Estera - Ch 24 - Drive
Another one of those chapters which should never have existed but a few little snapshots just blossomed out of my control and before I knew it I loved them and they became Vital For Plot Reasons. Ah well, enjoy the meandering anyway :D
(What went before)
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Estera’s boot hit a loose patch of stones and she skidded slightly, putting out a protective arm just in case she was about to face plant the ground. Almost immediately a hand caught that arm and lifted her square on to her feet. She turned to see her friend alongside her on the narrow path, eyes full of concern. The edge of the cliff crumbled a little under his foot and her heart stopped for a moment.
“Scott! It’s not wide enough!”
He hopped back in line behind her and she regained the ability to breathe.
Mostly.
Eventually.
That particular flavour of adrenaline was not one she craved but she was beginning to wonder whether it was one she might have to get used to.
The group finally reached the car park to meet Gary on the quad bike who had towed the kit trailer up the long way from the beach. They all set to unloading and eventually Scott and three others lifted the quad itself into the back of van.
He walked over to where Estera was doling out the last bottles of sugary carbonated beverages to the rest of the group. He wiped the grease from his hands on to his trousers before selecting a bottle of water and draining it. Then swiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Well that’s one way to warm up after freezing your butt off in the Arctic Ocean.”
“As I’ve already told you, Mr Remedial-Geography, The English Channel is very much temperate.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He removed his warm jumper and Estera nearly choked on her cherry cola as she realised Scott hadn’t just turned up in randomly fancy trousers.
“A silk waistcoat? Really?!”
He pouted. “I was here for a Board Meeting! SOMEBODY didn’t mention the nature of their “commitment” when inviting me along!”
“In fairness Dawn didn’t give me a lot of time to explain.”
“Ah, yeah… sorry about Dawn… she…”
“She was lovely.” Estera said firmly, not wanting to get the enthusiastic young person into any trouble.
She looked again at the trousers which had clearly suffered from being drowned in salt water earlier and were drying into a faded mess of wrinkles.
“That is not a cheap machine washable suit from the high street is it?”
He coughed. “I don’t recall Jennifer mentioning that as a feature, err, no.”
Her curiosity must have showed as he hurried to explain. “My EA at TI. Apparently the selection of ‘business attire appropriate to my position’” the air quotes were heavy “is not one of my strengths so I just let her get on with it.”
“She’s not going to be happy with you.”
“Hmm… I’ve done worse. And hey, the pants might be a lost cause but the shirt will wash, I cleverly left the jacket in the car and the vest is spotless, look!” He held the edges of the waistcoat out for her approval, much as a small child might show off how tidily they had eaten their dinner. Estera was about to wittily point this out when she was arrested by an ominous “whoopsadaisy!” and an unmistakable fizzing sound as the person standing behind Scott clearly forgot about what happened to cola bottles on quad bikes. A fine spray of sugary drink settled over both of them and Scott looked up from his now-slightly-less spotless clothing to catch her eye. She bit her lip and snorted slightly. There was a beat and then both of them dissolved into giggles.
“Tez! A word?!”
Gary underlined his sharp summons with a frantic waving of his iPad. Scott elbowed her gleefully:
“Oooooh, what did you do now, huh, Tez?
“Argh, please don’t adopt that one” she gasped, trying to compose herself “I haven’t the heart to tell them it’s awful… but… it’s awful!”
Scott’s eyes sparkled mischievously as Gary repeated his call with a desperate, slightly cracked edge to his voice so she had mercy and went to see what was bothering him.
Gary gesticulated wildly with the tablet, nearly taking her eye out.
“DID YOU KNOW?” he hissed.
“Did I know what?”
He stabbed his index finger at the screen which showed what appeared to be Scott Tracy’s Wikipedia page.
“Ah. Um, so… err… yes?”
