32 and pikelan please!! or -- really, any of them and pikelan if thats easier im just thirsty for pikelan lol
pikelan. post-canon. 1.6K.
The small man has been sitting at the bar for three hours. Pike knows it isn’t him––he holds himself wrong, he’s dressed wrong, he moves his hands too much when he speaks––but a small, ridiculous part of her still hopes.
It’s been months since they all went their separate ways. She should really let it go.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Pike?” Grog asks when her head twists in that direction for the umpteenth time that night, and Pike looks back at him.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just a memory.”
Grog frowns. “What’s the point at lookin’ at something that’s already done?”
“No point, Grog.”
“Well then, quit looking.”
“Oh, alright,” she laughs, and he grins all big and pleased.
But her eyes keep drifting to the small man in a purple vest at the bar, and it’s not until he turns around and she sees his face––eyes too big, smile too small, neat-trimmed beard and slicked-back hair and everything he isn't––that she finally drags her attention back to Grog, and the story he’s telling about his most recent Crucible win.
He’s gone, Pike reminds herself. He wanted to leave. It’s well past time she saw him in every stranger she passed. Wishful thinking won’t bring him back.
(If it did, he’d be here already.)