Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When you're selected by NASA on the next ISS expedition, you don't say no. First of all, to even get to that stage, you had to sign a million waivers, run through a gazillion mental and physical tests, and proclaim your everlasting unwavering devotion to space exploration and advancement and forgo all earthly attachments.

(Well, no, the last part wasn't exactly true. But Jinx did it anyway.)

The point is, if you were lucky enough to be chosen, if you were intelligent enough and impressive enough to make it that far, you knew what you were in for and you didn't back out, no matter what.

That said, Jinx had never felt such a strong compulsion to fake a severe (or commit a real) injury when she learned who was selected alongside her.

Jinx stared at the letter in her hand, making sure she was reading the words correctly.

(She knew she was. She had gotten an email and in-person briefing on this already. The letter was only a last formality at this point and for some reason part of Jinx thought it would be a rejection letter.)

She, yes her, the one and only Jinx, was chosen by NASA for the next expedition into space, to board the International Space Station. Her work was cut out for her. She was selected primarily for her vast intelligence in engineering, most likely capable of improving and fixing any damage on the station as well as her brain encompassing the knowledge of two or three specialized engineers together. Of course, passively, she was also there for human research. Her body would be studied intensely upon return, measuring her vitals and any changes, primarily physical. She would have to record daily wellness check-ins as well to submit.

But more excitingly, in her opinion, Jinx was thrilled to run her experiments. As an engineer with a specialization in astrophysics, she had spent the past four years developing experimental models that could only be tested in microgravity. Some examples of her interests included crystalline formation patterns under zero-g stress, plasma behavior models that could potentially rewrite half the existing literature on solar wind propulsion, and her personal pet project, the one that had probably gotten her selected in the first place: a miniaturized ion drive prototype that, if her calculations were correct (and they always were, excluding the times they weren’t, which Jinx didn’t count), could revolutionize transit time to Mars.

She was only twenty-six years old. The youngest person selected for a long-duration ISS mission in years. Her brain was her weapon, her hands instruments of precision, overall her resume read like science fiction.

Oh, but surely it all sounds too good to be true?

Yeah, there was a catch Jinx had to wrestle with. 

She was going to be stuck in a tiny enclosed metal tube for six months with Caitlyn fucking Kiramman.

Jinx set the letter down on her kitchen counter, right next to an open bag of Cheetos (she loved the spicy ones) and a half-finished can of energy drink. Her kitchen was a testament to her brand of organized chaos, consisting of three different laptops open on the table, each running different simulations; a disassembled drone she was rebuilding for fun taking up the entire left side; sticky notes in six colors papering the refrigerator with equations, reminders, and one that just said "BUY MILK".

She picked up her phone, pulling open her text thread with Vi.

Jinx: did u know

Vi: Know what?

Jinx: don't play dumb with me violet

Vi: I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about. Also don't call me that.

Jinx: YOUR EX

Jinx: is going to SPACE

Jinx: WITH ME

Jinx: for SIX MONTHS

Jinx: just the two of us

Jinx: alone

Jinx: in the void

Jinx: together

Jinx: do you understand what im telling you

The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, and appeared again. Jinx could practically see her sister's face cycling through expressions wherever she was reading this. Probably at the gym. Vi was always at the fucking gym, punching that damn bag.

Vi: Oh

Jinx: "oh" SHE SAYS

Vi: I mean. I knew Caitlyn was in the astronaut program.

Jinx: how is this my life

Jinx: what did i do

Jinx: in a past life

Jinx: to deserve this

Vi: It'll be fine! Caitlyn's great. You two just never gave each other a real chance.

Jinx: she's a stuck up rich girl who thinks the world revolves around her fancy accent and her fancy degrees and her fancy FACE

Vi: She has the same amount of degrees as you

Jinx: she has a MASTERS

Vi: ...So do you???

Jinx: THAT'S NOT THE POINT

Vi: What IS the point?

Jinx stared at the screen. What was the point, Vi dared to ask? The point was that Caitlyn Kiramman represented everything Jinx had spent her entire life fighting against. She had effortless privilege. She lived with doors that opened for her without being kicked down. She had that assumption of competence that came with money and a last name that meant something. The point was that Caitlyn had probably never had to prove herself to anyone, had never walked into a room and felt every pair of eyes doing the calculations on whether she belonged there, had never been told she was "impressive, for someone from your background" or "remarkable, considering."

The point was that Jinx had clawed her way up from nothing with bleeding fingernails, and Caitlyn Kiramman had glided in on a cushion of generational wealth and family connections and ended up at the exact same destination.

And now she was going to be Jinx's boss, in space, for half a fucking year.

Jinx: the point is that i would rather be shot into the sun than take orders from her for half a year

Vi: You’re being dramatic.

Jinx: sue me

Vi: Look, I get it. But this is your DREAM. Don't let your feelings about Caitlyn ruin the most incredible opportunity of your life.

Jinx locked her phone and tossed it with a noise of pure frustration, sounding something like a scream and a dying cat’s wail.

Vi was right. That was the worst part. This was indeed Jinx's dream. She'd been working toward this since she was eight years old, since she'd looked up at the night sky through the smog of their neighborhood and knew that someday she’d get there. Since she'd taken apart her first radio at nine and put it back together better, since she'd built her first circuit board at eleven from components she'd salvaged, since she'd gotten a perfect score on the SAT at fifteen and been offered a full scholarship to various universities and realized that her mind, her impossible, relentless, never-sleeping brain, was her ticket out of everything.

She was not going to let Caitlyn Kiramman be the thing that derailed her now.

She retrieved her phone.

Jinx: fine

Jinx: ill be professional

Jinx: ill be so professional she won't know what hit her

Vi: That's the spirit?

Jinx: ill be so polite and cordial she’ll think im an alien

Vi: Okay now I'm worried again.

Jinx: nah

Jinx: i made up my mind

Jinx: im going to be the best goddamn crewmate 

Jinx: and then when we get back to earth i'm going to win a nobel prize and never think about her again

Vi: Sure…

Jinx: goodnight

Vi: It's 2pm?

Jinx: GOODNIGHT VIOLET

Here was the thing about Caitlyn Kiramman.

Caitlyn Kiramman was tall. Six feet of impeccable posture and impossible legs and the kind of bone structure that made you think God had a direct hand in her existence. She had dark hair that fell in perfect, untangled waves past her shoulders (or was pinned back in a perfect ponytail), light blue eyes that could freeze you from across a room (though still inferior to Jinx’s, of course), and a way of holding herself with clear certainty, all the time.

She held a Master's in Aeronautical Science from MIT. She had logged over 3,000 hours as a test pilot for the Air Force before transitioning to NASA's astronaut corps. She spoke four languages. She had been selected as Mission Commander for the expedition, meaning she was, technically and officially, going to be in charge.

In charge.

Of Jinx.

Jinx understood, intellectually, that mission hierarchy was important for safety and efficiency in space. She understood this.

And she'd met Caitlyn only a few times, to her knowledge, before this assignment.

The first was three years ago, at a family dinner Vi had insisted on hosting to introduce her then-girlfriend to her younger sister. Jinx had shown up twenty minutes late because she'd lost track of time in working. She had grease still on her fingertips and was wearing a hoodie with a small soldering burn hole in the sleeve.