“Are you telling me I made the Chief Thunderbird… the guy with the jet pack and all the… the insane stunts… I made HIM do the BEGINNER’S E-LEARNING?” Gary’s voice had risen to a barely audible squeak.
“I don’t think he minded?”
“I was giving him tips on judging the windspeed at the top, Tez.” Gary looked as if he was going to cry “What if they were bad tips? He flies a rocket plane… my kids have posters of him on their wall…” he whacked the iPad repeatedly into his forehead and groaned “They are gonna disown me.”
Estera tried to prise the tablet from his hands before he cracked the screen with his face.
“Everything ok over here?” Scott materialised behind Gary and the poor man froze, all colour immediately vanishing from his face.
“Gary was just telling me that his kids are huge fans of yours.”
The slightest frown crossed Scott’s face before he closed his eyes and chuckled “I forgot to use the pseudonym didn’t I? Oops. Sorry to have caused any alarm!”
Gary shook his head mutely and gave a double thumbs up, losing his grip on the iPad as he did so. Scott shot out a hand and caught it.
“May I borrow this for a second?”
Gary nodded furiously then covered his face with his hands. Scott tapped the screen a couple of times before raising his eyebrows in surprise. He hurriedly straightened his hair then cleared his throat and said:
“Scott Tracy here, reporting from the breathtaking Beer Head in Devonshire UK. I’ve been refreshing my skills today with this incredible instructor” he dragged Gary into shot “who is an absolute legend and if he ever told me to clean my room or get my homework done I would absolutely do that. Straight away. Thunderbird One out.”
He finished with a wink and handed the tablet back and clapped Gary on the shoulder. “Been a pleasure to meet you, Gary, thanks for letting me take part this afternoon. Hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”
“You’re welcome” came the slightly breathy response. Estera noted the starry eyes and felt they’d best get out of there before Gary did something drastic… like propose.
“Coffee?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
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They made it to the cafe as the barista was putting the chairs up on the tables. Without looking round she informed them it was still too early in the season to expect late opening and her shift had finished 10 mins ago. Scott, already trying to remember whether there’d been any other likely places he’d passed on the drive down, smiled kindly as the harassed-looking woman looked up and he thanked her anyway.
“Wait! I guess I could do you something to take away?”
Estera seemed most entertained by the sudden change of heart but Scott couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe it was a local thing.
Two triple shot cappuccinos (and a “Really? Triple? Are you sure?”) later, they were stood at the bus stop trying to establish whether it was running late, or Estera had just missed it. The wind had got up and she was now shivering in her damp clothes despite him insisting she wear his big coat.
“I could always drop you back home or… or near home?” He offered tentatively, not wanting to overstep given how upset she’d been before. “Or anywhere you like really.”
“Oh, but it would be a long way out of your way…”
“Not really. I’m not in a rush. And it is my fault you got soaked earlier.”
“That may be true…” she seemed to ponder and looked over at the digital tracker which was now displaying 55 minutes. She shivered and lifted her jaw. “Um, yes please, if you really don’t mind?”
“Come on then. Hope I picked the model with heated seats!”
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Scott hummed to himself quietly as he drove. Estera watched the hedges fly by and wondered how long it had been since she’d accepted a lift from someone like this. She generally felt safer taking the bus so this was… different. Not that she felt in any way unsafe, now. Just, exposed. What was one meant to do as a passenger? Talk about frivolous subjects to pass the time but not distract the driver too much, she reasoned. All small talk fled from her head and she suddenly felt inadequate and a little dizzy. Her hands tightened reflexively around the coffee cup.
“You doing ok?”
Just as before when he’d asked that simple question in that same disarmingly soft voice, she was unable to quickly formulate a convincing lie and the truth leaked out before she realised it.
“Just a sudden giddy moment.”
“I’m not making you motion sick, am I? I’ll slow down.”
“You’re fine, honestly. I just… let my thoughts get away from me. Please don’t let me distract you.”
“You’re not distracting me.”
