Take a picture; it lasts longer
for ar_drabbles challenge #20, cut scenes. Cut scene of the time between Disquiet and Oath, flashbacks to Day in the Life. Cut line courtesy of The Last Goodnight, "Pictures of You."
He was surprised he hadn't anticipated this. Maybe he'd deliberately provoked this when he told Laura to make his chest of drawers hers. He was still pulling shifts in CIC, after all. She was the one who'd made a show of abandoning responsibilities to play housewife.
When he came home, the picture was on his desk. He could feel the tension, tried to deflect it with a joke. "Honey, I'm home!" Jokes worked; women laughed at his jokes. No, actually, they never had. For a man who'd been through War College, he could be an amazingly stupid tactician.
"In here."
He poured them both water and, with the picture under his arm, followed her voice to their rack. "You OK?"
"Resting. You told me to rest."
He handed her a glass and as she sat up, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. "You put your things in the dresser. That's good."
"Yes."
"Where'd you put my things?"
"Out an airlock."
He stiffened, looked at her over his shoulder. "Seriously? Over this?" He waved the picture in her direction.
"Don't flatter yourself, Admiral. Your clothes are in the other set of drawers." She took the picture from him.
"That's--"
"Carolanne. I assumed. Unless you've been married more often than you said. She was pretty."
"At the start."
"Lush."
"Oh, she was lush all right."
"Why do you keep her picture?"
He tried to find the words. "When I love--"
"You don't stop. I know. Why hide it?"
He shrugged.
"You looked happy."
"I was, for a time."
"Maybe it's good you and I don't have much time."
"Don't talk like that."
Her eyes drifted toward the portrait of president and admiral which hung on the wall. "We don't look very happy."
"We weren't. Now we are."
He was surprised he hadn't anticipated this. Maybe he'd deliberately provoked this when he told Laura to make his chest of drawers hers. He was still pulling shifts in CIC, after all. She was the one who'd made a show of abandoning responsibilities to play housewife.
When he came home, the picture was on his desk. He could feel the tension, tried to deflect it with a joke. "Honey, I'm home!" Jokes worked; women laughed at his jokes. No, actually, they never had. For a man who'd been through War College, he could be an amazingly stupid tactician.
"In here."
He poured them both water and, with the picture under his arm, followed her voice to their rack. "You OK?"
"Resting. You told me to rest."
He handed her a glass and as she sat up, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. "You put your things in the dresser. That's good."
"Yes."
"Where'd you put my things?"
"Out an airlock."
He stiffened, looked at her over his shoulder. "Seriously? Over this?" He waved the picture in her direction.
"Don't flatter yourself, Admiral. Your clothes are in the other set of drawers." She took the picture from him.
"That's--"
"Carolanne. I assumed. Unless you've been married more often than you said. She was pretty."
"At the start."
"Lush."
"Oh, she was lush all right."
"Why do you keep her picture?"
He tried to find the words. "When I love--"
"You don't stop. I know. Why hide it?"
He shrugged.
"You looked happy."
"I was, for a time."
"Maybe it's good you and I don't have much time."
"Don't talk like that."
Her eyes drifted toward the portrait of president and admiral which hung on the wall. "We don't look very happy."
"We weren't. Now we are."