Caitlyn had been sitting at Vi's dining table in a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than Jinx's monthly rent, her posture so perfect it looked like she had a steel rod sewn into her spine, and she'd looked at Jinx with those damn perfect eyes eyes and said, "So lovely to finally meet you. Vi talks about you constantly."

And Jinx, in her infinite grace and social prowess, had replied, "Cool."

The dinner went further downhill from there. Caitlyn had tried to make polite conversation asking about Jinx's work, her studies, her interests and all, and Jinx had responded in monosyllables. Vi had kicked her under the table twice. Jinx had kicked back harder. Caitlyn eventually stopped trying and turned her attention to Vi, and Jinx had spent the rest of the evening scrolling on her phone and feeling vindicated in her assessment that rich people were boring.

In retrospect, she'd been an asshole. She knew that. She'd known it at the time, probably, but admitting it would require admitting that her hostility was performative, only a shield erected against the discomfort of sitting across someone who probably never once had to worry how she was going to eat that week, and watching her sister be happy with someone who could give her everything that Jinx never could.

Jinx's brain was a complicated place.

The second meeting: Vi's birthday party, six months later. A gathering of twenty-some people at a bar Vi liked, with loud music and an open tab paid for by Caitlyn, which Jinx noticed and resented. Jinx had been there for a bit, was three drinks deep, and was discussing with a group of Vi's friends about if hyperspace in Star Wars was realistic at all when Caitlyn appeared.

"Your thesis on ion propulsion mechanics was fascinating," Caitlyn had said with no preamble. "The approach to beam divergence compensation was novel. Though I did wonder about the thermal load assumptions in section four."

Jinx had stared at her. "Excuse me? You read my thesis?"

"Vi mentioned you'd published, and I was curious."

"You were curious about my fucking thesis?"

"I'm also in aerospace, so yes."

Jinx's brain had short-circuited between feelings of flattery and offense. The flattery was obvious, as someone had voluntarily read her work and enjoyed it. The offense was more complex, because who just does that? Who reads their girlfriend's sister's thesis uninvited? Was she attempting to show off her own knowledge? Was she trying to find flaws? Was this a display of dominance somehow? Oh, I can do what you do as well?

"The thermal load assumptions in section four are based on empirical data from the NEXT-C thruster tests at one of the Research Centers," Jinx said, her voice sharp. "Which you'd know if you'd read the appendix."

"I did read the appendix. The data supports your range, but the upper bound seemed optimistic for a sustained-fire scenario."

"Optimistic? My upper bound is ten percent below the failure threshold documented in the Phase 2 testing."

"Indeed, for short-duration fires. Your proposed mission profile extends well beyond the tested envelope."

Jinx felt her cheeks heat, because damn it, Caitlyn wasn't wrong exactly, but she also wasn't right in the way she thought she was, and explaining that nuance would require going into the secondary thermal management system that Jinx had designed specifically to address sustained-fire concerns, which was in her follow-up paper that Caitlyn definitely hadn't read, and why did this woman know enough to ask pointed questions but not enough to know they'd already been answered?

"Maybe if you spent less time flying planes and more time reading, you'd know I addressed that in my next publication," Jinx snapped. And then, because her already low impulse control degraded exponentially with any alcohol: "But I guess glorified bus driving doesn't leave much time for proper academic reading."

Caitlyn's left eye twitched. 

"Glorified bus driving," Caitlyn repeated, confused, but her voice also perfectly soft. "I see."

Jinx didn’t actually mean that.

Vi appeared between them at that moment like a referee breaking up a fight, one hand on each of their shoulders. "Sorry to interrupt a great conversation! Who wants another drink? Everyone wants another drink. Let's get drinks."

She'd steered them in opposite directions, and Jinx had spent the rest of the party aggressively not looking in Caitlyn's direction and aggressively telling herself she didn't feel bad, and her research wasn’t wrong.

But she felt a little bad. Test pilots did incredibly dangerous, technically demanding work. She knew that. She'd said it because she'd wanted to hurt, because Caitlyn's question had poked at a vulnerability in her work.

The third meeting was at an actual NASA mixer, a few months after Vi and Caitlyn had broken up. It was a formal government funded event attended by astronauts and engineers and administrators in varying states. Jinx had been there because attendance was mandatory for astronaut candidates. Caitlyn had been there because she was, apparently, already a full astronaut by then, already on the right track, already established and that made Jinx's candidate status feel amateur.

They'd been placed at the same table by what Jinx could only assume was a cosmic joke. Eight people at the table. Jinx at one end, Caitlyn at the other. Between them, a stretch of white tablecloth.

Jinx had gotten slightly too drunk on the free wine. Suspiciously good and she later learned the funding came from a private donor. Probably one of the Kiramman family friends. Two glasses in, her filter had dissolved entirely.

She was telling a story to the person next to her, some anecdote about a simulation gone wrong, when she'd glanced across the table and caught Caitlyn watching her. 

The wine made her bold. She raised her glass toward Caitlyn in a mock toast. "Nice hair," she called across the table. "You look out of a shampoo commercial."

She'd meant it as an insult. Or, well. She'd meant it as something, that’s for sure. It really more was an acknowledgment of the obvious that Caitlyn Kiramman was annoyingly, distractingly beautiful, and that this beauty was just another weapon in her arsenal of unfair advantages.

But Caitlyn had tilted her head, a small smile forming, and responded: "Thank you. I just switched to a sulfate free formula."

Jinx had sputtered in reply, because that wasn't the response she'd expected, and the conversation had somehow devolved into an argument about... hair products? No. Fluid dynamics. Because Jinx had made a comment about how shampoo viscosity was actually a really interesting materials science problem, and Caitlyn had engaged, and then they'd disagreed about whether non-Newtonian fluid modeling applied to consumer products, and the disagreement had escalated, and somehow at the end of it a senior program director was standing over their table saying, "Ladies, if you could take it down about four notches, the Secretary of Defense is trying to give a toast."

They went silent. Jinx had finished her wine. Caitlyn had adjusted her napkin. They hadn't spoken for the rest of the evening.

But later, much later, lying in bed at 3 AM unable to sleep, Jinx had replayed the conversation. And realized, with a discomfort she refused to examine, that it was the most intellectually stimulating exchange she'd had in months.

The fourth meeting, a conference in Houston. Six months before the mission assignment.

Jinx was presenting her latest paper on ion propulsion systems to a packed auditorium. She was good at presentations when the subject was her own work. She stood at the podium in her best approximation of professional attire, her blue braids neat over her shoulders, and walked the audience through years of research.

She didn't know Caitlyn was in the audience until the Q&A.

"Your efficiency projections for sustained fire scenarios," came that voice, that accent, cutting through the murmur of the Q&A line. Jinx looked up from the podium and there she was, third row center, standing at the microphone. "You've addressed the thermal management concerns from your original thesis with the secondary coolant loop, which is elegant. But the beam divergence correction factor in equation forty-seven assumes a static magnetic field configuration. In practice, field coherence degrades over extended operation. How do you account for progressive decoherence?"

