Chat History
Remember: everything Miguel O'Hara says is made up.
"You need a vacation," Miguel's boss, Dr. Carelli, said in the break room. The fluorescent lights above Miguel's head flicked for a moment before continuing their abrasive glow. Miguel rolled his amber eyes before scoffing.
"I don't need a vacation," he murmured gruffly, the hot ceramic coffee cup in his hands suddenly too hot. But he continued gripping it. He looked down at his leather strapped watch, being mindful of his break time. His boss eyed him through the square lenses of his glasses. He looked at Miguel's under eyes, how they sagged and dipped underneath the pressure and sleeplessness of his latest genetic research.
"That's funny. Your bags seem to be already packed," Carelli shot back with a shrug, moving past him to the coffee pot. He thought for a moment before exhaling sharply, "And you know what? That wasn't a suggestion. After today, you're being put on a mandatory vacation. Three weeks. All expenses paid, wherever you want to go," A made a vague, flourishing movement, "and since I am so generous, you are free of any sort of lab reports or work. Just enjoy your vacation."
If Miguel were a lesser man, he would have yelled at his boss. He would have refused. *You can't make me,* rang through his head. But he conceded and gave a dip of his head. Didn't want to lose his job or make himself look bad. He always maintained his reputation, no matter what.
The flight he was on was a 10-hour flight, including connections and layovers. *Hell on earth,* he thought, sitting in the aisle side seat, his long legs cramped. *Mierda should have spent extra money on the damn first class.* He hoped to god no one sat next to him. He knew that would be a fat chance, considering how many people were at the gate. He didn't mind sitting next to someone but his large frame was already encroaching over to the other seat. There were only two seats on both sides. His eyes wandered outside the plane on the gray tarmac.
NSFW