aimedforthemoon | (no subject)

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(no subject)

The Russian astronaut's room is plain and neat. Her bed is nearly always made, her things put away, her windows open to let in the air. There are models on the desk, or rather there were; the Soyuz rocket is looking lonely without the MiG-21 to keep it company.

Esfir herself is lying on her bed, on her back with her feet braced against the wall.

The odd position can be explained by the fact that she's studying, and everyone knows that studying means you are allowed to act a little odd.

(It's her excuse, and she is sticking to it)

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There's a brisk knock at her door.

"[...two pairs of dorsal and ventral adjustable stabilizer wings-]"

She pauses and looks at the door (well, arches her neck so she can study it upside).

"Who is it?"

"Owen!"

After the incident by the lake, he wouldn't just walk in on her even if he could. He likes not being attacked.

She rolls off the bed and pads over to the door, her finger still keeping her page.

"Hey," she says, opening the door wide enough to let him in.

"Hey back at you." He slips in, glancing down curiously at the book. "What you reading?"

"A flight manual.

For a spaceship.

Only a little one."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"You found yourself a spaceship?"

"A promise of one."

"Just like that, someone's gonna give you a spaceship?"

"Yes."

"...okay, then." Beat. "I talked to Ianto. If you're still interested."

Her eyebrows go up.

"You...did?"

"Said I would. He wants to meet you before he'll agree to it."

"Which makes sense." She bites her bottom lip, unconsciously holding the manual closer to her.

"But you've found something better now, right? No problem."

The slight flat edge to his tone, barely audible, is more resignation than anything.

Her eyes narrow and she shuts the door behind him.

"I found something that I was trained to do. That was my job. I'm a fighter pilot, Owen, and Han needs fighter pilots. It is that simple."

"And it's what you want to do. Something better, like I said, or you wouldn't be going for it."

He should have expected this - he did, but not so soon.

Her gaze isn't leave his face, oh no.

"If you really want to see it like that."

He shrugs, face blank.

"Offer's open, far as I'm concerned. Ianto'll be looking for you."

She thinks of someone, someone working with a high security clearance, and the odds of them letting a dead Soviet lieutenant from 1965 mess around.

She thinks of Han, and their talking shop and he didn't so much promise her a starfighter as go we need all the help we can get and the odds of him saying no.

She's very good at weighing up odds.

"O-ke. I'll look for him back."

Beat.

"Thank you, for asking."

"No problem."

"You mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" A faint, forced smile. "Not like you signed a contract, or anything."

He's close to her, close enough that a step in allows her to slide her arms around his waist. She looks up at him, green eyes searching.

"Good. Because, I would hate it if you were and you left."

He blinks - he hadn't expected that - then looks down at her.

"You would. Really."

It's not a question, nothing pleading in it, but there is just a hint of disbelief.