Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lunch finished simmering instead of arriving all at once.

Ruan Mei moved through the kitchen with unhurried precision, sleeves rolled just enough to be practical, hair tied back loosely. The aroma—warm broth, fresh vegetables, something gently spiced—filled the shared space in a way that made the station feel less like a research facility and more like a home someone had decided to keep.

Herta leaned against the counter, watching.

“You know,” she said, tone casual but eyes sharp, “for someone who insists cooking is a secondary skill, you’re taking this very seriously.”

Ruan Mei didn’t look up. “Stability improves when basic needs are met.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ruan Mei glanced sideways then, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It never is.”

Herta scoffed softly, but she stepped closer anyway, just enough that their shoulders brushed when Ruan Mei reached for a bowl. Neither of them commented on it.

At the table, Elara sat sideways in her chair, one knee tucked up, datapad balanced against her thigh. She wasn’t studying.

She was waiting.

The moment her screen chimed, her face lit up.

Celestine:
Still alive?

Elara grinned.

Elara:
barely
they’re cooking
I might starve before it’s done

Across the room, Herta glanced over. “I heard that.”

Elara didn’t even look guilty.

Another notification appeared almost immediately.

Celestine:
Dramatic as ever.
Hold on.

The typing indicator blinked… then disappeared.

Elara leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands.

Ruan Mei set the bowls down one by one. “Lunch.”

Steam curled upward, warm and grounding. Elara barely registered it.

Then her datapad chimed again.

Image received.

Elara tapped it open—and froze.

Celestine filled the screen.

Her hair fell in smooth, dark waves, longer than before, framing her face with an elegance that felt deliberate rather than ornamental. A small, star-shaped ornament rested near her temple, catching the light. Her outfit was black layered with muted gold accents, fitted but understated—high collar, structured lines, the kind of clothing that looked composed even at rest.

She looked calm, present, real.

Elara’s chest warmed—not flared, not surged. Just… steady.

“Oh,” Elara breathed.

Herta looked up immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” Elara said quickly, then amended, “—okay, not nothing.”

She turned the datapad slightly so they could see.

Herta paused. “…She cleans up well.”

Ruan Mei studied the image for a moment longer than necessary. “That design emphasizes restraint,” she noted. “Intentional understatement.”

Elara smiled faintly. “Yeah. That’s her.”

A message followed.

Celestine:
New outfit.
New hairstyle.
Before you ask: yes, it’s practical.

Elara typed back.

Elara:
you look really pretty

The reply came after a pause—short, but noticeable.

Celestine:
Good.
I was hoping you’d think so.

Elara’s smile softened into something quieter, something that stayed.

At the counter, Herta leaned in closer to Ruan Mei, voice lowered. “She’s stable.”

“Yes,” Ruan Mei said.

Herta tilted her head, studying Elara—not the readings, not the projections. Just her. “More than stable.”

Ruan Mei set the ladle aside and turned. Before Herta could say anything else, Ruan Mei leaned in and pressed a brief, unhurried kiss to her lips.

Not urgent, not hidden, just there.

Herta blinked once—then smiled against her mouth before pulling back. “Well,” she said lightly, “that’s one way to ground the room.”

Ruan Mei’s expression remained calm, but her eyes were warm. “Effective.”

Elara pretended very hard to be focused on her datapad.

Elara:
they’re flirting again
send help

Celestine:
No.

Elara laughed quietly, finally picking up her spoon.

She ate.

Nothing surged, nothing responded. The station remained perfectly ordinary.

And on her screen, Celestine’s image stayed open just a little longer than necessary—an anchor that didn’t pull, a presence that didn’t demand.

For now, everything stayed exactly where it belonged.

The dishes were left to the auto-clean cycle.

Herta claimed it was efficiency.

Ruan Mei knew better.

They lingered in the kitchen anyway—Herta leaning back against the counter, Ruan Mei rinsing her hands slowly, deliberately, as if there was no reason to rush back to being brilliant scientists when they could just… be this instead.

Elara retreated to the couch with her datapad, curling into the corner like a cat that had decided this was her spot now. Her fingers hovered over the screen.

She didn’t open equations.

She didn’t open logs.

She reopened the image.

Celestine, again.

The longer Elara looked, the more details settled in. The clean lines of the outfit, the way the dark fabric fell without excess, the subtle gold accents that caught the light without demanding it. Her hair—longer, darker at the roots, fading into soft violet at the ends when the lighting shifted just right.

