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Saturday and Sunday nights were the standard ‘night’s off’ on the Hephaestus. Three of the crew would be on stand-by duty, but the rest could do whatever they wanted, how they wanted.
For Jacobi this meant he would knock on Kepler’s door around nine in the evening (they were not just good coworkers, but also good friends) and Kepler would conjure up a bottle of liquor so they could play drinking games.
Unless of course, the good Colonel Kepler was in a talking mood. Then Jacobi would just drink himself into oblivion while Kepler did a fairly good impression of what Jacobi figured waterfalls would sound like if they talked.
But the drink wasn’t really working for him tonight, and the alcohol didn’t really manage to hit his system. Kepler, on the other hand, had been drinking whiskey as if it was soda.
Drunk Kepler was a Kepler with no limits. He would tell stories, give examples and act out things until he would literally pass out somewhere and wake up with a very regretful hangover.
Jacobi chugged down his own whiskey and immediately refilled it, settling down for what was going to be a long, long evening.
“So,” Kepler concluded after a particularly long story. “Long story short, that is how I could have become the winner of So You Think You Can Dance, but instead decided to save the White House!”
Jacobi sighed. “Really? Are you such a good dancer then?”
“I am a great dancer!” Kepler took Jacobi’s hands. “Let me show you!”
Jacobi scrambled back. “Oh… uhm… I sprained my ankle.”
“In zero gravity?” Kepler frowned.
Jacobi nodded hastily. “Yeah man, uhm, I got stuck between…”
Kepler grabbed his hands again and pressed their bodies together, more firmly now. Kepler had always been the military man, the stronger one of their teams. Jacobi, with his small, steady hands, trained to defuse and build the most sensitive of bombs, had a much finer complexion.
“I have no choice in this, do I, Sir?” Jacobi sighed.
Their eyes locked, and Kepler grinned dangerously. “No.”
He dragged Jacobi across the room and tapped on the screen hanging on his wall. Sweet, upbeat music filled the room.
“Goddamn it.” Jacobi swore. He tried to pry himself loose once more, unsuccessfully. “Sir, I beg of you, I’m the worst dancer in existence…”
“Have you watched the Doctor dance?” Kepler asked.
“Which one?” By prolonging the conversation, Jacobi realized, he was only delaying the inevitable.
“Hilbert.” Kepler smiled. “But enough, shoulders straight. Put your right hand on my shoulder.”
“Sir…” Jacobi murmured.
“Right hand, shoulder.” Kepler repeated. He himself grabbed Jacobi’s left hand and stretched them out in front of them. He then put his own right hand firmly on Jacobi’s side.
For a moment they were floating there, holding each other close, starting positions for what Jacobi guessed was going to be a foxtrot? It was the only dance he knew, so there were no other options in his very limited terminology.
Jacobi opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again. He looked at the focus on his boss’ face. Quiet determination to teach his friend how to dance, and let it go.
Truly, this might be the only time Kepler would let himself go like this. Jacobi had heard many of the things he had done before, but none he had been truly passionate about.
“It’s going to be a little harder in zero gravity,” Kepler smiled. “But just follow my lead.”
He pushed himself off with one foot, and locked their legs together, making strides by pushing Jacobi’s legs and swirling them around, occasionally bashing them into a wall.
“I don’t feel like I’m doing much danci…” Jacobi uttered, but Kepler broke him off by pushing their faces together.
“Sssh,” he said. “Just feel the music.”
He whirled around the room a few more times, Jacobi in his arms.
“You’re a great dancer, Daniel.” Kepler grinned.
“You’re drunk,” Jacobi groaned.
“It’s been so long since I’ve danced!” Kepler exclaimed. “I think it must have been the charity gala for the RSPCA, where I was undercover together with a young British agent. We barely managed to prevent the entire building from being blown to the moon, and quite literally so. Long story short, that is how…”
“Colonel,” Jacobi interrupted him. “I get it.”
Their dancing was now merely pushing themselves off various furniture in the room, as if jumping gracefully from the bed to the wall, to the table to the roof, but it was sort of on the tune of the music, and it looked like Kepler was really enjoying himself.
There was a knock at the door, and Jacobi turned his head to see Maxwell enter the room. Kepler, however, didn’t seem to notice and kept on dancing.
“You guys have to come see- Eiffel attempted to make waffles and now the kitchen is on fire…” her sentence died down when she looked up. “Guys?”
Kepler finally stopped dancing and turned around, legs still tangled, and Jacobi quickly let go.
“Doctor!” Kepler exclaimed. “I was just teaching Jacobi how to dance!”
“Of course…” Maxwell nodded. “Well, the fire is under control, if you guys care, but Minkowski is yelling at Eiffel and it’s quite a show. Want to come see?”
“I should do damage control,” Kepler nodded. He finally fully let go of Jacobi and left the room.
Maxwell raised an eyebrow a Jacobi.
“I’m going to go check it out too,” he mumbled. “Wouldn’t want to miss that,”
“Sure…” Maxwell said, before he closed the door behind him.
She was silent for a beat.
“Hera?” Maxwell asked. “Could you…?”
“I already uploaded the files to your personal computer, Doctor,” Hera chirped, a little too cheery.
“Thank you,” Maxwell grinned maliciously. “I’m going to check if Minkowski has already passed out from yelling.”
She opened the door, sighing contentedly. “Oh, how I love our nights off.”