What am I doing here?

She sipped lightly at her drink and made a face. Alcohol was too bitter for her palette, but Susan had made it a point to get her a "real drink" instead of one she might actually have been able to get down. Fortunately, Susan's attention span was now entirely occupied by the lieutenant to her left, and Heather no longer had to pretend to like it. She tried to get the bartender to take it away, but she couldn't seem to get his attention. The crowd around the bar was too loud, or she was too quiet, and eventually she gave up and morosely pushed the ice around inside the glass.

The back wall of the bar was actually quite interesting, she decided. It was full of bottles of different colors filled with dark or clear liquids, and behind that was a mirror. She couldn't see much of herself; there was a large green bottle with a red top in the way. She could only see an eye and the curve of her cheek. Still, that was enough to make her look back at the ice instead. She didn't really like her reflection. It wasn't that she was ugly. Under the right lighting and with the proper lack of alternative entertainment, she'd had more than one man tell her she was cute. Blandly, boringly cute, she amended. Too tall to be petite, too short to be tall, too slender to be solid, too solid to be slender, with medium brown hair and medium brown eyes.

Average, that's me. Average looks, average job, and an average birthday. For me, anyway.

And for Heather, that meant low grade misery. Every year for the past three years she'd been here had gone the same way. Susan got excited and tried to get her drunk and then promptly forgot her ten minutes after they got to the bar in favor of whichever guy got to her first. Susan had long black hair and bright blue eyes with a de Milo figure and could never quite understand why Heather didn't like to go out. Sooner or later, Susan and Guy would get up to dance, and then Susan would rush back a few minutes later to tell Heather she'd catch up with her tomorrow, and meanwhile, "Why don't you have some fun?" At that point, Heather would do what always gave her the greatest amount of pleasure. She'd go home, curl up and read a book until she was too tired to turn a page, and then she'd go to sleep.

On cue, Susan got up and winked at her as she led Blonde Guy out to the dance floor. Heather gave her a wan smile and picked up her glass to continue to pretend enjoyment just in time for someone to knock her elbow. The contents spewed across the counter, and at least three patrons looked at her in annoyance. Mortified, she did what she could to clean it up, but by the time she was done Heather had taken all the birthday fun she could handle.

The room was more crowded than it looked, and she gave up the idea of trying to get to Susan before she left. She'd see her at work tomorrow with plenty of time to hear all about her hangover. Susan lived in the room next to Heather; she'd probably hear her come home tonight. Preferably after she was done with Blonde Guy.

She was halfway to the door when some brick wall slammed into her from the side and sent her skidding into some of the dancers. She lost the battle to keep her balance and landed on her hip and rolled to a sitting position before trying to scramble to her feet. To her chagrin, she felt her eyes begin to water, and she had to blink them clear to see.

At first there was no one, but then, abruptly, there was Someone. The Someone was over six feet tall and almost as broad across the shoulders. It was dim in the bar, but he looked tanned, and his hair was a curly dark shadow. His eyes were dark green and lustrous, but not at all feminine. Masculine, said the Someone's face, masculine and powerful and...and irritated. Irritated that she'd stumbled into him or irritated that she'd gotten in his way. She didn't know if he was one of the people she'd bounced into or the person who'd run into her, but that irritation made her feel ashamed for no good reason at all.

He didn't say anything at first, just looked her over. Her eyes were fixed on his face, but she was still too ashamed to blush, and when he held out his hand, she just looked at it stupidly until he spoke.

"You ok?"

The voice was perfectly in tune with his face, deep and gruff, and she nodded and took his hand. She moved instantly from sitting up to standing without any work at all from her legs, and she caught her balance and looked up at him again, brilliantly aware that her hand was still in his.

He was smiling now, and it wasn't a blank, complacent tight-lipped smile either. It wasn't the sort of smile that you gave someone who'd gotten in your way. It was a playful, childish smile, the sort of smile you gave someone who'd just made a very clever and slightly naughty joke, and the irritation was completely gone. It was also the sort of smile that had to be returned, and she did, somewhat tentatively. This seemed to be what he was waiting for.

"Want a drink?"

She smiled a little less tentatively, but words were still beyond her, so she just nodded again. It turned out to be much easier to move around in the bar when traveling behind Someone, and when they reached it she gratefully ordered something non-alcoholic and listened to him order something that would probably get her drunk from the fumes. He turned back to her as soon as he was done with an unfamiliar expression on his face.

I know that expression. What is that?

"I'm Heather," she said calmly enough, and the expression intensified enough for her to identify it.

Then tonight became just a little bit different.

They were arguing, he and Elliott and Mat, about something that didn't matter but somehow caused a great deal of debate. There was shouting, some threats, and a lot of movement as they all tried furiously to win their point, and Jor backstepped as Mat came after him. Something collided into his back, but he was big enough to hardly even notice, and had just begun to argue again when Lei gave him the look.

Behave, the look said, and her eyes flicked to something behind him. "Pick up your mess," she told him, and Jor huffed at her, irritated at being disrupted from his conversation. It wasn't his fault; whoever it was had bumped into him, and Jor was feeling neither charitable nor sober enough for apologies. A fistfight, perhaps. The thought of a little scuffle made him gave Lei a mocking salute before he turned around.

There was no one.

He frowned, then looked down, and he realized that the only reason there was no one standing behind him was because she was sitting behind him. On the ground, with a few tears in her eyes. Jor felt a little guilty, but it didn't distract him from looking her over as she sat sprawled on the floor. His gaze was still on her hips when he held out his hand, and it wasn't until his green eyes had reached her face that he finally spoke. "You ok?"

He expected anger, expected her to be mad at him for knocking her over, or dismissive of his offer of help. Lei would have made a sarcastic comment and gotten up by herself. Wick would have done the same... or retaliated.

