aimedforthemoon

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)

She'd had a shower, after. Washing off the sweat of space and panic far more than the mess of sex. Combed out the snarls from her long, almost curly dark hair. Felt human.

Felt alive.

~

When she fell asleep, exhausted, she'd curled in close to him. It's not that she'd subconsciously follow if he moved, it was just...

She needed to touch someone.

That was all.

~

She dreamed, naturally.

~

Nightmares, from the faint whimpers and and half-audible pleading.

~

When she wakes, sometime around dawn, circles under her eyes but mind awake, well.

As far as her memory is concerned, she didn't dream a damn thing.