Hazards of Dating a Mamba

[Willie Barbary]

Willie smirked a little to herself as she left the bridge on her way to her bunk several weeks later. Another day, another dead-zone shift down. The Captain probably thought he was punishing her by giving her all of these third-shift watches but, truth to tell, she sort've liked them better. Not only did it mean she was left alone for the most part--except for Tammy's chatter--it also meant she could sneak off every now and then.

And the sneaking was usually in conjunction to when Miller was up late running diagnostics on Fang.

To her credit, they didn't screw like bunnies every time. Sometimes they just sat talking. Sometimes he read to her . . . Most of the time they screwed like bunnies.

Willie chuckled slightly at herself. Fang was beside herself with excitement, sure that she would be marrying Miller and birthing a whole passel of babies any day now. Despite the five-ton, match-making death machine's wants on the matter, however, Willie was determined to take things one step at a time. She had just gotten to the point of being mostly comfortable with the idea of a steady relationship with the pretty Mamba.

She couldn't ignore the fact that he made being on this boring-ass freighter bearable. There had to be a reason for that, aside from the mind-blowing sex, that is. Like the sort that had taken place just yesterday in the deserted assembly room. That mahogany table would never be the same again.

Willie was grinning wickedly at that last thought as she rounded the corner, but her smile quickly fell when she nearly ran into Jackson standing there, apparently waiting for her. Three of his favorite cronies were standing behind him, and all had the same sneering look on their faces. Though inwardly nervous, outwardly her eyes narrowed and she fair-bristled with annoyance, fearless.

"You mind getting outta my way, Jack-ass?" she snapped.

"What's the matter, Willie?" Jack returned, his face coloring only a little from the insult. "Me and the boys just wanna have a little word with you." She snorted.

"If you can manage to string more together than a couple of grunts I'll die of shock. Thanks, but no thanks."

She went to push past them, but she was a rather small woman. Jack easily grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her back. Willie stumbled, and almost lost her footing, barely catching herself.

"You know, I seem to remember you being a lot more . . . vestal, when we were dating, hon," he growled, his tone suddenly rough with anger and maybe a touch of jealousy.

Miller had been making it a point to smirk triumphantly in Jack's direction whenever they happened to pass each other in the halls of the ship.

"Yeah, well maybe that's because your dick is the size of a thimble and you're a really shitty lover," she snapped furiously, her mouth getting away from her at her lost temper. "Ever consider that one?" Not the smartest move to make at this juncture, but then Willie had never been known for being able to keep a cool head under pressure.

Neither was Jack.

The tall blonde's face turned near-purple before he lunged. His cronies all stood back and kept a look out while Jack grabbed the much smaller woman by the neck. Willie choked, struggling, but Jack managed to maneuver her fairly easily. She yelped out in pain when he spun her around and then slammed her up against the metal bulkhead. Her head swam immediately, pain flaring to life at the side of her forehead where she'd struck it. He used his hold on her neck to keep her smashed against the wall, unable to move as he stepped close. She half-growled, half-mewled in protest when he shoved his hips into her ass, the bulge she could feel assuring her that he was just as sick and depraved as she remembered him to be.

"You and that fairy-ass Snake-Boy think you can waltz onto my ship and do whatever the hell you please," he hissed into her ear. "Well I got news for you, bitch. It ain't gonna happen."

"You're blatantly assaulting a fellow crewman," she snarled. "From the blood I can feel on my face, I got the marks to prove it. What's stopping me from going straight to the Captain and getting your ass court-marshaled?"

Willie yelped again when his hold around the back of her neck became crushing, now sure to leave a bruise.

"Captain Voyle is a friend of my old man, from way back. He won't do anything to me. In fact," Willie's nails clawed into the bulk-head, angry tears spiking in her eyes when Jack ground himself into her again. Much to his friends' chuckling amusement. "You say one word of this to anyone, including that Snake-Boy of yours, and I'll have him transferred out of here so fast your head'll spin. And then where will that leave you?"

"Willie?"

Jack released her and pounced back just in time to avoid Tammy, who suddenly rounded the corner. The woman blinked in confusion at the scene, the frowned. "Willie, are you okay?"

"She's fine," Jack laughed. "Stupid wench just tripped and fell. Didn'cha Willie?"

Willie shoved herself off the bulk-head, then turned and ran the rest of the way to her bunk, trying to ignore the tears blurring her vision.

[Admiral Hart]

Oh hell no.

Miller's first reaction, after hearing about what had happened from Tammy, was to rush to her room to see if she was alright. When he flung open the door, he saw Willie, who half jumped at the sound, hastily clearing a few tears away. And he saw the gash on her head, and something inside him began to tick like a time bomb.

