fanfic_name = A Watlz of Incompatibles

author = aragonvaar

Rating = AP

Type = Humor

fanfic =

A Waltz of Incompatibles

Dana was wearing her best pink dress (the one that made her look eighteen instead of, like, twelve), and she was just settling into a candlelight dinner at the only remotely swanky restaurant on Mars Base. Her escort was probably one of the five or six handsomest men on the planet (not that Mars was exactly overrun with potential male models) and he had paid her the compliment of coming in the fullest-dress uniform Mars officers had (crimson and gold bodysuit, without the poofy little sleeves that made the blue-gray non-dress uniforms so irritating to the feminine eye). Soft music was playing, she had a filet du something pretentious on her plate, and Dana could've cut the romantic ambience with a knife.

She was also *this close* to gagging.

"Of all the things you could've ordered, Bernard, why steamed broccoli?" She demanded.

He finished chewing, then swallowed before answering her. "Well, it's cheap, it's healthy, and-why, Sterling, don't tell me you don't like the stuff?" His surprised look was completely unconvincing. Yep, he *had* ordered it just to aggravate her.

"Not particularly," she said. "But mostly it's the smell. I should've put on more perfume."

"Uh, no. As it is, I thought the waiter was going to suffocate."

"Doesn't seem to bother you," she said, batting her eyelashes.

"That would be because I can and have survived on less oxygen," he paused, and she waited for the punchline, "But only during the SDF-3 salvage, when I had my life support systems turned down *real* low?"

"Could you at least try to play along?" She asked.

"Why? You got me a return trip to Earth, on tomorrow's shuttle, you wanted me to return the favor by taking you here on a date but," his stern mouth suddenly broke into a serene but faintly goofy grin, "You didn't say anything about it being a *good* date."

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't hurt you to try and talk in a friendly way-find some common ground. `Cause I can make the evening just as unpleasant for you as you can for me. And pass the salt-this stuff's pretty bland"

He looked thoughtful as he passed the shaker. "So, Sterling, which do you prefer: the Gallant II personal weapons system, or the Gallant III? I kind of think they broke more things than they fixed with the III-"

"That was NOT what I meant."

"You asked for common ground. We don't have much, and most of what we have is related to the Project, which we can't discuss here." He shrugged, which did interesting things to the muscles under his skintight uniform.

"In that case, Bernard, would you mind clarifying one of the great mysteries of Mars Base?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Why spandex?"

"Mostly so the conversion armor will fit better. What did you think?"

"I dunno. I guess I figured the top brass had a superhero fetish."

He chuckled at that. "I wouldn't know."

"Anyway, it's really kind of an iffy idea. It looks great on people like you, but when those fat guys with red hair show up in them, yeccch!" He'd flushed slightly, then returned to his broccoli. Well, his reaction was funny, but it wasn't really worth the effort. They continued eating in silence. Dana rather wished for the old Scott Bernard whom she'd never met, the hair-trigger-tempered loose cannon whom Martian gossip had pegged as "endearingly erratic." She, unfortunately, was stuck with the post-SDF3- salvage Bernard: a cool, sardonic customer who seemed to know exactly he wanted out of life. The salvage operation had done that to a lot of pilots, the ones it hadn't driven completely insane.

"Hey, dance music!" Dana said when they'd finished the food. "Want to dance?"

"No," Bernard retorted. "But if you want to, it's your funeral."

"And yours. You *are* my escort for the evening after all."

"You are going to regret this," he said as he rose to his feet.

She did regret it. He kept treading on her feet as they danced, at such precisely timed intervals that it could only be deliberate. This was a horrible idea?and yet, she got so little leave on this assignment that it would have been a shame to waste it, and she had no friends to share it with. Louie and Dante, Marie and Sean had all died in the Invid War; Bowie and Musica were presumed dead, even her old enemy Nova had migrated to an extrasolar colony. And Zor, no, best not to think about him?she shivered.

"You alright?" Bernard actually looked halfway concerned for a change.

"Just thinking about unpleasant things."

"Like what?"

"Well, what if we-the Project-don't accomplish anything? Or make things worse? A friend of mine tried to destroy the Flower of Life-sacrificed his own life to do it-but he screwed up." She took a deep breath. "He pretty much insured that the Invid would find Earth, and find it sooner rather than later."

