What Rocket Scientists Want
My mom just bought What Women Want
and I had a brain
explosion involving this fic... hope you like it... some parts may be
shippy, some funny, some I dunno, but they'll be there....
On to Part 2!
>What Rocket Scientists Want:
or why Mel Gibson may look as hot as Dwayne in control-top pantyhose.
"No, Darlene, I havenít been out lately." Dwayne paused to
listen to the midwestern lilt of his sisterís voice from the other
end of the line. He chuckled lightly at her concern before
responding. "Listen, Iím fine. Being chief mechanic requires a lot
of my time and thatís fine by me." The voice on the other end quickly
inserted a comment. "No, I donít even think I have a biological clock.
Listen, little Ms. Nosey," Dwayne teased; Darlene quickly chattered
something at him and he responded. "No, nosey is not another way to
say Ďconcerned.í Iím okay; Iím not as lonely as you think I am.
Besides," Dwayne added slyly as a fellow crewmember walked by. "Jo
is all the woman I need around here." Jo cocked an eyebrow at him
"Sure." Mack slid into the room where Dwayne was on the phone
as well. "Jo can handle everything until you want the cooking,
cleaning, sewing or any of that womanly stuff done."
"I didnít know I was taking over your duties, Mack," Jo
snapped back, huffing down into the chair next to Dwayne.
"Say hello to Jeffy for me, and let him know heís got a
package in the mail. Okay...okay. I will. Talk to you later, sis.
Bye." The phone clicked down onto the receiver and the entire room
focused on Dwayne.
"So what was that all about?" Jo threw her feet leisurely up
onto a nearby table and procured an apple out of her pocket.
"Another lecture from the adopt-a-mom about wearing your long
underwear, since she knows how drafty Navy ships can get?"
The lieutenant pulled himself out of his thoughts to smile at
her. "No, not this time."
"I bet the nagging de jour was about how our Lieutenant here
hasnít got himself hitched yet." Mackís tone was crass, but teasing
as he shuffled through several cabinets in search of food. "Dames are
always worried about that."
"Eh," Jo regarded the greasy man with a wary eye, "Dwayne
doesnít need a woman in his life to make it complete. Besides if he
really gets desperate thereís always me." She took a large bite
out of her apple and grinned widely at Dwayne, bits of apple between
"Attractive," Dwayne said flatly, but then smiled. "No offense,
Jo, but I just donít see us working out. Now, you and Mack on the
other hand...." Pots clattered to the floor as apple chunks were
spewed across the room.
"What!?!" Their protests were almost simultaneous, as well as
the disgusted looks on their faces. Dwayne was rolling with laughter.
"Oh, yeah?" She tried to recover, grasping at straws. "What
about you and the Doc, huh?"
Unfortunately, he was hardly fazed. "The Doc just isnít my
type," Dwayne shrugged and took a deep breath. His sides ached from
"Oh, yeah, what is your type?" Jo challenged. Mack found a
seat at the table with a bag of pork rinds.
"Thatís easy," Mack said before Dwayne had a moment to
consider the question, grinning through a mouthful of chips. "Fifteen
feet tall, all curves and a full-bodied ten tons of titanium."
Later that night Dwayne lay in bed, in the darkness. His
breath was slow and he had his eyes closed in thought; his mind wide
awake. Jo's challenge about what "his type" was kept turning in his
mind. Heíd had a few steady girlfriends in his life, but nothing
serious enough to warrant a favorite among them. One had been a tall
brunette who was thin but athletic, the fastest girl on New Tronic
Highís track team. He had taken her to prom, and they spent the
entire night out on the town, only to watch the sunset in the morning.
Then there had been Lisa, in college. She was an artsy girl
who thought that Allen Ginsberg was God, and had a panache for
editing his term papers. Shorter, hippy, with thick red lips and
blue eyes, curling short red hair; she was a great kisser. Dwayne
smiled sleepily. There had been a handful more between them, each
one ending eventually, but being interesting while they lasted. Like
snowflakes, each different, but none really having that spark he
thought that real love was supposed to have. His brow furrowed
slightly. Not that he was a corny romantic or anything.
In the end he just didnít get women, what made them tick.
Lisa had been his last girlfriend, and since then he found himself
distancing himself more and more from the opposite gender. So many
relationships that ended, most of them for reasons that he still
couldnít understand, by women who seemed to be speaking a different
language entirely. They were an enigma he couldnít seem to grasp.
Each one so different, and yet each relationship felt so much the
same. It felt like there was something he was missing, something
vague and yet very obvious.
He quickly chided himself for thinking too much about the
matter, and shoved it aside in favor of a full night of sleep. He
turned over, pulling the blanket tightly over him, though the cabin
Within minutes the cabin began to rock and sway. Dwayne
hardly noticed it until the motions became almost violent, books
falling from their shelves along with family photographs. If one
hadnít smacked Dwayne directly on the head he may never have noticed
the Big Guy signal beeping urgently on the floor where it had slid
beneath a pile of dirty laundry.
"It was a dark and stormy night...." he mumbled to himself,
assuming from the bucking room around him that that was indeed the
case. Quickly, he threw a gray cotton robe over his white tank and
loose sweatpants. His bare feet were cold and clicked slightly
against the corridor floors as he swept down the various hallways.
In his mind he quickly calculated the quickest way to the BGY hangar,
and took a sharp left turn.
However, in the haze of half sleep, Dwayne realized too late
that it was actually a right that he should have made, and found
himself unwittingly on the main deck in a freezing wind that slashed
across his face. He hugged his robe tightly to his body and squinted
his eyes into the violent darkness all around him. He tried to make
a slow step forward, but stumbled, falling on his chin. He could
taste the bitter copper of blood in his mouth.
"Point one for the storm," he grumbled, cautiously pushing
himself up. Taking a quick survey of his surroundings, Dwayne found
himself much farther from safety than he liked. He could feel his
shirt begin to stick to his body with wetness, his hair plastered
against his forehead. Desperation was the last thing he felt as, in
a flash of brightness, his world went black.
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