Yeah, yeah, I'm late
Jul. 10th, 2008 09:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
catspaw-- again -- although not quite as late as it seems, since MsB has had this since the day after her birthday. And she said she'd like to share, so...
For MsB with love. And apologies for being quite so late in getting this up. A little birthday ficlet featuring her pairing of choice ;-) Down and dirty betas by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nicci_mac and ximeria because this was finished at Nicci's kitchen table and they were both handy ;-) Around 800 words and perfectly work safe.
"Sir?"
Walter's head appeared around the open crack of the office door. George Hammond started, jerked abruptly out of his thoughts.
"Yes, Sergeant?" He sighed. "What now?"
"Just some paperwork to sign off on, Sir." He looked carefully at the General's expression as he half entered the room. Care-worn, stressed - He's looking old, he thought to himself, with a rush of worried affection. Old and tired out. He started to back away. "Actually, they'll keep." He gave a close-lipped, sympathetic grimace. "I'll just put these in your in-tray until morning."
"No, it's all right, Sergeant," Hammond replied wearily. "Might as well get them done and out of the way. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? If they're done, they're done."
"If you're sure." Walter made it half a question and Hammond's face relaxed a little into an almost-smile as he waved Walter further into the room.
Walter put the few sheets down in a tidy pile in front of the General, and stood at parade rest as Hammond glanced through the first of the sheaf and picked up his pen.
Hammond read and signed steadily for five minutes as Walter waited. There was nothing very taxing in the pile - one leave request, a handful of requisitions, an acceptance for an invitation to an Air Force reception, a carefully worded memo temporarily declining a request for transfer, all carefully vetted and double checked. Routine stuff, boring stuff, the kind of stuff that Hammond relied on Walter to sift for him. Nothing onerous.
He stood and watched the General at work in the pool of yellow light cast by the desk lamp, judging from the expressions that chased themselves over his face exactly which bit of paper he was signing: a near-smile (leave request, paternity leave, Lieutenant Abel); a tightening of the lips and an emphatic nod of the head (the memo); a grimace of disgust and a momentary hesitation (the invitation); a neutral expression punctuated by nods (all of the requisitions in rapid succession). A quick riffle through and a staccato, edge down tap on the desk to restore tidiness, then he passed them back over.
"Thank you, Sir."
Hammond leaned back in his chair, hands flat against the top of his desk, arms braced, and stretched to work out the kinks in his shoulders. "When are you off duty, Sergeant?"
"About an hour," he glanced at his watch and ruefully corrected himself, "an hour and a half ago."
The General was reaching for the bottom drawer of his desk as he replied. "Good. I'm done now too - I am done, aren't I?" When Walter grinned and nodded, he continued, "Well thank God for small mercies. If we're both off duty, you can join me in a drink." He waved an arm in the direction of the extra chairs in his office. "Take a load off." He produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses as Walter snagged a chair, pouring a generous slug into each and sliding one across the desk with a heartfelt exhalation of breath. "It's been one hell of a day."
"It has that."
There was a prolonged silence as they both sipped reflectively.
"I think I'm getting too old for this." Hammond waved his glass in a sweep that took in the desk, the room and everything beyond it. "This was supposed to be a sinecure. Last, easy posting before the old man retired. No death or glory stands, no life or death decisions." He shook his head in bemused resignation. "And look how well that turned out." He took another sip.
Reaction, Walter thought. It often takes him this way. And it has been one hell of a day. Damn all politicians with their heads up their asses anyway. Out loud, he said, "Age has nothing to do with it. Or maybe everything to do with it. You can't buy the kind of experience you have. Everyone on base knows that, and respects you for it." He smiled fondly. "Besides, you were always an adrenaline junkie, you know it and I know it. Right from when we first met. That's not something anyone grows out of."
"You were always a cautious son of a bitch, but you seem to be growing out of that," Hammond countered.
"I guess it's the company I keep out of hours." Walter raised his glass in a toast. "You're obviously good for me, George." He watched Hammond's expression lighten a little more, although not nearly enough, and he tossed back the last of his scotch. "Come on. You need to let off some more steam. Let's go home."