"What happened?" He asked, though he could guess.

"I...I just fell, that's all." Willie replied, not just pained but scared. Terrified.

Miller stood there for a moment, then turned on his heel. "I'll be back in a few."

"Please, no Miller!" She rushed up to him and grabbed his arm. "They said they would transfer you if you did anything! Please!"

"Injustice is when good men do nothing and bad men are allowed to go unpunished." Miller replied, brown eyes hardened a little. "And Dad always taught me never to tolerate injustice." Then he chuckled. "And it's going to be much, much harder to transfer me than they think."

-------

"Captain Voyle." Miller said only minutes later, entering the man's cabin without knocking. "I would like a word."

"What do you think you're..." He began. Miller held up a hand. "I didn't say, I would like your words. Listen while I tell a story."

"Y'see, Mamba being Mamba, we're entitled to a few....perks. For example, if we see a a military commander performing his duties poorly, we are fully empowered by law to strip that commander of his power by a vote of no confidence. And, since I'm the only Mamba on this ship, my vote would be completely uncontested." Miller said, balancing a throwing knife on one finger.

"You can't..."

"Failure to discipline those in your command. That's all it takes, Voyle. And no one has to be convinced but me. Oh, and for the record? I'm here by order of Luna High Command. Yes, this is a demotion, but for all intents and purposes, I'm here as an official Mamba overseer. You cannot transfer me. And I, technically, outrank you." Miller continued. "So I can do whatever I damn well please. If I break any rules, high command tends to see that as an occupational hazard of having a Mamba around other military anyway."

The Captain was stunned at this. Miller, as he was walking out, said, "You probably thought I was too much of a nice guy, too much of a pushover to pull rank like this. But I'm a Mamba, Voyle. No matter how nice a snake seems, it can strike at any time, and appearance is no indication of venom. Keep that in mind."

-----

"Did you see the look on that bitch's face when I told her..." Jackson began. He did not finish, because Miller slammed his face into the bar and broke his nose before the sentence could be completed.

His friends got ready to pounce. Acting faster than they could see, Miller punched two of them in the throat and kneed the third in the chest hard enough that he was vomiting and gasping for air with the rest of them.

"You know, there's a snake in Australia that strikes so fast one cannot usually see it move. It is called a taipan. Guess what my nickname was in training?" The Mamba said calmly as Jackson turned around.

"You fucking! You're dead! You're gonna be transferred out of here..." Miller punched Jackson in the face with deceptive strength, knocking a few teeth out.

"Word of advice. Don't threaten with military protocol unless you understand military protocol, champ." The Mamba continued. "We're going to have a little chat about what's appropriate on a military vessel. Physically assaulting a lone woman with three of your asshole friends, not appropriate." Miller roundhouse kicked Jackson in the side, causing him to scream a bit in pain. "Me beating the stuffing out of you and your three asshole friends for assaulting said woman, perfectly appropriate."

"I...I'll..." Jackson started. Miller kneed him in the face.

"God, shut up already." The special forces soldier said, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you when you can talk. See, flyboy, here's what I don't get. You should be attacking me. You should round up your gang and try to jump me. Instead, you're going after her. You're threatening my woman. Maybe you're trying to make me afraid. Maybe you're afraid of me. That makes more sense, really. But, you see, Jackson, I've seen things that would make you loose your bowel control in fear. I have watched a psychotic bastard torture his daughter for three years. There is nothing you can do to scare me. But you are dangerously, horrifyingly close to making me mad." The Mamba said coldly, a combat knife in his hand. "And when I get mad, you will die. And it will not be quick. And I will enjoy every second of it. So, the next time you feel like threatening someone, why don't you try to threaten me. I could use a laugh."

Miller then shoved Jackson to the ground and left the room, pocketing his knife and heading back to Willie. Who he would protect not matter who got in his way.

[Willie Barbary]

Willie was pacing. She was pacing like some love-sick, flustered romance-novel heroine. He'd reduced her to pacing. What was the damned world coming to?

When her door slid open, Willie jumped again and whirled. Miller stepped into the room, looking as calm and completely unruffled as always. His expression giving nothing away, he stepped toward her and gently took her head between his hands, forcing her to tilt it up to him. His dark eyes were sharp and probing as they studied the somewhat ugly, inch-long gash on the left side of her forehead.

"Have you had any dizziness at all?" he demanded softly, one of his thumbs gently probing the wounded area, making her wince. She ignored his question to ask a few of her own.

"What happened? What did you do?"

"Had a chat with the Captain," Miller returned, ever calm. He suddenly took her by the hand and easily pulled her into the very small bathroom space of her room, grabbing a towel and wetting it before sitting down on the closed toilet and beginning to dab away the blood that had somewhat dried down the side of her face. "Do you feel sick at all?" he suddenly continued from his previous vein. "Ears ringing?"

