Miller is perched on the edge of the bartop, pouring garbage he made in the replicators back into the booze bottles. There are about five lined up next to him as he pours a sixth, his hat off and on his other side, mohawk wild and grown out by now. He pays it no mind, dressed to the nines in his suit and holster as always, but still wearing his mag-boots even though the real space cops have gone away. It takes a few heavy steps for him to register someone else entering the room, looking up with dark bags under his eyes though his lips twitch when he recognizes the man before him, smartly dressed in a meaningless uniform the same as him.
"Would you look at that, we're both still here. Lucky bastards on this station, brother, and they don't even know it."
"I thought maybe they were avoiding my calls," Mike says, his stride slowing with Miller's announcement.
But of course they weren't. He knew that, deep down.
He pulls a chair from the closest table and spins it around backward, legs scraping against the floor, and lowers himself tiredly into it, his arms resting heavily along the backrest.
He snorts humorlessly, crossing one leg over the other and continuing to pour liquor like his life depends on it. Truth is he's bored and has exhausted his usefulness here.
"What? You thought we could forget about you? Just like an Earther to come looking for validation." He slides a full bottle towards Mike and lifts his eyebrows. "Fresh out, partner, but we've got a full bar again."
"Well, I mean how could you? Look at me." And his big, beautiful Earth bones - which somehow wasn't nearly as creepy a statement it could have been coming from Alex.
His hands open, palms up, and he shrugs broad shoulders.
"But stranger things."
He pushes up enough from the chair to lean and stretch over the backrest and behind the bar where he feels around for a glass.
"Honestly, I was kind of hoping Alex and Bobbie finally got out of their own way and found a room somewhere."
Miller rolls his eyes, though whether it's at the first or second statement he leaves up to interpretation.
"Just like the only two Dusters to find one another on a barge like this and get friendly," he commentates, holding out his own glass so Mike can fill up both. After he clinks them together and takes a long swig. His good humor doesn't last, of course, and he drops the glass to his thigh, holding it there with both hands. "I hope wherever those kids are, it's together."
Mike eyeballs the glass he digs up and gives it a hopeful blow (which did exactly nothing), then obliges them both before dropping back into his chair. He matches Miller drink for drink, then sighs the heat and his weariness out, glass hanging loosely from his fingertips over the back of the chair.
"Let's say they are." He tips his glass, swirling his booze around the bottom. "The power of positive thinking."
For them, and those left behind.
He wanted to think there was a way back. Something waiting.
"Yeah, right." Miller looks down into his glass, still half full. Appropriate for the resident optimist. "I told Alex once I thought all the people disappearin' were going back home. Hell, maybe he's with his kid on Mars right now." Or at least with the Rocinante.
They descend into a stretch of silence, only the clink of glass and the quickness of breath after too hard liquor. Then, because he has to move on - put it aside, keep moving, keep working - Mike looks down into his glass and raises an eyebrow.
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bar!
"Would you look at that, we're both still here. Lucky bastards on this station, brother, and they don't even know it."
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But of course they weren't. He knew that, deep down.
He pulls a chair from the closest table and spins it around backward, legs scraping against the floor, and lowers himself tiredly into it, his arms resting heavily along the backrest.
"Lucky me. Still popular."
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"What? You thought we could forget about you? Just like an Earther to come looking for validation." He slides a full bottle towards Mike and lifts his eyebrows. "Fresh out, partner, but we've got a full bar again."
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His hands open, palms up, and he shrugs broad shoulders.
"But stranger things."
He pushes up enough from the chair to lean and stretch over the backrest and behind the bar where he feels around for a glass.
"Honestly, I was kind of hoping Alex and Bobbie finally got out of their own way and found a room somewhere."
no subject
"Just like the only two Dusters to find one another on a barge like this and get friendly," he commentates, holding out his own glass so Mike can fill up both. After he clinks them together and takes a long swig. His good humor doesn't last, of course, and he drops the glass to his thigh, holding it there with both hands. "I hope wherever those kids are, it's together."
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"Let's say they are." He tips his glass, swirling his booze around the bottom. "The power of positive thinking."
For them, and those left behind.
He wanted to think there was a way back. Something waiting.
Anything.
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"Yeah, right." Miller looks down into his glass, still half full. Appropriate for the resident optimist. "I told Alex once I thought all the people disappearin' were going back home. Hell, maybe he's with his kid on Mars right now." Or at least with the Rocinante.
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If you were going to dream, dream big.
"Saving a drink for you, and laughing about the stone age waiting for me."
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"Hear, hear."
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"You make this out of turpentine?"
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"Special batch just for you, Cap."
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"Wouldn't want your liver miserable alone."