"Cha-Cha acquiring."
"Bandit down. Better be chocolate. I'm in the zone now. Goddamn unstoppable."
"Give me some credit, Cha-Cha. I had to run decoy on that to help your blind ass."
"Yes. Fine. Thank you, Haka. May your fat blind ass continue to take fire. Are you still flying?"
"Who's blind now? Or course I am. Stupid-"
"And Haka cut out again. Shame. I like the pillow talk. Conductor, is there cake?"
"No. But if you get back and there's still a paint job on yours, I'll buy everyone a pizza."
"Deal. Waltz, Tango. You have to share."
"What? Why?"
"One plane. One paycheck. One pizza. Conductor back me up."
"Everyone gets a pizza. That's what I said. Even Wizzos. Reading all bandit's down and Hammer's taking over. Good job everyone. Baroque Squadron, return to base."
---
Butter smooth landing so clean the tires didn't even squeak. Tango kicked the seat in front of her. Waltz thumped back with his body. He shouldn't show off anymore. Cha-Cha would be pissed at them both. He couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it. So, they just kept rolling along the runway, the adrenaline slowly replaced by the fatigue, the dizziness, the little bits of cold and sleep tugging at the edges of their being. A good payday after a good day's work. And a pizza waiting for the both of them. Even more so, she had that bottle of red stashed under her bunk. And a white one under his.
"Waltz and Tango, back in hangar," said Tango, "Popping the hatch."
A series of clicks and pops and whirs and so many other fun mysterious noises that came from the glass bubble. They were free. Waltz took off his mask first. He always did, pulling down the helmet and breathing in nonfiltered air. It smelled like metal and oil. Tango stayed in the pit a bit longer. A bit longer to feel the cooling click of the twin engines, just enough to trick her that they were still up there, up in the blue, dancing and swirling and dipping down into chaotic patterns that nothing else could track.
Like a gentleman, he helped her out with a palm and smile. It took them both a moment to come back down. Heads still in the clouds, both of them, spinning and turning and dancing forever and ever. Haka came in next, rolling to a gentle stop and making the same noises their machine did. He got out even faster than Waltz, pounding against the smooth hangar floor, almost taking up more space than the planes did.
Waltz got his first, a bear hug that would crack trees and crush windpipes. And a soft peck on the crown of the head. Tango held her arms up and she got the same. Although, she had to be lifted up to receive the last part. That was nice. Haka had a nice smile. But he always let it fall too soon, shutting everything down and letting his resting scowl come back. Cha-Cha rolled in last, taking a long, long moment to come out. Haka was waiting for him. They fought all the way, but it still happened. Cha-Cha thumped the large man's chest but couldn't quite hide his blush.
Waltz stretched and moved, legs still wobbling a bit from the lack. Tango got hers back first, walking away. Shower, then food, then drink, then bed. Or bed, then food, then bed, then bed. No, a shower had to be in there somewhere. The suit trapped everything and refused any sort of breathability. Stiff joints, stiff shoulders, straps that rode up and down. Terrible. All of it was terrible.
The mechanics moved them away and nestled the babies down to rest. They had a big day. The pilots had a big day. They marched as a loose coalition, keeping formation more or less as they did in the air. Haka kept the scowl more or less present. Hard though, it was hard. A good day with a paycheck waiting from the head office and that would go so many fun places. Waltz kept his helmet on. The mask hung from a strap. He could breathe again in the open sky. His heart was still beating fast, but that would calm. Tango had that same bounce in her step, fighting back the exhaustion. Always such an odd mix to have while still on the ground. Tired and excited, could go for 15 minutes of 15 hours with no real way to slip in the in-between. The food helped bump up the time. He was hungry. Tango was hungry. Haka was definitely hungry. Cha-Cha was pouting a bit, but he was still hungry.
