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social link GO?!!!

Wallabin's frankly boring visits were starting to become commonplace at the Gladsheim base; to the point where even Locke was getting dirty looks from the fellow soldiers. When he slanted his glance their way, they usually shut up their gossiping and returned to what they were doing, though. One would think they'd be used to it by now, but they didn't cease to find amusement in Locke running the duo around. (They always silenced themselves when Gearhorn turned up, though.)

Luckily for Weiler and Locke, they were allowed a break from Wallabin while he met with Gearhorn and several other officers. (More demands to be met, more money to be donated and the like, Locke was sure.) There weren't many safe places to talk on base, unfortunately. He didn't even trust his own quarters.

There was only one place that he knew would be safe, due to the sheer loud volume of it; the cantina. It was less than glamorous, and the drinks they had to offer were definitely not as exquisite as the bar they had gone to. The company even less so. It was with a little reluctance that Locke suggested it.

"We could kill some time at the cantina," he had said, "but I don't think you'll like it."

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Locke couldn't help a laugh.

"Are you that afraid of them?"

Honestly amused, Locke lifted himself from the seat just enough to pull Weiler into meeting him the rest of the way across the table, locking lips with him. Before he acknowledged any reaction Weiler might've had, he pulled away, tilting his head to look at someone behind Weiler. The someone in question was one of the men out of the group, who thought he was being sneaky in creeping up behind the politician's assistant while the two were off guard.

There was a click by Weiler's ear, where Locke's gun had been comfortably propped onto his shoulder and pointed at the man behind him. Locke was smiling pleasantly up at him.

"Problem?"

Weiler knew how to take a cue.

Pulling gently away from Locke (really, the man had no sense of timing - in the cantina and across a lunch table, of all places), Weiler twisted himself around. He seated himself on the table, crossing his legs on the bench he had been sitting on, and let Locke's still-raised gun hover reassuringly between his right arm and chest.

"Hello," he greeted cheerfully, smiling at the man who had all but stopped in his tracks, so caught off guard that his hands hadn't forgotten to unclench from fists. Weiler reached up to Locke's hand and flicked the safety back into place, but only so that he could ease the weapon from Locke's fingers and into his own.

He flicked the safety off again as he cocked the barrel right between the man's legs. "I'm not a very good shot," he admitted. "But I don't think even I can miss at point black."

Half the canteen now was quiet, the other half whooping cheers at Weiler and Locke. The group quickly became the quieter half of the room, likely embarrassed through their friend's failure in not being caught.

The man stumbled back a step, his arms slowly dropping back to his sides. His fists didn't open, balled up out of anger now.

"You're lucky your boyfriend saved you this time," he growled (though it wasn't clear to which one of them), staggering his way back to the other end of the table. By the time he sat, it was slowly becoming like the event hadn't happened, everyone going back to their business. Things just weren't as interesting if someone wasn't really being shot.

A hand reached up and clicked the safety on the gun again, slipping it from Weiler's hand. Locke was pleasantly surprised by the turn of events, actually, looking as much.

"Have you ever fired one of these, Milo?" he asked, now that the din had returned and concealed their conversation again.

"No," said Weiler, with a smile that said, 'yes.' "We don't have much use for those kinds of things in politics. We're...civilized men, or so we like to think."

He looked up after watching Locke put away the gun, brows raising at the other man's pleased expression. "You're in an awfully good mood considering what just happened."

"Happens all the time," he explained. "But I'm impressed. Not bad, for a civilized man."

Weiler settled back in his seat (although not before brushing it clean where his shoes had scuffed the seat), leaning on his elbows toward Locke. "Oh, you liked that, did you? Into a bit of gunplay?"

"Hmm. I wasn't before, but now..." he trailed off, looking thoughtful.

A finger flicked Locke lightly on the tip of his nose, Weiler's other hand preoccupied with cradling his chin. There was a heavy-lidded but highly entertained look on his face. "Too bad, soldier. I'm not into sticking guns where they don't really belong. Unless you ask very nicely."

Locke smirked, even as he wrinkled his nose. One of his knees bumped against Weiler's.

"I won't ask, but thanks for the offer."

Weiler's face fell into a look of utter disappointment, too quickly and too finely-tuned for it to have been real, but a good show of it nonetheless.

"I'll let you stand up for my maidenly honor?"

"Haven't I already done that?"

"You seem to enjoy it, so I thought I'd offer if you promised to ask someday," Weiler responded, grinning.

"Well, if you insist, I suppose I can."

"Wunderbar! I'll hold you to that!" He clapped his hands together once with a laugh. Hands still palm-to-palm, Weiler then lowered them into his lap, voice dropping lower in the way it did whenever he spoke about something that he didn't particularly want others to hear.

"But you know, I would not have thought you'd be so quick to jump to my defense. Being involved with me is not so great for the image you've got to uphold out here in the wild, no? That's risking an awful lot for little ol' me," he mused, ending in an exaggerated twang of another archaic accent that was difficult to place.

Locke gave him a baffled yet amused look for both his outburst and the accent, but upon answering the actual question, he looked elsewhere.

"I don't mind," he said, simple enough.

One brow raised and the other dipped at Locke's obvious aversion. "You don't?"

Locke glanced back at Weiler, looking him over in consideration. He could have left Weiler to his own devices, or not have defended him so aggressively. It was a little odd, he supposed, putting that much at risk over someone he'd only known for about two months. He hadn't really thought about it.

"No," he affirmed. "I look out for my own. The ones I like, at least." Locke smiled. "What would you have expected me to do?"

Weiler laughed, pulling back with a hand on his stomach. "Oh, I see," he chuckled. "You like me. That's right. I suppose lovers would do that, if we're really going to sell this."

Locke raised a brow. "Oh. I guess there's that, too."

Weiler raised a brow to meet it, looking neither pleased nor upset.

"Oh."

Then the other brow rose to meet that one, forming a look of intrigue.

"Really."

It was a rather silly sight, the two of them looking surprised at each other.

"What?"

Weiler leaned over the table, beckoning Locke closer. When the other man came forward, he cupped a hand over his mouth and spoke into his ear. "I was of the opinion that you thought you were working with a crazy man."

Locke smiled, leaning his own mouth to Weiler's ear. (It probably looked like some kind of lovers' sweet talk to onlookers- this was putting his reputation at stake.) "You have to be to work where we do, don't you think?"

"It is possible that you are just incredibly masochistic," Weiler replied, pulling back and entirely failing to whisper that one.

That got Weiler a flick on the nose himself.

"Only if you're into that."

insert troll face here

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I'm making up an amount of time they've known each other now ok

two months sounds good

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