The auditorium went silent, there hundreds of people watching and waiting.

Jinx gripped the podium and stared at Caitlyn Kiramman, who was standing there in a perfectly pressed blazer, looking up at her with those un-defying eyes, and felt two things simultaneously:

One: fury. Pure, incandescent fury at being challenged publicly, at having the single possible weakness in her methodology immediately identified and laid bare.

Two: something else. Something that lived in her chest and sparked when Caitlyn's eyes met hers and didn’t falter.

"Progressive decoherence is within the tolerance of the correction factor if the operational envelope remains below 4,000 seconds specific impulse," Jinx answered, her voice a bit too tight and controlled. "Which my current design does."

"And if future iterations push beyond that envelope?"

"Then future iterations will include adaptive correction algorithms, which I'm already developing."

"Are those algorithms published?"

"Not yet."

"Then the claim remains unsubstantiated for scenarios exceeding your current design parameters."

"This claim is bounded, which I clearly stated in the paper. If you'd like to discuss theoretical extensions beyond the published bounds, I'm happy to do so privately."

"I'd welcome that conversation," Caitlyn smiled, and sat down.

They never had that conversation. 

Jinx avoided the post-presentation reception. Caitlyn didn't seek her out. But the question haunted Jinx for weeks. The problem Caitlyn pointed out was real, and her correction factor was insufficient for extended operation, and she hadn't actually addressed it because she hadn't solved it yet.

She did solve it two months later. Jinx redesigned her configuration from scratch, implemented an adaptive algorithm that compensated for decoherence in real-time, and improved her correction factor.

She would rather eat glass than tell Caitlyn Kiramman that her question had been the catalyst to this breakthrough.

So. All encounters Jinx was aware of had a 100% conflict rate. And now they were going to be locked in a space station together. Alone. For months on end.

Jinx stared at the ceiling of her apartment and let her brain run scenarios. 

Scenario one: they maintain perfect professionalism. They never interact beyond the minimum required. Six months of polite nothingness. Probability: low. The station was too small and the mission too collaborative for true avoidance.

Scenario two: they clash immediately and catastrophically. One of them requests early return. Mission compromised, if granted. Careers forever damaged. Probability: higher than she'd like, but unlikely given that they were both too stubborn to quit.

Scenario three: they find some middle ground. Probability: this was what she was going to aim for.

Scenario four: piercing, engaging blue eyes and the sound of her thesis being called fascinating and the bizarre flutter in her stomach when Caitlyn had stood at that conference microphone and intellectually outmaneuvered her in front of her academic peers.

That scenario was immediately deleted from consideration.

Jinx closed her eyes and breathed. She had time until pre-mission training. Three weeks to build her armor, sharpen her edges, prepare herself for six months of close quarters cohabitation with the one person on the planet who could simultaneously infuriate her and irritate her in equal measure.

Jinx definitely did NOT think “intrigue her”.

She could do this. She was the smartest person she knew. She could do anything.

Probably.

In Houston, the Johnson Space Center was a sprawling campus of buildings that overseered human spaceflight.

Jinx had been there a handful of times over the past years, first as an astronaut candidate and then as a full-fledged crew member being prepped for various potential assignments. But walking through the doors on this particular morning felt different.

She was wearing her least-wrinkled NASA polo shirt, cargo pants with what she was choosing to believe was engine grease on the left knee and not hot sauce, her hair in its usual twin braids, the blue vivid under the fluorescent lighting..

Today she was seven minutes early, to be precise. She had to be. Caitlyn Kiramman was never late and if Jinx showed up even one minute past the scheduled time, it would give Caitlyn a tiny victory in the unspoken war between them.

Jinx was not giving her any victories, ever.

Building 9, which housed full-scale ISS mockups, was quiet. Jinx's footsteps echoed as she crossed the concrete floor toward the training area, passing the enormous pool of the Neutral Buoyancy Lab, past the rows of tools and equipment racks, toward the mock-up of the station's interior.

She saw Caitlyn before Caitlyn saw her.

It was like the woman emitted her own personal spotlight. She was standing near a module mockup, talking to their mission coordinator, Dr. Heimerdinger, a tiny man with wild white hair who looked like he'd been pulled directly from a mad scientist casting call. Caitlyn was in full flight suit (already? before 8 AM? who was that prepared? who woke up and thought "yes, I'll wear a flight suit to an orientation meeting?”) and her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.

She was holding a tablet in one hand and gesturing with the other, making some point about something that was probably correct and incredibly boring.

She was also, still, annoyingly beautiful. Jinx shoved that observation far, far away from her conscious mind and approached.

"Morning," she greeted, popping the 'g' sound like bubblegum. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and smiled. 

Caitlyn turned.

Their eyes met.

And Jinx watched, with fascinated hostility, as Caitlyn's expression changed from neutral, to surprised, then flickered through something unreadable, and lastly landed on a polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Good morning. You're early."

"Is that a problem?"

"Of course not. I'm pleasantly surprised."

"Well," Jinx’s teeth grated against each other, her smile sharpening, "I'm full of surprises."

Caitlyn held her gaze for a beat. Something passed between them, silent and electric, a crackle of mutual recognition.

Dr. Heimerdinger, bless his brilliant oblivious heart, clapped his tiny hands together and shattered the moment like glass dropped on the ground. "Wonderful, wonderful! Both of you, here, accounted for, ahead of schedule even! What a marvelous start! Shall we begin?"

He was beaming up at both of them with enthusiasm that suggested he was entirely oblivious to the tension radiating between them. Or perhaps not oblivious, but just unconcerned. 

"I must say," he continued, bustling toward the mock-up entrance, "I am terrifically excited about this expedition. Two of our brightest minds, working in tandem! The scientific output potential alone is staggering! The papers that will come from this, the data, the discoveries! It gives me chills, truly."

"We're thrilled," Caitlyn said, and it sounded genuine. It was a skill Jinx recognized and resented. She'd never been able to do it, not convincingly. Her enthusiasm was real or it was obviously fake; there was no middle setting.

"Totally stoked," Jinx added, with slightly less warmth. Caitlyn shot her a look. 

Heimerdinger launched into an overview of their training schedule, which Jinx had already memorized.

Five days a week, eight hours minimum per day. Consisting of refresher courses, emergency medical procedures, experiment-specific training modules, maintenance and repair protocols and, the item Jinx was dreading most: joint compatibility exercises.

"Joint compatibility exercises" was HR-speak for "forced bonding activities". During her candidate training, Jinx had done these with a group of twelve other astronauts, and they'd ranged from mildly annoying to actively mortifying.

Now doing these with just one other person, one specific other person. The specific other person who was currently standing four feet away from her and radiating disapproval. 

This was going to be fine.

The rest of the morning was spent in separate briefings, which was a mercy. Jinx spent three hours with the engineering team going over her experiment manifest: the ion drive test chamber, the crystalline formation arrays, the plasma containment module, the suite of sensors and measurement devices she'd be operating on station. They reviewed maintenance protocols, backup procedures, contingency plans for equipment failure.

