The Orchard

“Could you ask Vahlen about the progress on the alien materials research?” Weir asked as he finished signing off on the requisition form for more scopes.

“Yes, sir,” Bradford said. His confusion must have come through in his voice because the Commander looked up at him.

“She and I are not on speaking terms at the moment,” Weir said. His lips fought a smile.

“May I ask why?” Bradford asked.

Weir lost the fight.

“I insisted at lunch yesterday that the Earth is flat,” he said.

Bradford coughed to cover up a laugh.

“Was that wise, sir?” he asked.

“Raymond thought it was funny.” Weir tilted his head. “Until I moved on to the fake moon landing conspiracy. Apparently that was going too far.”

“Please don’t antagonize the staff,” Bradford said.

“It won’t happen again. It’s unprofessional, but Vahlen wouldn’t stop going on about the MELD substance we found. Added to that, the conspiracy forums I frequent aren’t as fun when they get closer to the truth.” Weir shook his head in mourning for his favorite late night hobby. “I snapped.”

“We all have our weak moments,” Bradford said. Just this morning he had terrified the situation room personnel when he discovered someone had taken his coffee mug. He felt bad after he calmed down, but what’s done is done.

And now no one in their right mind would dare touch his mug ever again.

“Do you want see a movie tonight?”

“Is…is this a fucking grade? How old am I again?” Weir pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“They gave you an A,” Bradford said as he helped himself to the Commander’s drink cabinet.

Weir tossed away the memo to find a home in the bed of chaos that was his desk.

“And thank god for that. Dad might have taken my video games away if I got a C.”

Bradford took the chair across from him.

“I should have stayed in Washington,” Weir said. “Spent my last days watching bad movies with my dog.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Bradford said, wondering too late if that comment wasn’t a touch too far. Weir wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was when it came to checking him out–the reflections in the base were shiny enough that he could usually see what was going on behind his back–but Weir had never hinted at anything beyond that. For good reason. They both knew the regs. Even in this uncertain place where the rules were made up on the fly.

Weir smiled at him. Not the wide one he used in public that showed just a hint of teeth. This was was just a slight upturn of lips, the tension in him relaxing. It made a warm feeling form in Bradford’s gut. He took a quick drink hoping to distract himself from it.

“You want to watch a bad movie?” Weir asked, half joking.

“Are we talking Sharknado or Manos: Hands of Fate?” Bradford replied. There was so much to do, but they were both edging towards burning out. That was the last thing any of them needed. A break could do them a world of good.

“Your pick,” Weir said. “I’ve got both.”