She noticed he’d slowed down anyway.
She watched him out the corner of her eye and realised with a jolt how much better he looked than the last time she’d seen him in the flesh. Or rather, perhaps, how ill he had looked before. Whereas on the day the cave collapsed on them she’d guessed he was in his 40s, he now seemed no older than she was, possibly a little younger. Aside from the scattered silver at his temple, slightly darker shadowed eyes and a certain leanness to his jawline, he really didn’t seem much different now to the young man who had saved her life the first time. Which was slightly eerie. She knew she’d aged a lot in the intervening period.
She found herself wondering again what it was he’d been recovering from, what illness could have hit him so hard. He’d not volunteered the information, in fact he’d very obviously skated around naming it so it would be rude to ask. It was gnawing at her for some reason though. Definitely not light hearted car conversation anyway so she cast about for something else.
They came out of the trees and for a moment the early evening light highlighted the edge of the fading yellow bruise across the left side of his cheek and head. In the absence of any other ideas, she said:
“It must have been a very impressive black eye you had there?”
“Ugh can you still tell? It seems to have taken an age to fade this time. Maybe I’m getting old” he chuckled.
“This time? It happens a lot?”
“Heh… occupational hazard. I think Virgil’s broken more bones but I’ve probably got the concussion record.”
“Goodness that’s a bit worrying. Don’t you have helmets to help prevent that?”
“Yeeees. Sometimes even with it on if something heavy hits you…”
“Or you fall 20 storeys?”
“Yeah… they can only do so much.”
There was a little pause before he carried on.
“To be fair to our engineer I didn’t actually get concussed this time round so it did a pretty great job.” He looked slightly guilty “Actually to be one hundred percent fair to our engineer, who is a literal genius, it mostly happens when I take it off. Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to people that way, you know? But then of course I end up leaving it somewhere and so obviously then it’s not handy when I need to dive back into something which has… very occasionally proved to be an error.” He glanced over at her and did that schoolboy-been-caught-out cringe again. “Hence the concussion scorecard.” Scott refocused on the road and gave a wry half-smile “Virg is constantly telling me off for it.”
“I don’t blame him! You should listen to him and keep your helmet on, Scott!”
“Yes, Miss.”
“I’m serious! What would you say to Alan?”
“He’s still a child.”
“Ok, Virgil then?”
Scott was quiet for a minute as he approached a junction and indicated left before accelerating away again a little more aggressively than before. He sighed.
“It’s different.”
“How’s it different? Given the concussion record your head doesn’t seem to be any harder? Why are you taking less care of yourself than of your brothers?”
“I’m not. I just react in the way that seems best at the time. Sometimes that involves taking risks to help people.” He sat up a little straighter in the driver’s seat. “That’s my job.”
She frowned, the odd moment from earlier suddenly sharpening into focus.
“When I skidded on the gravelly bit on the cliff path… you nearly overbalanced yourself trying to catch me but I didn’t need catching. I was nowhere near the edge. Worst that could have happened to me there was a grazed knee. You could have gone over!”
His voice changed and became firmer, more authoritative. “You might have been injured. I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Of a minor injury versus potentially something serious happening to you?” She could hear her voice starting to rise a little and wrestled to keep it calm and conceal the sudden sense of horror that was bubbling under the surface.
“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me, Scott. Not… not…”
The next word wouldn’t come out. But he’d clearly heard it anyway and twitched irritably, staring silently ahead, eyebrows furrowed. Well she’d put her foot in it now, might as well finish making the point.
“It’s not your job to keep me safe.”
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Price giving out stickers to the 141. Colourful little circles saying "well done!", "good job!" or with a smiley face, and the team gets REALLY competitive for them.
The sticker pack was bought months ago when Price was on leave. He saw it in a small crafts shop and remembered an ex of his - a primary school teacher - had said it worked wonders for their class. With a grin, he paid, packing the stickers safely in his bag to take back to base and thinking himself the funniest man alive.