Jinx absorbed it all. These were her experiments, on her mission, in her hands. Every bolt, every wire, every line of code would be her responsibility. The engineering team was good and they'd built her equipment to spec.

"Any questions?" the lead engineer asked at the end of the brief. His name was Viktor, far too lean and precise, with a slight accent and a prosthetic leg that he moved with perfect ease. Jinx liked him. He was one of the few people at NASA who spoke to her like an equal.

"The test chamber's thermal regulation," Jinx started, leaning forward. "The specs show a ceramic insulation layer between the containment shell and the primary hull contact point. I want a secondary vacuum gap."

Viktor raised an eyebrow. "That's beyond the safety requirement."

"The safety requirement is based on short-duration operation. My third and fourth tests are going to run sixty seconds minimum. I want the additional margin."

"It would require redesigning the mounting bracket."

"I know, I know, I already designed it." Jinx pulled up a schematic on her laptop, turning it toward him. "The modified bracket accommodates the vacuum gap without increasing footprint. I can fabricate the parts from available stock."

Viktor studied the schematic for a long moment. Then he smiled, thin and approving. "I'll submit the modification request."

"Thanks, Viktor."

"Thank you for catching it before we were in orbit."

Jinx grinned, sharp and satisfied. This was what she was good at. She could do this job better than anyone alive. 

If only the job didn't come packaged with Caitlyn Kiramman.

At 1300, Jinx had to report to a joint simulation.

The ISS mock-up was impressive by any standard. Full scale, obsessively detailed, every module recreated with accuracy. Jinx had spent hundreds of hours in here during candidate training, crawling through modules, learning the station's layout with her body as well as her mind. She knew every panel, every handhold, every cable run, every narrow section where her shoulders caught if she didn't angle right.

She arrived at 1258, early. Again. Caitlyn was already there. Again.

They faced each other across the entrance to the Node 1 module like gunslingers in the wild west.

"Ready?" Caitlyn asked. She'd changed into a different flight suit at some point. A training version, slightly more worn, fitted more closely to her body. Jinx definitely did not notice this..

"Born ready," Jinx shot back.

They climbed into the mockup together.

Inside, off-white walls closed around them. Equipment racks, velcro strips, cable bundles. It smelled like metal and recycled air and the cleaning solution the maintenance team used.

"Standard orientation walkthrough," Caitlyn instructed, pulling out her tablet. She was already in commander mode, her posture shifting somehow even more upright, more authoritative. "We'll move through each module sequentially, identify all emergency equipment, and familiarize ourselves with the current configuration. I'll lead. You can supplement as needed."

Jinx's jaw tightened. "Sure, Commander," she said. The title came out with a tad too mocking.

Caitlyn's eyes met hers. "Shall we?"

They moved through the station systematically. Caitlyn narrated as she went, pointing out fire extinguisher locations, emergency breathing masks, first aid kits, communication panels. Her voice was clear and precise, the accent making everything sound like a documentary. 

Jinx followed, adding information where Caitlyn missed it or where she knew more recent updates. She kept her contributions crisp and professional, definitely no sarcasm.

"Oxygen generation system backup is also available in the Russian segment," Jinx added after Caitlyn identified the primary and secondary units. "It’s an elektron unit with an older electrolysis system so lower efficiency, but functional as a tertiary failsafe."

Caitlyn nodded, noting it on her tablet. "Good catch. Water recovery?"

"In Node 3, the Water Recovery Systems. Processes humidity condensate and urine into potable water. Current efficiency rate is approximately 94%, an increase following a filtration update last year."

Through the lab, next to the Japanese Experiment Module with its external platform and robotic arm control station, called Kibo. Jinx loved this module. It was where her ion drive test chamber would be installed, where she'd spend the majority of her working hours. The module was well-designed, generous with workspace.

"The advanced Resistive Exercise Device is in Node 3 now," Jinx informed, when Caitlyn referenced the resistance exercise device's old location.

"Thank you." Caitlyn updated her notes.

"T2 treadmill vibration isolation system got an upgrade too and the CEVIS cycle ergometer has a sticky resistance dial reported by the last three crews, never fixed."

Caitlyn lowered her tablet. "You've memorized every maintenance report."

"About three years’ worth." Jinx didn't try to suppress the satisfaction in her voice. "I'm thorough."

"Clearly." Caitlyn studied her for a moment that lasted slightly too long for professional assessment. Her head was tilted fractionally, her eyes narrowed.

"Moving on," Caitlyn spoke, breaking the eye contact first. "Emergency scenarios tomorrow, 0800."

"I'll be there at 0755."

The corner of Caitlyn’s mouth turned up. "Noted."

They finished the rest of the walkthrough relatively quickly, exchanging the absolute minimum of sentences necessary between them. 

It was exhausting.

The training itself was fine. Jinx could recite station systems in her sleep. What was exhausting was the effort of constantly being on edge, of filtering every thought through a professional lens before letting it out. She had to, unfortunately, resist the constant impulse to poke, provoke, to test Caitlyn's composure.

That evening, in her temporary housing near the training center, Jinx called Vi.

"Hey, space girl." Vi's face appeared on the video call, her pink hair grown out and pulled back. Post-gym, no surprise. "How was day one?"

Jinx was lying on the apartment's plain couch with her phone propped on her chest, staring at the ceiling.

"Fine," she answered.

"That's not convincing."

"It was fine, Vi. We did a station walkthrough. We didn't fight."

"That's good!"

"Nah, it was nothing. We were like two robots interacting. If you'd replaced either of us with an actual automaton the experience would have been identical."

Vi was quiet for a moment. "Is that what you want? Robot interactions for six months?"

"I don't know."

That was partially true. 

The rest of the ugly truth was that some part of Jinx wanted Caitlyn to provoke her. She wanted her to break through the professionalism, to fight, to engage, to care enough to.

"Look," Vi said, shifting to her serious older sister voice. "I know you two have your thing. But maybe try... meeting her in the middle?"

"I don't know how to be human with her."

"You could start by not assuming the worst about her."

"Puh-lease, she said I was 'pleasantly surprising' for being on time."

"Maybe she wanted to compliment a colleague who made a good impression on the first day."

"You weren't there. You didn't hear the tone."

"You're right, I wasn't. But I know Caitlyn, and she doesn't do condescension on purpose. She just talks like that. It's the accent."

Jinx rolled onto her side, facing the couch back. "How are you friends with her? Genuinely, how does that work?"

Vi laughed. "Practice and the acknowledgment that she's a better person than either of us gives her credit for."

"Doubtful."

"Give it time, Jinx. You might surprise yourself."

Jinx doubted that too. But she didn't say it.

After they hung up, she lay on the couch for a long time, staring at the far wall and thinking about light blue eyes and silky smooth dark blue hair. 

Jinx dismissed her thoughts and went to bed. Tomorrow there were emergency drills. 

She set an alarm for 0720. She'd be there by 0750.

Extra early. That was her number now.

The next two and a half weeks of pre-mission training felt like a torture gauntlet.

Emergency fire scenarios: Jinx could locate and deploy a fire extinguisher blindfolded by day three. They actually blindfolded her at her own suggestion, because she wanted to prove she could do it, and because she wanted to show off a bit. Caitlyn watched from a distance, arms folded, expression neutral except for a slight widening of the eyes when Jinx cleared the drill in less than a minute.

