FicWad

/A/N/: Another Kiros POV piece. It just seems more suiting to have interaction between Laguna and Julia be told from Kiros' end.
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We grew up, I suppose. It didn't take as long as I thought it would-and I suppose Laguna never really did-but by the time I made Staff Sergeant and Laguna was made a Master Sergeant (and we were as surprised as he was when that happened), I knew that things had changed from me being the slightly shy kid I'd been and him being . . .

Alright, well, he hadn't changed that much. But he'd been in a few battles that weren't just against monsters, and you could see in his eyes that he was a little less carefree about life.

But he was always laughing. Even toting that machine gun into battle, he'd manage to dig up some anecdote or joke-which he'd tell wrong half the time-and get a couple of chuckles out of Ward and I, and anybody we happened to be with.

It seemed that was most of the reason the Officers put up with him. There weren't enough people like Laguna in the military: ready and willing to serve and still able to make human connections with as many people as he could.

Still, we changed. Nothing really all that noticeable either. I got a little more quiet and resigned-a little more detached, Laguna would tell me-and he got a little more outgoing, if that was possible.

We still spent a lot of time together. But a lot of that time, off duty, was spent down in nightclub when Julia was in to play. Most times, Ward was with us for out little outings, or somebody out of the gun brigade.

Some times, it was just us. And I would sit there, and not really listen to Julia play, and just watch Laguna watch her play, humming softly along with her music. He would drink a little, and talk to me quietly about how pretty she was-and she was, even I could see that, though I didn't really want to-and then he'd just grin like an idiot and go very quiet.

Tonight was one of those nights, and just watching the entire thing was ticking away at my fuse. I could not, for the life of me, remember the last time he'd spent that much time just staring at me-which, I know, makes me sound like some sort of scorned wife. But perhaps I was being a little neglected, and perhaps that was making me feel a little vindictive.

As she wound down for the night, I stood up, finally breaking Laguna out of his trance. He grinned up at me, stretching widely.

"We going back?"

"I am," I bit, then said more kindly, "Why don't you go over and . . . talk with her. You keep watching her like that, she's bound to notice."

He blushed, really dark-it wasn't really attractive on him, that blush, but he always laughed a little and rubbed his neck, and that was always very cute-and looked over towards the stage door that no doubt led into her dressing room or sitting room or something.

"Nah," he said after a while, and stood up. I pushed him back down.

"No. Stay for a while. Have some more to drink. Try to talk to her." My earlier ideas that she might break his heart blared in the back of my head, but some part of me wanted him to get his heart broken. Maybe he'd look at that event, and he'd know that he should be thankful for what he already had.

It's not like we're monogamous or anything, something in me growled. I ignored it, and smiled at him a little. He was watching me with that look on his face like he might know what was going on, but not really. Then, he looked away and chuckled a little.

"She's all . . . far-off and stuff, you know? Why would she want to talk with some /Trabian-born soldier/." He made that sound like an insult, though I couldn't really tell whether he meant his heritage or his profession as the curse.

I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly-it was all I allowed myself to do while we were in uniform, like we always seemed to be-and said, "There are some things you just know." Then, I forced that smile again and waved myself off.

When I got back to the base, back to my rooms, I threw a paperweight against the wall. It actually dented, and I sighed, leaning against the door.

What felt like minutes, but was probably close to hours, later, the door shifted behind me. It took me a moment to realize that somebody was trying to get /in/, and then I was up in a flash, shutting the door and removing the chainlock.

Laguna stood there, sheepish and with an expression like somebody had just kicked his puppy. I leaned against the doorjamb and just stared at him for a minute.

"I couldn't talk to her. Almost did. Lost my nerve, you know? It's not like talkin' to guys-to /you/." His grin was just as pained and sheepish as the rest of him, and he quietly asked, "Can I come in?"

"Somebody'll notice," I said, but I didn't really mean it. We'd spent enough years going back and forth from each other's tiny Enlisted's apartments that half the building or more knew about it. He blinked at me for a minute, before nodding a little.

"Yeah. Okay." He smiled again, and waved a goodnight as he turned away and started down the hall.

Aw /shit/.

"Laguna!" He turned back, just kind of staring at me for a minute, and I sighed. Some days, he was absolutely /impossible/. "Get in here before an Officer shows up and decides to throw a shit-fit." I moved out of the door and just left it opened; he'd close it for himself.

He did, and there was that small flutter in my chest that I always got when we were alone together.

And then he was behind me, arms warm and tight around my waist, chin on my shoulder-and this look on his face when I looked back at him, like I was the most interesting bug he'd ever seen in his entire life, and maybe if he stared long enough he'd figure out whether he wanted to squish me or feed me to that puppy of his . . .

"What?" There was a nervous chuckle in that question. He smiled a little, and leaned in just enough to awkwardly kiss the side of my mouth.

When he did stuff like that, it was really hard to stay frustrated. He was smiling wider then, leaning his head against my shoulder and letting his hands move over my chest.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, leaning up. He got a slightly better kiss that time.

"No," I told him. The lie felt just as bitter as always, and he shook his head a little, managing to turn me around.

He was still just a little taller than me. Our foreheads touched gently, and this time it was a real kiss-complete with tongue and hands in my hair and the slight bump of his hip against mine. In the mostly dark of my tiny apartment, that close, his eyes were a deep, gentle gray blur of color-made me a bit cross-eyed to look at them, but I did anyway.

"You wanna . . ." He could never actually say it. But that was ok. He always smiled when he said /that/, and then he'd laugh really softly. His eyes would get all crinkled, and all his laugh lines would come out then; he looked like somebody who'd just won the greatest prize known to man.

He only ever had that look for me.

I smiled a little as well, and nodded a bit. He laughed more throatily.

And, for a while at least, I didn't worry about the fact that he was starting to get laugh lines for Julia.