Characters: Miles/Richard (totally one-sided)
Word Count: 707
Rating: PG-13, mostly for language
Spoilers: Through 5x13 to be safe
Disclaimer: Don't own. It's probably a good thing.
Summary: Miles ponders the mystery of Richard Alpert. While checking him out.
A/N: Yeah, this... has no point. If there were sex it would be PWP. I just wanted to write something that wasn't angsty. So maybe at least it's mildly entertaining. Or maybe not. And, no, I don't know what's in the "message" mentioned here (hence the "without plot" part). The ending is inspired by a conversation with my mom that, to any Others around in both the 50's and 70's, it would appear that Miles and Co. don't age either.
Miles is thrilled when Horace asks him to deliver a “message” to Alpert.
It's not because he likes entering Hostile territory and having guns shoved in his face and people bitching about lines and violating the truce. He doesn't like Hostiles. But he does like Richard Alpert.
Maybe like isn't exactly the right word. Miles is intrigued by him. Because there's just something way off about the guy – Miles could tell from the first time they met – something that no doubt has to do with the fact that he hasn't aged a day in at least twenty years.
And he's fucking hot and, for all Miles knows, he has always been and will continue to be so until the end of time.
On the drive, Miles sort of finds himself wondering if Alpert remembers him from 1954 and if he'll bring it up. He doesn't, but Miles can tell by the look he gives him that he definitely remembers.
Given that fact he could at least try to sound interested when he asks, “What can I do for you?”
Miles bites back at least six different answers.
He decides to play it safe and stick with, “Horace told me to give this to you,” but he can't stop smiling as he hands over the envelope – and he can't help letting his eyes roam, but he honestly tries not to be obvious about it. Alpert either doesn't notice or he chooses to ignore it. Miles decides it's the latter, figuring that very little gets past a guy like him.
Miles realizes that he's staring but he doesn't care. All he's interested in is admiring the abso-fucking-lutely terrific way Alpert fills out that blue shirt – Miles will never look at another blue shirt the same way again, it's that amazing. The shirt's tucked neatly into equally perfect-fitting pants (don't even get him started on the pants – or those fucking hips or anything else that may be inside), which makes him look slightly more civilized than the other Others hanging around the camp. Too civilized, maybe, for a guy who's the leader or emissary or something of a group referred to as Hostiles.
All the while, Miles is scanning Alpert's expression and demeanor for anything that might be a clue to his secrets. There's nothing weird about him on the surface. It's not something you can see unless you happen to encounter him in two entirely separate decades. No, it's definitely something you can sense; or maybe it's just something that someone like Miles, with his own set of secrets, can sense. He waits for some revelation to click into place in his mind and – a-ha! – the Great Mystery of Richard Alpert will finally be solved. He wonders if anyone has ever figured it out or if it's just one those great unknowns, destined to be the subject of eternal speculation and debate, like the Big Bang or UFOs or Chupacabras or something like that.
But all of that gets a little lost as Miles just smiles to himself, because there is one thing he knows for sure – he'd hit that.
He watches Alpert's ageless face as he reads the important bullshit in Horace's message, both of them, apparently, more than a little uninterested in whatever the DI's fearless leader has to say. He's still a bit surprised when Alpert chunks the note into the fire.
Miles blinks. Alpert doesn't say anything but it's pretty clear this is Miles' cue to leave. “What am I supposed to tell Horace?” he asks, putting off his departure a few seconds longer.
“You can tell him whatever you want,” Alpert says.
And that's pretty much that and Miles thinks that this visit has been so unsatisfying. Alpert's gone back to doing whatever he was doing and no one seems to notice that Miles is still standing there like an idiot, but they will if he hangs around much longer.
So he starts back to the van. Half-way there he turns back without thinking twice, making a beeline for Alpert.
He has to ask. “Shouldn't you be older?”
Alpert turns around, and Miles beams because of the son of a bitch is actually smirking back at him.