It took a while for him to reveal the stickers to his team. To be honest, by the time he'd dealt with all the inevitable chaos that happened whilst he was away, he was too tired to care about the stickers when he finally got round to unpacking his bag again. It wasn't until several weeks later that he brought them, smuggled under his jacket, into a briefing room, ready to congratulate the boys on another successful mission and showcase his little joke.
"Fuck me, Cap." Ghost had, of course, been the first to notice when Price placed the sticker pack on the briefing room table. The latter had chosen a moment when everyone was nattering with each other about the mission - or about something, anyway; he drowned out Soap and Gaz's playful arguments most of the time.
Ghost's lighthearted exasperation caught the others' attention, and to say the three sergeants' eyes lit up would be an understatement. Roach was the first to lunge towards Price - eyes fixed on the stickers as if they were prey - quickly followed by Soap and Gaz. The Captain had to snatch the little booklet off the table and hold it above his head at lightning speed to avoid a catfight over it.
"It's only if you're good!" He scolded, attempting to push off a very fixated Gaz from practically climbing up his gear to get to the stickers.
The boys start doing counterproductive shit to try and get stickers. Soap blows up considerably more stuff than before in attempts to impress Price; Ghost brings him more tea than he is physically capable of drinking; and he swears Gaz and Roach have mentally transformed into two needy cats that are constantly under his feet.
From day two of the Curse of the Stickers (TM), Price is instantly regretting his actions. His team's pestering is only making him give out less stickers, which in turn makes the pestering worse. It got to the point where he awarded Roach a sticker for falling asleep just because it meant that he wasn't bothering him.
(This all continued for years btw. Every time the novelty of the stickers started to fade, someone would get one for doing particularly well on a mission and suddenly the competition would pipe back up again. Price never forgot about the stickers because their faces when he gave them one was so innocently happy. He loved seeing his men be boys again even just for a moment)
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"Fucking hell..."
Roach rolls his eyes at that, barely hearing Simon answering Shepherd. What was wrong this time, was the new guy too friendly? Too energetic? Was he not dead inside enough for Simon's tastes? He swears, sometimes this man infuriates him. Four years. He's been dead for four years and he's still mourning like day one.
Which wouldn't be such an issue if he didn't isolate himself to do so. He's not talking to anyone these days, barely talks with Price even. Certainly not to a therapist.
"You could show some manners," Roach complains out loud, knowing that the only person that would hear him was the man standing a bit further away with a big hole in the middle of the chest. If he even knew english.
"Oh, sorry," the new guy answers.
"What?" Simon grunts next to him.
Roach frowns. He had been so lost in his thoughts he had missed the first part of the conversation. Who was the new guy talking to?
"Uh," the man - what was his name again? Soap? - says, sending a confused look towards -
Roach turns around, trying to see what Soap was looking at, looking through him like that. There's nothing behind him, though.
"I... was saying sorry because I thought I stepped on your foot."
Simon hums and lets his bored look linger on Soap. Roach would've taken that answer as the truth if not for the fact that the man keeps sending little looks in his direction.
Can he... can he see him? He shoves back down the gigantic wave of hope that almost overwhelms him.
"Nod if you can hear me," he tries with a little voice.
Soap... nods, he nods! He's nodding, he's pretty sure it can't be interpreted as anything else. He gapes, forgets to breathe. It's not like he needs it, but he always liked to keep the habit. Made him feel more like himself.
"Bounce your leg twice if you can see me..."
The leg bounces twice. Roach has no idea what to say. No idea how to react. He can feel his burned side starting to smoke again.
"Are you dead too?" he finally asks, trying to make sense of it all.
Soap shakes his head no.
"What? But how..." how can he see him then?
Soap shrugs slightly. He... doesn't know? What? But that's not a satisfying answer at all, what the fuck? He frowns and Soap smiles apologetically in response.
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