She looked… grounded.

Elara typed.

Elara:
you really went full “I’m being responsible today”

Celestine:
I can be responsible.

Elara:
debatable

A pause.

Then:

Celestine:
I chose it because it wouldn’t react to you

Elara’s smile softened instantly.

Elara:
…thank you

The typing dots appeared and vanished twice before the reply came.

Celestine:
You don’t have to thank me for choosing you over spectacle, you're my priority princess

Elara pressed the datapad lightly to her chest for half a second while blushing before lowering it again.

Across the room, Herta reached out without looking and caught Ruan Mei’s wrist as she passed, fingers curling with casual familiarity.

“You’re hovering,” Herta said.

“I’m observing,” Ruan Mei corrected.

“You’re hovering.”

Ruan Mei allowed herself a small sigh and stopped. Herta tugged her closer—not forcefully, just enough to close the distance. Their foreheads nearly touched.

“Elara’s stable,” Herta murmured. “More than she’s been in days.”

“Yes,” Ruan Mei said softly. “Because she feels seen.”

Herta’s thumb brushed lightly over Ruan Mei’s wrist. “You did good.”

Ruan Mei blinked, just once.

Then Herta kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t hidden. Just a slow, familiar press of lips that carried trust more than heat—though there was warmth there, undeniable.

On the couch, Elara absolutely did not look up.

Elara:
they’re kissing now
again

Celestine:
Good.

Elara snorted quietly.

Elara:
you’re supposed to be on my side

Celestine:
I am
You’re calm
That’s all I care about.

Elara glanced at the kitchen—at Herta’s hand resting at Ruan Mei’s waist now, at the way Ruan Mei leaned into it without thinking.

Her chest felt warm, Not expanding, Not pulling, just… full.

Elara:
I am calm
it’s weird

Celestine:
It’s not weird

Elara’s fingers stilled.

Elara:
I don’t feel like I’m holding myself back anymore

Another pause, longer this time.

Celestine:
Because you’re not
You’re holding on

Elara smiled, eyes stinging just a little.

Elara:
stay with me today?

The reply was immediate.

Celestine:
Always

Elara set the datapad down beside her and leaned back, eyes closing as the soft sounds of the station filled the room—the hum, the quiet voices, the clink of a cup being set aside.

In the kitchen, Ruan Mei rested her head briefly against Herta’s shoulder.

Neither of them spoke, they didn’t need to.

Elara fell asleep without meaning to.

One moment she was half-listening to the low murmur of voices and the steady hum of the lab equipment, cheek pressed into the couch cushion; the next, her breathing evened out, datapad slipping from her fingers to rest against her stomach.

The lab lights dimmed automatically, Ruan Mei was the first to notice.

“She’s out,” she murmured.

Herta glanced over from the console, glasses reflecting the soft glow of data streams. Elara was curled on her side now, hair fanned across the cushion, expression utterly unguarded.

“…Good,” Herta said quietly. “She needs rest.”

Ruan Mei nodded. She adjusted the environmental controls with a flick of her wrist—temperature up by a degree, ambient noise softened, the couch’s support field subtly enhanced.

Nothing dramatic.

Just care.

They worked for a while after that—real work, the kind that occupied the hands but not the mind. Herta leaned back in her chair eventually, stretching, eyes flicking toward Ruan Mei.

“You’re tense,” she said.

Ruan Mei didn’t look up. “So are you.”

Herta smiled faintly. “Occupational hazard.”

She crossed the space between them with lazy confidence, stopping close—close enough that Ruan Mei could feel her presence without looking.

“You did good today,” Herta added, quieter. “With her.”

Ruan Mei paused. Then she turned. “You helped.”

Herta tilted her head. “I always do.”

The moment hung.

Then Herta leaned in and kissed her.

It was innocent at first—brief, soft, familiar. The kind of kiss that said we’re here, we’re okay more than anything else.

Ruan Mei kissed her back without hesitation.

Herta’s hand slid to Ruan Mei’s waist, fingers resting there like they belonged. Ruan Mei’s hand found Herta’s collar, steadying her—not stopping her.

The kiss deepened.

Still restrained. Still quiet.

Herta laughed softly against her mouth. “We’re in the lab.”

Ruan Mei murmured, “She’s asleep.”

“And the door is locked,” Herta added.

Ruan Mei hesitated just a fraction of a second—then kissed her again, slower this time, more deliberate. Herta responded immediately, the edge of playfulness sharpening into something warmer, heavier.