"Impressive," Caitlyn complimented afterward, with the least impressed voice ever.

"Thanks." Jinx pulled off the blindfold and shook out her hair. "Wanna try?"

"I'll pass."

"Scared?"

"No, I know where the extinguishers are and how to operate them. I don't need theatrical demonstrations."

"Theatrical?" Jinx pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. "I was being thorough."

"You were showing off."

"You think? Were you impressed?"

Caitlyn's jaw tightened barely, a slightly perceptible shift of muscle that Jinx was learning to read. It was satisfying in a dark, petty way, making Caitlyn react and feel something, even if that something was irritation.

(Jinx didn't examine why she wanted that. She didn't ask herself why Caitlyn's irritation felt better than Caitlyn's indifference.)

Next, a rapid depressurization response. This was a scenario they drilled until Jinx could seal a module hatch and don an emergency breathing mask in under forty seconds. The drill was simple but critical. In the event of a hull breach or pressure loss, the crew had minutes at most to isolate the affected area and secure their air supply. Every second counted.

They ran the drill together, because the depressurization response was inherently collaborative. One person sealed the hatch on one side while the other confirmed seal integrity from the other.

"Seal confirmed, green light on my panel," Jinx reported through the comm during their fourth run-through. She was on the Node 1 side of the hatch, breathing slightly elevated from the sprint to her position.

"Copy. I'm showing green as well. Pressure differential stabilizing." Caitlyn's voice came through crisp and controlled. "Time?"

"Forty-three seconds."

"Our target is forty. Again."

They ran it again and again and again until the forty-second barrier broke and Jinx felt the grim satisfaction.

"Thirty-eight seconds," Caitlyn announced, and there was the barest hint of approval in her tone. "Well done."

"You too."

They looked at each other through the hatch window, separated by more than just a wall and a window.

"Again?" Caitlyn asked, tentatively.

"...One more time. Let's see if we can hit thirty-five."

They hit thirty-six. Close enough.

Medical emergency training was where things got complicated.

Technically, Jinx could handle it. She had steady hands, a strong stomach, and the ability to follow procedural instructions with mechanical precision when lives were theoretically at stake. The complication was physical, because it involved touching Caitlyn.

On day nine of pre-mission, they moved to a CPR refresher in the medical simulation module. Jinx was lying on the floor of the mockup, playing "patient", despite there being an actual resuscitation mannequin available, but the trainer wanted them to practice on each other for "realism and scale". Caitlyn was kneeling over her, both hands positioned on Jinx's sternum, practicing compression depth and rhythm.

"Thirty compressions," the trainer instructed over the comm. "Standard rate, one hundred per minute. Maintain a depth of two inches. Begin."

Caitlyn's hands pressed down. One, two, three, four. The rhythm was steady, clinical, exactly as trained. But her hands were on Jinx's chest, and the proximity was overwhelming.

Jinx stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything else. She counted compressions. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Caitlyn's weight was braced over her, knees bracketing Jinx's hips, arms locked straight, pushing down with steady force. Her face was focused, concentrated, a slight furrow between her brows.

Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four. Caitlyn's ponytail had slipped forward over one shoulder, the dark hair brushing against Jinx's collarbone with each compression. 

Jinx's pulse was spiking.

Thirty. "Done," Caitlyn relented, sitting back on her heels. "How was my depth?"

"Perfect," the trainer confirmed. "Swap positions."

Jinx sat up too fast, nearly headbutting Caitlyn in the process. "Sorry."

She could feel heat on her cheeks and she hated it, hated her body for betraying her, hated whatever neurological malfunction was making her react to standard medical training like this. Caitlyn showed no similar discomfort, settling onto her back with professional ease, positioning her hands at her sides.

Jinx knelt beside her then placed her hands on Caitlyn's sternum. The fabric of the flight suit was smooth under her palms, and beneath it she could feel the firmness of Caitlyn's torso, rise and fall of her chest.

"Begin," the trainer directed.

Jinx pressed. One, two, three, four. She focused on technique, nothing else. There was nothing else here except a medical procedure being practiced.

Seven, eight, nine. Caitlyn's eyes were closed, which was somehow worse than them being open, because with them closed Jinx could look at her face without being caught. The strong line of her jaw, the cut of her cheekbones, the faint, barely-visible freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

Fifteen, sixteen. Jinx pressed harder. 

"Depth is good," the trainer interjected. "Maintain that."

Twenty-four, twenty-five. Caitlyn's eyes opened and looked directly into Jinx's. Four inches of distance between their faces.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

"Done." She pulled her hands away and sat back immediately, putting space between them.

"How was that?" she asked the trainer, not looking at Caitlyn.

"Excellent. Both of you are cleared on CPR. Moving to wound management."

Thank god. Wound management didn't require lying on top of anyone.

Week two introduced the compatibility exercises, the ones Jinx had been dreading since she first read the training schedule.

The exercises were conducted in a small room off the main training floor, with comfortable chairs and a woman named Mel who radiated an almost supernatural calm. Mel Medarda was, by her own credentials, a specialist in closed-environment interpersonal dynamics, which was a fancy way of saying she helped astronauts not kill each other in confined spaces.

She had warm brown skin, a sculptural jawline, and eyes that saw everything. Jinx mistrusted her immediately.

"Welcome," Mel waved, as Jinx and Caitlyn settled into their respective chairs. The chairs were angled toward each other at forty-five degrees, close enough for conversation but not so close as to feel invasive. Jinx could see the psychology of the arrangement already and it made her skin prickle. "Thank you both for being here. I know these sessions can feel forced, but I promise the goal is simple, to help you understand each other's communication styles and build a foundation for effective collaboration."

"We're happy to be here," Caitlyn replied, because of course.

"Thrilled," Jinx added on.

Mel smiled. "Let's start with something simple. Jinx, can you tell me: when you disagree with a colleague, what is your typical first response?"

"Depends on the disagreement." Jinx crossed her legs, bounced her top foot. "If they're wrong about a fact, I correct them. If they're wrong about an approach, I present the better approach. If they're wrong about something that matters and they won't listen to corrections, I go around them."

"Around them?"

"Over them, if necessary, depending on the hierarchy." Jinx's eyes flicked to Caitlyn. "If someone outranks me but is making a bad call, I'll make my case once, clearly. If they still disagree and I'm certain they're wrong, I'll find another path."

"Another path meaning going over their head?"

"Or solving the problem myself before their bad call becomes an issue."

Mel made a note. "And if you're the one who's wrong?"

"I fix it." Jinx said simply. "I don't need someone to hold my hand through admitting a mistake. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I correct and move on."

"That's admirably self-aware." Mel turned to Caitlyn. "Same question for you."

Caitlyn's posture was fucking perfect again. "I prefer to address disagreements directly and calmly. Present the relevant facts, hear the other person's reasoning, and find a consensus when possible. If failing consensus, the chain of command exists for a reason.

"And when the chain of command puts you in the position of overriding someone?"

"Then I override them clearly and explain why. I don't believe in unilateral decisions without justification."