Their hands kept glancing against one another. Waltz kept pushing it forward and Tango kept batting it around. Not quite letting it sit in hers, but close enough. Still on the clock and there were some standards they both had to abide. Even if they were stupid and overlooked at almost every opportunity. And Cha-Cha got jealous and pouty when he wasn't getting affection. It was relatively quiet on the tarmac. Someone was testing engines on the other side, beneath the heavy blanket of the hangars. It wasn't that bad. As long as they finished before the sun went fully down and the star smeared canvas came out into the night in full. Some bastard liked the nighttime to do maintenance and that only led to more problems with banging in the middle of the night. Their hands kept playing with one another's, daring the partner to go for the final move and keep everything still. Neither did. That was the game. Neither won. Neither lost.
Some of the techs waved at the pilots passing through, if only to say they did. They probably nicked so many panels, blew so many screens, did so much wear on the goddamn breaks on the whole thing that they wouldn't get any sleep for the next two days. Two full nighters in a row. And Conductor even had pizza waiting for them in his office. It wasn't fair.
Waltz was the one to knock on the frosted glass and wait for a long, long moment before they were called in.
Conductor blew a horn and tossed a handful of confetti as they all walked in. Haka flinched. Tango didn't.
"And that's one more down. We're in the black. Brass is going to be happy. Alright," he said, "Take your scans and then we'll process the payouts."
"And the pizzas?" asked Tango.
"On the way. Got 'em from Badguy's. And some garlic bread with the sauce."
"That's just the same thing as the pizza, just put together different," said Waltz.
"It tastes different," said Tango, "You wouldn't get it. You're the weirdo who likes pineapple."
"We're not doing this again. It's perfectly fine. It works. Especially when you get that spicy ham."
"Scan's people. Need to prove to the system that everyone made it back alive. If you don't want your bonus, then it goes to me."
Tango finally took of her helmet and scratched her head. It was always so itchy. She should cut her hair shorter. That might help. But then she probably be cold up there in the jet. Waltz had long hair and he could manage. She'd be fine. She blinked the stars from her eyes and kept moving. Waltz went next and blinked the same stars from his. Cha-Cha, Haka, more blinking more stars. Cameras needed to be better.
"This is Coordinator Connor Dumais, callsign Conductor. Reporting full squadron return for contract number 485667959. Requesting agreed payment and applicable bonus," he said. The lights took his words and jotted them down, whisking them away to someone somewhere to do something. So long as the something ended with a bank account growing larger and larger.
"And with that, you are all officially off duty," he said, "Shower, change, do whatever. You have like 45 minutes before the food gets here."
---
Waltz, Walter, whatever he was, spent his first 20 minutes in the shower, keeping everything under control. A final little wind down, keeping everything flowing. The rain took it all away. The warm water wouldn't let him feel anything. Nothing righteous, nothing sinful, he was what he was. He moved the stick, pulled the trigger and got the money. He followed the laws that said it was all just and good, something ethical and stopped questioning. He reached for the soap. It smelled like sandalwood and pine. Tango, Theresa, whatever she was, liked that scent. She said she did. She always used it on her.
Deep breath, he took a deep breath. The same thoughts, the same ideas kept tumbling, kept playing and he always kept going. Not the justification, not the pragmatics. He just kept going. The water went a little hotter with a slight whim. It kept him from thinking. It kept the thoughts, the black thoughts down. He was used to it. He wasn't used to it. He didn't want to be that used to it.
"My Lord, you have it near boiling, dude," said Teresa, "Turn it down. You'll look like a lobster."
He did. He did not want to be a lobster.
Her body pierced the thoughts, just for a moment. Thin, trim, toned, hard and sculpted, swell and rolling and tightly knit. She hadn't shaved for a bit, small patches of strawberry on her crotch, under her arms, just like the tousled mess clinging to her head.
It didn't last. The removed thoughts kept slipping in. They were there and it would always be fine.
"You're having those thoughts again aren't you," Teresa said, soft.
"Yeah. Yeah. I think it was your turn to have a bit of a freak out."
"Hmm. Maybe. I can have mine later. The adrenaline is still in me. So, kind of hard to break down. I think the morning's going to be fun. We have pizza. Hard to be sad when there's pizza."
"I think I'm doing a good job at it."
She leaned forward and laced her hands around his back. Strong, she was strong. He had so much back to play with, so much chest and front to push into. He was wet and slippery and he smelled like sandalwood and pine. She liked that.
Together, they slowly slipped down to the cool tile on the floor.