They shifted closer, bodies aligned now, the world narrowed to breath and touch and familiarity built over years.

Nothing rushed.

Nothing careless.

Across the room, Elara stirred slightly, curling in on herself—but didn’t wake.

Ruan Mei pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Herta’s, breathing steady but deeper than before.

“We should stop,” she said, voice calm.

Herta smiled, eyes bright. “Probably.”

They didn’t move right away.

Then Herta kissed her one last time—brief, lingering, promising—and stepped back.

“For later,” she said lightly.

Ruan Mei adjusted her sleeves, composure settling back into place like a well-worn coat. “Later.”

They returned to their stations without another word.

On the couch, Elara slept on, safe and warm, dreaming of nothing at all—while behind her, the lab held not equations or projections, but something far more stabilizing:

Two people choosing each other.

And choosing he

Elara didn’t move.

Her breathing stayed slow and even, one arm tucked beneath her pillow, the other resting loosely at her side. The couch’s support field adjusted minutely with each shift of her weight, cradling her without disturbance.

She slept like someone who felt safe.

That mattered.

Herta noticed the readings five minutes later.

Not because an alarm triggered.

Not because a value spiked.

But because something… didn’t drift.

She frowned at the display, tapping once to refresh it. The resonance graph re-rendered—smooth, stable, exactly where it had been.

Too exactly.

“Hm,” Herta murmured.

Ruan Mei glanced over from her station. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Herta said automatically.

Then she frowned harder. “Which is the problem.”

She pulled the data forward, overlaying temporal variance. Normally, even at rest, Elara’s resonance had a kind of natural fluctuation—micro-shifts, gentle noise, the signature of a living system.

Now?

Flat.

Not suppressed.

Not constrained.

Just… held.

Herta zoomed in. “She’s not asleep-drifting.”

Ruan Mei was beside her instantly. “Define that.”

“Even unconscious, her resonance should wander a little,” Herta said quietly. “Emotion, dreams, subconscious processing—there’s always movement.”

She gestured at the screen. “This is intentional stillness.”

Ruan Mei’s gaze flicked to the couch.

Elara slept on, utterly peaceful.

“She isn’t exerting control,” Ruan Mei said slowly.

Herta nodded. “No. That’s what’s bothering me.”

She brought up another layer—environmental feedback. The lab’s background hum, gravitational micro-adjustments, ambient probability drift.

All of it was subtly skewed.

Not toward Elara.

Around her.

“…She’s anchoring without awareness,” Herta whispered.

Ruan Mei exhaled softly. “Like breathing.”

“Like gravity,” Herta corrected.

They stood in silence for a moment.

Elara shifted slightly in her sleep, brow smoothing as if whatever she dreamed had resolved itself.

The readings didn’t change.

Herta swallowed.

“She’s not stabilizing herself anymore,” Herta said. “She’s stabilizing the space she’s in.”

Ruan Mei didn’t respond immediately.

When she did, her voice was calm—but tight. “Is it accelerating?”

“No,” Herta said. “That’s the worst part.”

She leaned back, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… sustainable.”

Ruan Mei closed her eyes briefly.

“That means,” Herta continued, “this isn’t a spike. It’s not a phase. It’s a behavior.”

They both looked at Elara again.

Still sleeping.

Still sixteen.

Still just a girl on a couch, hair mussed, sleeve slipping down her wrist.

Herta lowered her voice instinctively. “She’s doing it without choosing to.”

Ruan Mei shook her head. “No.”

Herta looked at her.

“She did choose,” Ruan Mei said softly. “Earlier. When she decided to stay. This is just… the echo of that decision.”

Herta huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “She fell asleep and rewrote local reality.”

Ruan Mei’s lips curved faintly. “Yes.”

They let the monitors run.

They did not intervene.

They did not wake her.

Herta marked the timestamp with a private flag—OBSERVE ONLY—and dimmed the display.

On the couch, Elara sighed in her sleep and turned her face toward the backrest, cocooning herself deeper into the cushion.

The lab adjusted.

Not because it had to.

But because it could.

And somewhere deep in the system logs, a new line quietly wrote itself:

STABILITY SOURCE: PASSIVE
STATE: UNCONSCIOUS
STATUS: ONGOING

Herta stared at it for a long moment.

“…She’s terrifying,” she whispered.

Ruan Mei smiled, fond and aching all at once.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But she’s ours.”

Elara slept on.

And the universe—just for now—learned how to hold its breath.