"Do you believe in compromise?"

"Absolutely when compromise serves the mission."

Jinx snorted before she could stop herself. A small sound, barely audible. But Mel caught it and turned.

"Jinx? You seem to have a reaction to that."

"No, it's fine."

"If you have a thought, this is the space for it."

Jinx uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "It's just... when compromise serves the mission sounds nice but functionally, who decides when it serves the mission? She does." She jerked her chin toward Caitlyn. "Because she's the commander and it’s just us. So compromise in our case really means that she’ll listen to me and then do what she was going to do anyway if she think it's better.'"

Caitlyn turned toward her. "That's not how I operate."

"How would I know? We haven't been in a situation where we've actually disagreed about something that matters."

"We've disagreed about plenty in training and moved on."

"Only about procedures."

"Procedure is the substance in our line of work."

Jinx felt the prickle of irritation rising. "Procedure is only the frame of the substance and when the frame doesn't fit the problem, you either break the frame or accept failure."

Mel was writing something down while Caitlyn was looking at Jinx with an expression that was no longer neutral. There was something in her eyes, intensity, maybe, or recognition of the challenge being laid out.

"You're assuming I'll choose procedure over effectiveness," Caitlyn said. "You don't know that."

"I know your type."

"My type?"

"People who follow rules blindly."

"And you? You break rules on principle? Because breaking them makes you feel clever?"

"I break rules when following them is the wrong choice. And yes, I've done the math every time."

"How reassuring."

"It should be."

They were facing each other fully now, chairs angled, bodies turned. The forty-five-degree calculation of the room arrangement had been abandoned in favor of direct confrontation. Jinx felt her heart rate elevated, felt the buzz of conflict, the sharpening of her mind when someone pushed back.

Mel let the silence stretch. Then: "I want to try something. I'd like you each to identify one quality in the other person that you respect, professionally speaking."

"Jinx?" Mel prompted. "Would you like to go first?"

"Fine." Jinx exhaled. She looked at the wall behind Caitlyn's head, at a generic landscape painting. "She's a good pilot. Her carrier landing record is flawless and she's done atmospheric re-entry calculations that were..." Jinx swallowed around the word. "...innovative. She earned her place."

Caitlyn's voice, quiet: "Thank you."

Jinx still didn't look at her. "Your turn."

More silence. Then:

"Jinx is one of the most intelligent people I have ever encountered." Caitlyn's voice was level, precise, choosing each word with care. "She sees solutions that other engineers can't even conceptualize, approaches that come from somewhere beyond training or experience. She sees the problem differently than anyone else in the room, and she's almost always right about it." A pause. "I've read every one of her published papers and they have all been remarkable."

Jinx looked at Caitlyn then. The pull of those words dragged her gaze sideways like gravity itself.

I've read every one of her published papers.

"That's..." Jinx started, and her voice came out wrong. She cleared her throat. "But my plasma containment paper had flaws."

"It was the best thing I read that year."

They stared at each other. The air between them was now charged with something different than before that wasn’t conflicting tension but not quite camaraderie.

"So," Mel interrupted, with the faintest curve of her lips. "It seems we have more common ground than we initially assumed."

"Seems like it." Jinx muttered.

"Perhaps we could build on that," Mel continued. "For next session, I'd like you both to think about a time when you made an incorrect assumption about someone and were later proven wrong. We'll discuss."

"Easy," Jinx answered, standing. The chair scraped back. "I assume people are competent and then they're not. Happens daily."

Mel's expression didn't waver. "I said an incorrect assumption where the other person surprised you."

Jinx shoved her hands in her pant pockets. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask." Mel stood, gathering her notes. "Thank you both. You're doing good work here."

Jinx was out the door before Caitlyn could say anything else. Her skin was too tight, her brain too loud, her chest too full of something. She walked fast, boots echoing in the hallway, and didn't slow until she was outside in the heat, breathing air that was thick with humidity and completely devoid of Caitlyn Kiramman's presence.

I've read every one of her published papers and they have all been remarkable.

"Shut up," Jinx groaned to her own brain.

Her brain, predictably, did not shut up.

Jinx loved the Neutral Buoyancy Lab more than most things in her life. The pool was 202 feet long, 40 feet deep, and contained a full-scale replica of the ISS's exterior submerged in 6.2 million gallons of water. It was where astronauts trained for spacewalks, using the water's buoyancy to approximate the feeling of weightlessness. It wasn’t a perfect representation but close enough to build the muscle that could save your life.

Today's scenario was a mock malfunction of one of the station's solar array rotary joints, requiring manual repair. Jinx would handle the mechanical work and Caitlyn would manage safety protocols, communication, and the tether system from a nearby position.

They suited up in adjacent prep bays, support technicians assisting with the bulky EVA training suits. Though over 300 pounds on land, in the water, they had neutral buoyancy. Jinx was very familiar with the suit at this point, but she still took a moment with every don to check her seals, test her glove flexibility, and verify her comm system.

"Comm check," Caitlyn's voice crackled in her ear.. No different from any other training partner on any other day. And yet the sound of it, confined to Jinx's helmet, piped directly into her ears with the intimacy of headphones, felt different.

"Loud and clear," Jinx managed.

"Copy. Pool entry in T-minus ninety seconds."

They descended together. The water closed over Jinx's helmet like a curtain, the world narrowing to the dimensions of her faceplate. Sound reduced to her own breathing and the crackle of comms.

Jinx let the water settle around her suit, feeling the weight distribute from crushing to manageable. Below her, the mock ISS exterior spread out in truss segments, solar array blankets, module surfaces with handrails, and equipment aids.

"Approaching work site," Jinx informed, kicking gently toward the target. "Visual on the solar alpha rotary joint."

"Copy. Maintaining position at base. Tether check."

Jinx clipped her safety tether to the nearest handrail and tugged it firm. In actual space, an untethered astronaut who drifted free of the station would be lost. The thought made most people's stomachs drop, but Jinx found it fascinating.

"Tether secure," she reported. "Beginning panel removal."

Each bolt had to be carefully removed and captured and each panel had to be handled with deliberate movements. Her gloves were thick, reducing dexterity significantly. What would take thirty seconds with bare hands on a workbench took three minutes in the suit underwater.

But Jinx was good at this. She narrated each step for the record and for Caitlyn, who was monitoring from ten meters away.

"Panel cover removed. I've got eyes on the bearing assembly. The race ring has shifted approximately three millimeters clockwise from nominal position, consistent with the simulated malfunction. Going to need the torque wrench, 3/8 drive."

"Copy. Retrieving from the tool caddy." Caitlyn's movements in the water were visible at the edge of Jinx's field of vision. 

She moved well in the suit. 

They worked for nearly an hour. The rhythm was good, communication was crisp, roles clear, each person operating within their lane without overlap or confusion. It was, Jinx grudgingly acknowledged, the smoothest collaborative work she'd done with anyone. Caitlyn anticipated her needs, handed off tools at the right moments, kept ground control updated so Jinx didn't have to break focus.

It was almost nice, if you stripped away all the context, if you forgot who Caitlyn was and what she represented and how her voice in Jinx's ear was the biggest distraction to her work now.