"And you're afraid we'll make a mistake like that?" He asked. "Well, I'm no philosopher, but it seems to me like even?screw-ups?can't keep a good intention down."

"Are you saying the war was a good thing?"

"Definitely not." His eyes seemed to get colder and brighter for a moment. "But good things did come from it. The Invid did end up killing plenty of Earthside scum and all the more gun-happy Masters. And I've heard it said that the few Invid artifacts the Fleet captured have the scientists all stirred up."

"But the war?wasn't kind to you." That much was common knowledge; she didn't know the details.

He frowned. "It was both cruel and kind. First, it took away everyone I knew or loved; then, well, this sounds bizarre, but because of the war, I met people who became good friends-no, more like family."

"They're the bunch you're trying to meet up with earthside, right?" He nodded.

"Tell me about them."

"Well, there's Rook, who's probably tougher than I am, and her husband Rand- he's a schmoe, but he can make anyone laugh-" self-deprecating eyebrow quirk, "Even me. And Annie, who should be about fourteen by now-I hope she's grown, she was such a little shrimp when I saw her last, and Lunk?" he went on, eyes gleaming. "And Lancer-"

"Omigod! You know Lancer? *The* Lancer?"

"Read my lips: `the' Lancer is my friend. He'd be my brother-in-law, probably, if I had any sense where women are concerned."

"He's the one who's married to that Invid chick? What's she like?"

Another frown. "I've barely met Sera. She probably doesn't think much of me-during the war, I was just another moderately troublesome human rebel to her, and after the war, well, I was pretty ugly to her sister just before I left Earth."

"But you've since patched things up, right?"

"Yeah."

"What's she like? Your Marlene?"

He was silent for so long she thought he was ignoring the question. "She doesn't get angry and she doesn't judge people," he said finally. "You know those people who seem so gentle you think you could break them with a harsh word or a light slap, but who're really tougher than steel?"

"Yeah, a friend of mine fell in love with a girl like that once. But he was pretty gentle himself-I can't help thinking you and this Marlene would be one mismatched couple."

He laughed. And miraculously enough, he wasn't stepping on her feet any more. "Yeah, well, we're a pretty mismatched group overall. But you know what the funny thing is?"

"No, but you better tell me quick."

"My friends and I are like those robots in the goofy old cartoons. Individually, we're just pretty good. Combine a couple of us-you get better results-"

"Combine all of you and?"

"And we will move mountains." His eyes were really shining now. "That's why I'm not so concerned about the Project. It won't just depend on us, but on the people of Earth. People like Rook and Rand and Lunk."

The music stopped. "Do you mind if we leave now?" He asked. "I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Ok." She felt much better now, for some reason. Less cynical about the universe, more ready to take it on mano a mano. Which perhaps explained what happened when they reached the barracks.

"Scott?" She'd never called him by his first name before. He stopped, dead center in a shadowy spot just past the corner of the wall, and stared at her. Before she could chicken out, she put an arm around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. For a moment, there was a connection, almost a spark, then, without moving a well-honed muscle, he seemed to withdraw. She knew why, of course, but it didn't matter-in the mood she was in, a passive guy was almost better than an interested one. Her mouth wandered a bit: nice jawline with a pleasantly spartan aftershave that smelled very severe and clean, wonder what the throat would be like-

"GoodNIGHT, Sterling," he said into her ear as he took a step back. "Thanks for your help and please don't give your next Cyclone instructor as much grief as you gave me." He turned, started to walk away.

She planted her hands on her hips. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He paused without turning around. "This evening was?interesting." He started walking again.

"*Interesting*?" If she'd been five years younger, she might have squawked it, but she had matured since then. A little.

This time he looked back when he stopped. "Maybe in another universe, it would have been more than interesting," he said. It sounded like he only slightly regretted it. "Goodbye, Sterling."

"My_name_is Dana," she snorted.

"I'll remember that," he tossed over his shoulder, "In case there's ever a pop quiz?Sterling."

Damn the man. But at least he was serious about the Invid girl.

State = Fin/The End

feedback = Sí/Yes

email = aragonvaarAThotmail.com