"Your place?"
Walter smiled wickedly. "Mine's not surveilled. You can let off as much steam there as you want."
For MsB with love. And apologies for being quite so late in getting this up. A little birthday ficlet featuring her pairing of choice ;-) Down and dirty betas by
nicci_mac and ximeria because this was finished at Nicci's kitchen table and they were both handy ;-) Around 800 words and perfectly work safe."Sir?"
Walter's head appeared around the open crack of the office door. George Hammond started, jerked abruptly out of his thoughts.
"Yes, Sergeant?" He sighed. "What now?"
"Just some paperwork to sign off on, Sir." He looked carefully at the General's expression as he half entered the room. Care-worn, stressed - He's looking old, he thought to himself, with a rush of worried affection. Old and tired out. He started to back away. "Actually, they'll keep." He gave a close-lipped, sympathetic grimace. "I'll just put these in your in-tray until morning."
"No, it's all right, Sergeant," Hammond replied wearily. "Might as well get them done and out of the way. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? If they're done, they're done."
"If you're sure." Walter made it half a question and Hammond's face relaxed a little into an almost-smile as he waved Walter further into the room.
Walter put the few sheets down in a tidy pile in front of the General, and stood at parade rest as Hammond glanced through the first of the sheaf and picked up his pen.
Hammond read and signed steadily for five minutes as Walter waited. There was nothing very taxing in the pile - one leave request, a handful of requisitions, an acceptance for an invitation to an Air Force reception, a carefully worded memo temporarily declining a request for transfer, all carefully vetted and double checked. Routine stuff, boring stuff, the kind of stuff that Hammond relied on Walter to sift for him. Nothing onerous.
He stood and watched the General at work in the pool of yellow light cast by the desk lamp, judging from the expressions that chased themselves over his face exactly which bit of paper he was signing: a near-smile (leave request, paternity leave, Lieutenant Abel); a tightening of the lips and an emphatic nod of the head (the memo); a grimace of disgust and a momentary hesitation (the invitation); a neutral expression punctuated by nods (all of the requisitions in rapid succession). A quick riffle through and a staccato, edge down tap on the desk to restore tidiness, then he passed them back over.
"Thank you, Sir."
Hammond leaned back in his chair, hands flat against the top of his desk, arms braced, and stretched to work out the kinks in his shoulders. "When are you off duty, Sergeant?"
"About an hour," he glanced at his watch and ruefully corrected himself, "an hour and a half ago."
The General was reaching for the bottom drawer of his desk as he replied. "Good. I'm done now too - I am done, aren't I?" When Walter grinned and nodded, he continued, "Well thank God for small mercies. If we're both off duty, you can join me in a drink." He waved an arm in the direction of the extra chairs in his office. "Take a load off." He produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses as Walter snagged a chair, pouring a generous slug into each and sliding one across the desk with a heartfelt exhalation of breath. "It's been one hell of a day."
"It has that."
There was a prolonged silence as they both sipped reflectively.
"I think I'm getting too old for this." Hammond waved his glass in a sweep that took in the desk, the room and everything beyond it. "This was supposed to be a sinecure. Last, easy posting before the old man retired. No death or glory stands, no life or death decisions." He shook his head in bemused resignation. "And look how well that turned out." He took another sip.
Reaction, Walter thought. It often takes him this way. And it has been one hell of a day. Damn all politicians with their heads up their asses anyway. Out loud, he said, "Age has nothing to do with it. Or maybe everything to do with it. You can't buy the kind of experience you have. Everyone on base knows that, and respects you for it." He smiled fondly. "Besides, you were always an adrenaline junkie, you know it and I know it. Right from when we first met. That's not something anyone grows out of."
"You were always a cautious son of a bitch, but you seem to be growing out of that," Hammond countered.
"I guess it's the company I keep out of hours." Walter raised his glass in a toast. "You're obviously good for me, George." He watched Hammond's expression lighten a little more, although not nearly enough, and he tossed back the last of his scotch. "Come on. You need to let off some more steam. Let's go home."
"Your place?"
Walter smiled wickedly. "Mine's not surveilled. You can let off as much steam there as you want."