And then Jinx's wrench slipped.

The raised edge on the panel was small and practically invisible under the suit gloves. But when Jinx's hand caught on it, the sudden stop threw off her grip momentum. Her shoulder connected with a piece of the infrastructure hard enough to jolt and send a sharp spike of pain down her arm and make her hiss.

"Status?" Caitlyn's voice instantly. "Jinx, report."

"Fine, I'm fine. Glove caught."

"Are you hurt?"

I'm fine."

"Let me see."

"Caitlyn, I—"

But Caitlyn was already moving. She traversed the distance between them with a speed and efficiency that was, frankly, startling for someone in a 300-pound suit in water. She was at Jinx's side in seconds, reaching for her arm.

"I said I'm fine," Jinx repeated, pulling her arm back reflexively. The motion was too fast, too uncontrolled for the underwater environment. It destabilized her position, sending her listing sideways, her tether catching.

Caitlyn's hand shot out to the handrail beside Jinx's helmet, anchoring herself close, preventing Jinx from drifting further. The movement put them face to face, faceplate to faceplate, separated by inches.

Through the curved glass, Jinx could see Caitlyn's face in full detail. Her brows were drawn together, her mouth set in a line of concern. Her eyes were locked on Jinx's, searching for signs of injury or distress.

Jinx's heart hammered against her ribs.

"Let me verify that your glove seal isn't compromised," Caitlyn said. Her voice was steady again, but there was something underneath it. "That's not a request, Jinx. If your seal were compromised in actual EVA conditions—"

"Caitlyn, we're in a fucking pool."

"And we're simulating real conditions. Seal compromise means decompression injury within thirty seconds. So let me check, please."

They stared at each other through the faceplates. The blue water around them, the filtered light from above, the distant shapes of support divers hovering at their stations, all reduced to just them in the world.

"Fine," Jinx said. She extended her arm.

Caitlyn took it. Even through the bulk of both their gloves, the touch was careful. She turned Jinx's wrist, examining the glove exterior and ran her thumb along the seal ring, checking for tears or gaps.

The examination took maybe thirty seconds but it felt like thirty minutes. Jinx watched Caitlyn's face the entire time.

"Seal looks intact," Caitlyn announced finally. She didn't release Jinx's wrist immediately. Her glove held it for one extra beat, two, before letting go. "No visible compromise."

"Told you."

"I'm glad to confirm it." Caitlyn still hadn't moved away. "Be more careful."

…

"Copy, Commander."

Caitlyn drifted back to her monitoring position, the distance already reformed between them. The professional dynamic reasserted itself. 

Jinx turned back and re-steadied her hands.

Chapter Text

Unlike what certain people may argue, Caitlyn Kiramman had always believed that discipline was its own form of freedom. If you could master yourself, your impulses, your emotions, your interior life, then the external world became manageable. 

She had built her life on this philosophy. She was, to generalize, an orderly person. Her apartment was organized meticulously. Her work schedule was planned weeks in advance, color-coded, with room for change anticipated, always. She practically woke at the same time every morning. She had a work-out routine she followed to the T. She ate meals that were researched, planned, and nutritionally optimized. She reviewed her goals and outcomes quarterly throughout the year and adjusted them.

People called her rigid, uptight, cold, even downright cruel sometimes, though usually behind her back.

But she wasn't a cold person… she was just controlled.

There was a difference, though she'd stopped trying to defend herself years ago.

The point is Caitlyn Kiramman was not the kind of person who lost command of a situation. She was an expert in not panicking, not fumbling, not anything of the sort. She certainly did not find herself standing in an unfamiliar house at ungodly hours, uncertain of what to do next.

And yet.

Vi's birthday party. 

Short of just three years before the mission assignment that would alter the trajectory of Caitlyn's life, pun intended and not.

The party was at a bar Vi favored, neither underground nor particularly noteworthy but Vi had been coming there since she turned twenty-one and the bartenders knew her by name and let her pick the music on some nights. Caitlyn had organized the whole affair. She reserved the back section, paid for the open tab, coordinated with Vi's friends on timing and gifts, and arranged for the cake which she had ordered after trying four bakeries to determine what Vi would like the most.

Caitlyn did all these things without complaint because she loved Vi. She wanted Vi's twenty-eighth birthday to be perfect, and organizing was how she showed care.

The evening had started well. Vi was glowing, her energy alone practically filling the whole bar. She was four beers deep by ten o'clock, her arm around Caitlyn's waist between conversations, pulling her in to introduce her to people Caitlyn had already met many times before. "Babe, babe, remember Loris? And you know Ekko, right?" And Caitlyn would laugh and nod and re-shake their hands.

She was also, she admitted privately only to herself and just for a split second, a teensy bit bored. Don’t get her wrong, Vi's friends and family were lovely people. They were warm and welcoming and they clearly adored Vi. But their conversations often ran toward topics that Caitlyn could engage with politely but not passionately. Caitlyn listened to them all and smiled at appropriate moments, said a comment or two when appropriate. She held her second glass of the night and did not drink quickly.

Then, Jinx arrived.

Caitlyn spotted her before Vi did. The bar's entrance was visible from Caitlyn's position and the door opened and there she was, framed in the doorway like something out of a fever dream.

She was wearing a cropped top that exposed her midriff and the fabric was thin enough that Caitlyn could see the outline of her bra straps beneath it. Her shorts were denim, cut so high on the thigh that they probably passed the border of indecent, and her legs below them were long for her height, lean and pale, leading down to combat boots with one lace untied and dragging. Her blue hair was loose without its usual braids, falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the bar's tinted lighting and seemed to shift between midnight blue and a cobalt blue.

She had glitter on her cheekbones catching light, making her face sparkle when she moved.

Caitlyn watched her enter and felt something shift in her stomach. She thought, at first, it was the natural response of surprise to see Jinx with her hair down.

Vi noticed a moment later. "JINX!" she bellowed across the bar somehow cutting loud enough to be heard over the ambience. She broke away from Caitlyn's side, crossed the floor, and swept Jinx into a hug that lifted the smaller woman entirely off the ground.

Jinx's face, barely visible and squished over Vi's shoulder, broke into a wide grin. The sharpness that Caitlyn had encountered at their previous meeting—that disastrous fucking dinner with Jinx’s barely concealed hostility—was gone.

Jinx detached from Vi's hug and said something that made Vi throw her head back laughing, and then Vi was pulling her toward the group, toward Caitlyn.

"Babe!" Vi called. "Look who finally showed up!"

Caitlyn straightened her posture and smiled. "Hello, Jinx."

Jinx's eyes found her and her grin faded. The shift was like a door closing, and Caitlyn felt the loss of that openness even though it had never been directed at her to begin with.

"Hey," Jinx acknowledged. Her gaze flicked up and down Caitlyn's outfit and her expression was unreadable.

Vi, oblivious or choosing to be, threw an arm around each of them. "My two favorite people! In one place! This is the best birthday ever!"

"I got you a present," Jinx said to Vi, ignoring Caitlyn entirely. "I'll give it to you later."

"You didn't have to get me anything."

