks! That felt...funny. It makes her want to bubble and giggle and she does. She swats Lincoln.

"Your friend is nicer than you. He doesn't pick on girls." She clears her throat and speaks directly to Wash, "I told you, he thinks he's smart. He wouldn't pick on a girl who can kick his butt if he was so smart."

Lincoln feigns indignation. "I'm smart enough not to let people know I'm ticklish."

Merciless assault. Oh yes, Lincoln is a ruthless tickler. You learn something new every day.

Jordan shrieks and squirms on Lincoln's lap, kicking. Someone, probably not her, is going to get hurt at this rate.

"And hey, it was picking on a girl who can kick my butt that got me married," Wash points out, still smirking.

They're so adorable. Really. Even if they're disturbingly clueless.

Lincoln frowns. "Married? What's--ow!"

Oops. Looks like someone got ribbed by a thrashing limb. Not that it hurt. "Right! That's it! That's the last time I soften up the lunch lady before you want bacon!"

Triumphant, Jordan elbows him again. "Liar!" She pleads with Wash to believe her. "Do I look like the serial bacon eater here?"

Wash holds up both hands. "Of course not. I would never accuse somebody I met five minutes ago of hoarding pig products."

Beat.

"Well, okay, I would, but not you."

"Pig? What's a pig?"