"I don't have a concussion," she bit out, somewhat exasperated by his complete lack of worry concerning the situation with Jack. He might be a moron, but he was a tenacious, single-minded moron that would go out of his way to get what he wanted. And Willie was now very afraid of what that might mean for Miller. "What do you mean you had a 'chat?' And what about Jack?"

"Let me worry about Jack," was all Miller would respond with, tossing the bloody towel into the sink.

"But--,"

"People constantly underestimate me, Willie," Miller suddenly interrupted. The cool tone of his voice didn't change, but his expression had become a little annoyed. "Don't make the same mistake. I told you I would handle it. Trust me when I say that it's handled."

Willie just blinked at him, torn between wanting to believe him and wanting to argue some more. Meanwhile Miller suddenly curled his fingers into the back of her flight suit and tugged it back a little to study the hand-shaped red-mark that now imprinted the back of her neck, which would probably turn into a bruise. Willie didn't miss the hard flash of something deadly in his dark eyes just before he bent and feathered a soft kiss to the spot.

And for some reason that suddenly made her start bawling.

Miller--ever calm, unruffable, capable Miller--never batted an eyelash. He just scooped her up and carried her to bed, and held her until she'd cried herself into an exhausted sleep.

[Willie Barbary]

A few days later Willie was curled up against her 'boyfriend' in his bunk, both of them recovering from yet another round of lovemaking, drawing random patterns across his bare chest with her long nails.

"Tammy said she heard you Mambas get trained for this," Willie was questioning, eyes dancing with mirth. "Said they make you guys capable of making a girl's eyes roll back in her head to 'infiltrate' better." Half of it was to tease him, half of it was her insatiable curiosity, unable to stand herself from finding out if it was really true or not. She fully expected Miller to scoff and roll his eyes any minute and denounce it as ridiculous

Instead he blushed.

Willie's eyes widened at that, pushing herself up on one elbow to more effectively gape at him, her jaw dropping a little in shock. "Holy shit, you mean it's true?! They really do train Mambas to fuck someone's brains out?!"

Miller shifted a little under the sheets, sighing, tone still as placid as ever despite the ruddy color on his otherwise pale-skinned cheeks. "Sometimes," he agreed grudgingly. "It . . . well, it depends on what your, ah . . . strengths are. Guys who're especially good-looking and very charismatic, then yes."

Willie just stared. "Well apparently you passed with flying colors then," she finally managed. Miller did scoff now, shaking his head.

"I never underwent that training."

Willie's eyebrows raised at that. "Well why not? You're definitely pretty enough," she finished impishly, her nails raking a gentle path down his flank, making him tense and groan a little before giving her a look with those dark eyes of his. One that promised retaliation if she kept teasing.

Willie was counting on it.

"High Command thought I had other skills that would be put to better use than me being on my back half the time," was his bland return.

Willie laughed, then sat up and lifted up until she was straddling him. Miller just smiled at her, the flat of his palms slowly sliding up her thighs to her hips. Willie braced her weight on his flat abdomen, her fingers flexing like a cat, the tips of her nails digging in just enough to excite him. Miller grimaced a little, a faint hiss letting out of his chest, his eyes going nearly black with fast-returning arousal.

"Well," she purred then with a sigh, "I think High Command missed out on a golden opportunity my own self. I think you do some pretty damned good work on your back. But then, that's just my humble opinion."

It was her turn to gasp when he suddenly rolled his hips up into her, using that momentum and his hold on her hips to deftly force her to fall forward. His arms curled hard around her then, keeping her front flattened to his. Miller nipped a little at her nose, then moved his kisses to the sensitive lobe of her ear. Willie gave him just what he was after, a loud groan of encouragement.

His hands were just starting to drift low on her back to more interesting places when proximity alarms suddenly started blaring all over the ship.

Willie and Miller tore apart, both of them rolling to opposite sides of the bed and diving for their clothes--the military having drilled the discipline into the both of them. The ship was rocked with several small explosions, no doubt plasma fire hitting the shields. Forgoing her underwear in her haste, Willie just tossed on her fatigues and top and then hopped into her flight suit. Somehow Miller still managed to get dressed faster, and she was forced to run to catch up to him as he had already cleared the room and was half way down the passageway.

Other crewmen were scrambling to battle stations as well. Willie and Miller dodged and weaved effortlessly through the press until they came to the cargo-bay. Miller's steps never faltered, heading straight for Fang.

"Report, Sis," he called as he leapt up and caught a mounting rung half-way up the leg one-handed, and then began pulling himself up with little effort.