To his surprise, she only nodded and took his proffered hand, and he tugged her effortlessly to her feet. Her complete lack of anger made him grin, and he directed that smile at her until she returned it. Pleased by the reaction, he offered a drink, and was once more surprised to find her so obliging.

When they were at the bar, a juice in her hand and a glass of something more than a hundred and fifty proof in his own, he looked her over again.

"I'm Heather."

Besides, that can't take more than five minutes. My book isn't going anywhere.

That fatalistic viewpoint gave her some courage, and she asked the only question she could think of that possessed a shred of merit. "Have you been on Elisabeta long? I haven't seen you before." Well, duh, her brain criticized roughly. I go out like once a blue moon. He could have been living under a table here for months and you wouldn't have seen him.

"About three months, so not long at all. Just got here and started into M.E. training." He eyed the last half inch in his glass and shrugged before downing it. "Been busy. Don't get much time away from the others--" this with a nod in the general direction of his friends, "so, y'know."

"I'm an analyst for Requisitions. I'm one of those people that gets the request forms that Captains send through and tries to match what they want with what we can afford to spend. Just numbers. Pretty boring stuff, really." Her voice got faster and quieter as she approached this conclusion, and she was desperately afraid that at any moment those deep green eyes were going to look away and spot someone else far more interesting.

"It's not all boring," she added hastily. "Sometimes they give us a nice budget and we can outfit a ship really well. Sometimes we can move stuff from an old ship to give it some more firepower at a reduced expense. It's sort of fun, sometimes." Fun?! My job, fun?! Well, maybe a little. Now shut up and ask him about himself instead. What did he say he was part of? ME? Military Enforcement. A cop.

Maybe he'd been missing out.

His grin only widened. "Command Post, myself, but only for about six weeks. I asked for a transfer." Jor's face darkened briefly and he ignored why he'd been transfered. "Before that, Command School."

Command School. Heather was impressed. He seemed a lot friendlier than the typical CS graduate; they tended to stick together and look at the rest of the station as some new and virulent variety of pond scum. They were extremely favored by the administration, too; they always got promoted first, they always got the positions of greatest authority - and of course, that made them extremely popular with the pond scum.

Notwithstanding, Jor seemed like a relatively nice guy, and when he claimed he had a tendency to cause trouble, she did her best to smile appreciatively. She was feeling quite out of her element, but she rallied and was about to speak again when she noticed a woman staring at them from a few stools away. The woman was tall and pretty, and Heather tried not to droop when she got up and forged towards them through the sea of patrons.

"Jorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry," came the voice right next to his ear, and a moment later there were two familiar arms, two familiar hands, and one very large glass of alcohol thrown over his shoulders. Lei. Jor laughed and reached behind to pat Lei on the head, and she (rather clumsily) slid around to lean against his side.

Heather was still avoiding eye contact, and Jor glanced sideways at Lei, to try to get some help. That was a lost cause; in fact, Lei was just making it worse, by eyeing Heather and giving the girl what Jor deduced were supposed to be flirtatious smiles. That made him laugh again.

"Ho, Leilei. What you want?"

Lei didn't bother looking at him-- she was too involved at looking at Heather-- but she did manage to answer, if in a slurred tone of voice. "Just was gonna tell you I'm goin' home, so you best be behavin'."

"Look who's talking."

She ignored him and tittered. "Whooooooo is this?" Lei leaned closer to Heather and squinted. "She's cute."

Jor tugged Lei back and gave her a stern look. "This is Heather. Hands off, Leilei." Lei huffed, and Jor conjured a gracious smile in Heather's direction. "Heather, this is my partner, Lei Bentham. She's just getting ready to leave, so that she isn't interrupting our conversation anymore. Right, Leilei?"

"Mmmmhmm. Nice to meetcha, Heather." Lei winked laviciously before giving Jor a punch on the arm. "And I'll see you at work tomorrow, mister. Later, kiddos."

There was an awkward silence as they both watched Lei saunter away-- if it could be considered sauntering, given her sobriety level-- and when she was gone Jor smiled at Heather. She seemed hesitant again, and he did his best to salvage the situation.

"No, thanks. It's...it's getting late. I'd better go." LATE? Four year olds don't go to bed this early. "I mean, I've got to get up early." She immediately began throwing an internal tantrum at her cowardice, but outwardly she smiled a little shyly and played with her straw. He wasn't immediately forthcoming with any other comments, and eventually she sighed and just went for honest instead of playful.

"It's your birthday?" She nodded, and he plunged on. "When do you get out of work tomorrow? Where's your office?"

He waited while she hesitated at his barrage of questions, but eventually she answered, and he nodded decisively. "Good. I've heard Northpoint is the best restaurant here, but I haven't had a chance to go. I'll be outside the Requisitions division offices at 1800, so don't work late."

With that he gave her one last grin. "G'night, birthday girl."

He was still grinning when he reached his barracks.

A date? He asked me out on a date? He asked me out on a date? He asked me... Her mind ran over the same sentence, emphasizing different words as each new concept hit her, and she sat there like that with a little smile on her face until Susan surprised her from her reverie with a good-natured shove to the shoulder.

"Hey, kiddo." She noted the orange juice with some disapproval. "That better have vodka in it. I swear, I don't know anyone else as anti-fun as you are. Did you at least finish the other one?" Susan didn't often indulge in asking non-rhetorical questions, and Heather didn't bother trying to get in a word. "What is it with you, anyway? Hey, did you see that blonde guy I was talking with? His name's Nick. He's got a friend named Paul who's even less fun than you are, and we're all going to go get some food. Why don't you come with us? What's with the grin?" Susan re-evaluated her. "Ok, how many of those did you drink? You look all happy or something."