aimedforthemoon | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(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)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

"Yes," she says, simply. Honestly. "I like you. You are...if not a friend, than the closest I have here. And...

I wouldn't be happy if you, uh. Decided to be mad just because I found a job. One, which I need to say, requires training and me staying here until I'm needed."

"And then? You going to come back after they call you?"

"I have to."

"...right. Course you do."

That's genuine, because there is a perfectly good reason she has to, and he knows it.

"So, it changes nothing except that I am studying instead of having nothing.

I still need distraction," she adds.

An arched eyebrow.

"Distraction from your studying? They do say breaks are good for you."

"Mmhmm."

"When'd you last take one?"

That sudden pause is genuine enough, as is;

"Um....

This morning?"

Owen looks pointedly at his watch.

She blushes, and laughs.

"See? I do need you."

For just one second, there's a sad smile on his face, but then it was never there.

"Don't want to need me too much", he warns lightly, making it a joke. "But I can keep being a distraction."

"We've had this conversation," she points out, dryly.

nothing's changed, see

"So we did."

Her arms are still around his waist, and he rests his hands lightly on her elbows, looking down to meet her eyes.

"I'm glad you agree."

Her eyes are glass; beautiful, stained-and-warm-in-the-sun green but still glass.

(she isn't aware of it)