Willie frowned down below him, hands on her hips. Did he have to be effortlessly hot at everything that he did?

Fang appeared at his shoulder, dressed in a ninja costume now for battle.

"Twenty unknown fighters, four Mecha battle suits, most likely non-military personnel from the older model chassis with multiple illegal upgrades."

"Point of origin?"

"Unknown."

Miller had pulled himself into the cockpit by then, the hatch sealing shut with a hiss. Willie backed away with the other cargo-bay workers as the hatch sealed up, and then the airlock released with a loud hiss. Fang blasted off into open space beyond and headed for the first of many fighters. Willie quickly stepped over to a console, watching the fight with baited breath. She knew Miller was good. Hell, he was damned good. But sheer numbers could still win by default, no matter how good you were.

Fang darted through the battle like a flash of light, speeds almost blinding. Nearly ten of the fighters and two of the Mechs were taken out and disabled within moments. But as fast as Miller was, he couldn't be everywhere at once. The Excalibur rocked again with heavy fire, and then Willie gasped as Fang took a pot-shot in the back. Plasma sparked brilliantly in the vacuum of space.

Willie growled under her breath, shifting her weight. He needed help out there, and Jackson was still laid up from the injuries Miller had given him a few days ago. She deliberated for a moment longer, then suddenly ran for the Viper.

"Get those locks off!" she yelled to a fellow crewman, who blinked at her in surprise.

"You don't have clearance to fly that, Barbary--," She whirled back, scowling.

"Do you wanna die, dumbass?!" When he shook his head, she grabbed him and shoved him toward the jet. "Then shut up and get those goddamned locks off now!"

Willie ran and half-leapt up onto the small ladder and quickly climbed into the cockpit. She fell down into the seat, snatching up the headset and putting it on before snapping and jerking switches and dials. The jet roared to life immediately, the hatch sliding shut with a hydrolic hiss and sealing.

Willie waited just long enough for the landing locks to be released on the jet and the hatch to seal shut behind her before firing up the thrusters to max. The airlock doors had barely opened enough to squeeze her through, but Barbwire shot through them flawlessly, barely an inch of clearance between either wing and the doors. She took ahold of the controls and blasted into the thick of things full-throttle, the laser canons mounted to either wing blasting no less than three fighters out of the stars within moments.

"What in the hell?" came Captain Voyle's ticked off voice over her headset. "Unknown pilot, identify yourself!"

"This is Barbwire, sir," Willie pronounced, cutting hard to port to avoid the five fighters that broke away from Fang and zeroed in on her instead. She spun and weaved through the streams of laser fire that erupted around her.

"What in the name of Christ do you call yourself doing in my jet, Barbary?!" The Captain roared. Willie grinned, jack-knifing into a straight vertical, causing three of the jets to fly beneath her, unable to correct in time.

"Just thought I'd catch a little fresh air, sir," she returned pleasantly, her jet twisting into an impossibly tight spin to put her behind her quarry. Two more were blasted to bits.

"You don't have clearance to fly, Barbary!" the Captain snarled. "Land that jet immediately."

"Ignore those orders," came Miller's calm voice. "Unless you want to explain to High Lunar Command why you lost this shipment to pirates, Captain. Willie, come up on my starboard and get this red Mech off my six."

"Copy that," she purred, demolishing the last of her pursuers and wrenching the fighter into a full roll, heading back the way she'd come.

Willie Barbary pushed the Viper jet harder than it was probably meant, but the fighter danced like a thing of beauty in her capable hands. It wasn't long at all before she and Miller had mopped up what was left of the attacking forces, sending them into a full retreat. Given the damages to Fang, Miller opted not to pursue them for now.

They landed back in the cargo bay, and Willie got out of the Viper with a heavy sigh. She hopped back out of the cockpit, passing through the various crewmen that rushed forward to see to the damages, heading over to Fang instead. Miller was just dropping back to his own booted feet when she arrived.

"Well it looks like I'll be stewing in the brig for a few weeks for insubordination," she heaved with a groan.

Miller just shook his head. Though his eyes were still lifted to Fang's damaged shoulder, he still reached out and rubbed her chin in a glancing caress. "Leave Voyle to me. You'll be fine. Fang, start running a diagnostics."

The AI chirruped an affirmative.

Miller finally turned to her then. "These repairs'll probably take me a while. I'll come find you when I'm done." Willie gasped a little then, when he suddenly leaned in and nipped her ear. "And don't you dare put on any underwear before I do," he growled in her ear low enough that nobody else heared before he spun back to his Mech.

Willie's face turned a bright, flaming red, mouth gaping. She didn't think that he'd noticed. Then again, this was Miller. She should've known better.