It had been obvious from the get-go that he was a pilot. Fighter pilots held themselves differently to regular pilots, and totally differently from navigators. It was more than attitude, and more than personality. Ego… maybe. They were certainly overly blessed in that and in confidence. 

“I am, indeed.” Now that he knew she was assigned to the Tycho, he would have time to get to know her. “I was actually just inspecting the fighters when you walked in.”

He glanced at her shirt. “I think the shuttle will pass inspection now, but we’re gonna have to do something about your shirt. I guarantee if you walk around like that, someone else will assume you need to be rushed to sickbay.”

Following his gaze, she wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, you have a point.” 

Pulling her shirt free she lifted it and sighed. “Dammit, it’s soaked through.” 

Looking up, she looked through the front viewscreen toward the mechanic store. “I’ll have to grab some coveralls from Craddock or something.”

Asher caught himself staring before he got caught staring and gave himself a mental kick. “I can go grab the coveralls for you, if you’d like? What size? Small?”

”Please, if you don’t mind?” She smiled up at him as she dropped all the cleaning supplies in the bucket and stood. When he’d ducked out of the shuttle, she shucked off her shirt and checked. Yeah, not even her undershirt was going to pass muster. In fact, it probably looked worse with the undershirt. 

“Crap.”

Obtaining the coveralls from the mechanic, Craddock, wasn’t too difficult once he’d explained the situation. It wasn’t like he was asking for something for Juno to wear because he’d torn her shirt or something. Asher was enough of a gentleman to not rip a woman’s clothes off… unless she wanted him to. Even then, only if they were somewhere private, not in the middle of the hanger bay where anyone could barge in on them.

Returning to the shuttle, he stepped in without realizing she’d already removed her shirt. 

“Oh, shit… sorry,” he stammered briefly, diverting his gaze, but not before he clocked the ink on her upper arm. It was a unit tattoo. It was such a shock, it stopped him in his tracks and he forgot all about not looking at her.

“You’re a fighter pilot.” It wasn’t a question as he tossed the coveralls to her.

”Thanks,” she said, draping them over the pilot’s chair and shucking out of her pants. She wore boy shorts under them, and she’d spent long enough living in barracks that she wasn’t shy. 

“Yeah, I am.” She pulled the coveralls on, and looked up at him. “Does that bother you?” 

“No.” He shook his head and grinned. “It doesn’t bother me. It surprises me, since you didn’t mention it earlier,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I’m going to have to be more selective with the stories I tell you. The easy stuff isn’t going to impress you.”

“No, it won’t.“ The corner of her lips quirked as she pulled the coveralls up and shoved her arms into the sleeves. “I’m actually very difficult to impress.”

She zipped the coveralls up, checked that no blood was seeping through and looked at him again. “So what’s your call sign, handsome? Just so I know who’s flying wing for me.”

His eyebrows shot up in an expression of disbelief before he quickly recovered. He knew he hadn’t been named Squadron Leader, but he hadn’t expected to be flying wing to someone he found attractive. Asher cleared his throat.

“Hawk.” Given his last name was Hawkins, it wasn’t exactly much of a stretch of the imagination, but it did suit him very well.

“Hawkins… Hawk,” she nodded, and smiled. “Suits you.” 

Bundling her bloodied uniform up in one hand, she grabbed the bucket with the other, herding him out of the shuttle ahead of her. “I suggest we get gone before Craddock comes to ‘inspect’ this, or he’ll have us cleaning it with our toothbrushes or something.” 

Stepping out of the shuttle, she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Damn Craddock, he should have been named Shark instead of her. 

“Incoming left,” she murmured to Asher. “Break right.”

Without hesitation or question, Asher automatically turned as instructed. He didn’t fancy the idea of being ordered to clean anything with his toothbrush. Especially if the one doing the ordering was a damned mechanic. They could get downright cranky about the birds and shuttles under their care.

When they’d put enough distance between themselves and the flight mechanic, he glanced down at Juno. “Were you going to tell me what your call sign is? Or do I have to wait to find out later?”

“Shark,” she said, reaching the sluice area at the back of the bay and quickly dealing with the bucket and contents. Glancing up at him, she found him watching her again. “Keep an eye out for Craddock, he’s a sneaky SOB.”

“Copy that,” he acknowledged with a grin. “How long have you known him?”

It was a fair question, given the things she’d said about the guy. She had to have a decent amount of history to know so much about the mechanic.

She wrinkled her nose. “About twenty years?”

“That explains a lot,” he rumbled, wide-eyed. He watched her a moment longer. “I’ve heard all kinds of call signs over the years, but I’ve never heard Shark used before. There has to be a story behind that one,” he stated with an expectant expression.

 She stashed the bucket quickly. Things were too quiet, and all her senses were on alert. 

“Juno Hadley… Hadley became Hadders at the Academy… quickly became Haddock… which then became Shark.”

Grabbing Asher’s arm, she hustled him ahead of her. Damn, he was solidly built. If he wasn’t letting her herd him, she doubted she could have moved him. 

“Huh,” he murmured, going as she directed him. “But how… Haddock is a fish, not a shark. Right?” Hawkins glanced over his shoulder at her for confirmation. “I’ve never heard of a Haddock Shark before.” He arched a brow. There had to be more to it than she was letting on.

”Yeah, it’s a fish.” She grinned up at him. “It got changed to Shark…” She shrugged. “I gained a bit of a reputation in a fighter.”

He grinned back. “I guess that makes you a real killer, then, doesn’t it?” It was the only logical explanation he could come up with.

“Ya think? My navigator’s callsign is Spork.” She winked, then they both heard a bellowing cry across the hangar. “SHARK! YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!”

”And that’s our cue to get the hell out of dodge,” she muttered. “Run. He’s got a hell of a turn of speed.”

“Well, shit. Then you better move it, Shark,” he half-laughed, grabbing her hand and taking off at a dead sprint.