"It's a custom glove set I made myself and it might have your face on it."

Vi's eyes went wide with delight. "You're kidding!"

"I call them the Bitch Mittens!" Jinx laughed.

Caitlyn stood to the side as the sisters talked, holding her drink, smiling when included and quiet when not. This was Vi and Jinx's dynamic: fast, physical, full of inside references and shared history that Caitlyn could only observe. But she didn't mind. Truly, she loved seeing Vi happy and loved the way Vi softened around her sister. It made her envious for being an only child sometimes.

After about ten minutes, Jinx drifted away. Caitlyn watched her order at the bar and then watched her vanish herself into a group of Vi's friends. Again, the hostility she'd shown at the dinner seemed absent here. Among these people, Jinx was proudly animated, talking with her hands, her voice carrying over the bar noise in bursts of laughter and exclamation. Caitlyn was beginning to think that loudness was genetic.

Caitlyn observed this and realized Jinx wasn’t antisocial or awkward or unfriendly by nature. She was those things specifically and exclusively around Caitlyn.

The realization stung.

An hour later, two drinks in for Jinx (or was it three? Caitlyn had lost count), Jinx was in the center of a cluster of people near the pool table, arguing passionately about something. Caitlyn caught fragments as she passed by on her way to the restroom and she smiled involuntarily because of course Jinx was arguing about spaceships and physics while drunk at a birthday party.

When she returned, she made a decision. Perhaps the dinner had gone badly because Caitlyn had tried conversation from her perspective and Jinx had rejected it. Maybe the approach needed to change. Maybe Jinx needed to be met on her own territory.

Caitlyn had, a bit ago, read Jinx's published thesis on ion propulsion mechanics. She'd downloaded it after Vi mentioned it casually over dinner one night and Caitlyn had been curious. She was working in the same fields.

The thesis was brilliant. Caitlyn had read a lot of academic work in her field, had reviewed papers and attended conferences and studied some of the best minds in propulsion engineering, and Jinx's thesis was still miles ahead. The approach was slightly unconventional, but the math elegant and the conclusions drawn from premises that no one else seemed to have considered. Caitlyn had read it twice and then gone back and read it a third time.

There was, however, a question she had about section four with the thermal load assumptions. She thought, maybe Jinx would enjoy talking to her if its more about her interests.

She found Jinx near the bar, momentarily alone between social clusters, stirring a new drink.

"Your thesis on ion propulsion mechanics was fascinating," Caitlyn said. "The approach to beam divergence compensation was novel," Caitlyn continued, because she'd started and she might as well finish. "Though I did wonder about the thermal load assumptions in section four."

Jinx looked up from her drink. Her eyes were slightly glossy from alcohol but sharp beneath it. "Excuse me? You read my thesis?"

"Vi mentioned you'd published, and I was curious."

"You were curious about my fucking thesis?"

"I'm also in aerospace, so yes."

Unexpectedly, Jinx’s face didn’t immediately break out into joy. Suspicion, certainly. But also something else.

Jinx's posture shifted. She was small, about five foot four to Caitlyn's six feet, and yet somehow she managed to project the energy of someone much larger in this moment. The defensiveness was immediate like a fortress going into lockdown.

"The thermal load assumptions in section four are based on empirical data from the NEXT-C thruster tests at one of the Research Centers," Jinx replied. "Which you'd know if you'd read the appendix."

"I did read the appendix. The data supports your range, but the upper bound seemed optimistic for a sustained-fire scenario."

"Optimistic?" The word dripped with offense. "My upper bound is ten percent below the failure threshold documented in the Phase 2 testing."

"Indeed, for short-duration fires. Your proposed mission profile extends well beyond the tested envelope."

Jinx's cheeks were coloring. Caitlyn could see it even in the bar's dim light, the flush rising from her neck to her face, and she watched Jinx's jaw work as she processed the challenge.

"Maybe if you spent less time flying planes and more time reading, you'd know I addressed that in my next publication." Jinx's voice was rising, her words coming faster. "But I guess glorified bus driving doesn't leave much time for proper academic reading."

Test pilot work was the most technically demanding aviation in existence. Carrier landings at night, in weather, on a moving platform, pushing experimental aircraft beyond their design limits to establish flights. And Jinx had simplified it all to glorified bus driving.

Her left eye twitched. She couldn't help it. The control slipped for just a fraction of a second before reasserting itself.

"Glorified bus driving," she repeated. "I see."

Something flickered in Jinx's expression. She opened her mouth, maybe to take it back, maybe to double down, but Vi miraculously materialized between them with perfect timing.

"Sorry to interrupt a great conversation!" Vi's voice was falsely bright, her hands landing on both their shoulders. "Who wants another drink? Everyone wants another drink. Let's get drinks."

Vi directed them in opposite directions. Caitlyn allowed herself to be guided toward the bar's far end, accepted a glass of water from Vi, and spent the remainder of the party in a careful orbit that never brought her within close proximity of Jinx again.

She told herself she wasn't angry. Or she was, kind of, but it was complicated with understanding and respect simultaneously.

Beneath everything, there was an awareness that even when hostile Jinx was the most interesting person Caitlyn had spoken to in months.

By midnight, Vi was swaying. By twelve-thirty, she was leaning heavily on Caitlyn's arm.

"Babe," Vi slurred, her head against Caitlyn's shoulder. "Jinx. She's really drunk."

Caitlyn looked. Jinx was at the bar, slumped forward with her cheek resting on the counter, one arm dangling limply toward the floor. Her loose blue hair pooled around her head like spilled ink. She appeared to be having a one-sided conversation with the bar's wood surface.

"Yes," Caitlyn observed. "I can see that."

"I gotta take her home."

"Vi, you can barely stand upright."

"I'm fine." Vi attempted to straighten and nearly toppled sideways. Caitlyn caught her by the elbow.

"You're not fine."

"...But she needs to get home."

"I'll call her a car."

Vi shook her head, slow and heavy with alcohol. "She won't. She gets weird about it. It's a whole thing from when she was younger. She won't do it."

Caitlyn noted that piece of information away. "Then I'll drive you both to yours." This seemed reasonable. This seemed manageable. Caitlyn was sober and competent and she knew how to get to Vi’s from here easily.

But actually getting the two to her car was less easy.

Vi went first, cooperative but uncoordinated. She folded herself into the passenger seat with grunts and misjudged limb placement that resulted in her elbow hitting the horn. The sound blared through the empty parking lot and Caitlyn flinched.

"Sorry, sorry," Vi giggled.

Caitlyn returned to the bar where Jinx was still talking to the counter. She approached carefully.

"Jinx." She placed a hand lightly on Jinx's shoulder. "Time to go."

Jinx's head lifted. Her eyes were unfocused, the pupils dilated. She blinked at Caitlyn for a long moment, processing, and then recognition landed.

"Oh," Jinx said, very clearly. "It's you."

Caitlyn blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Jinx waved a vague hand in Caitlyn's general direction. "You."

"Yes, it's me. Come on, we're leaving."

"Go where?"

"Vi's apartment."

"Don't wanna."

"I understand that. Nevertheless, it's time."

Jinx attempted to sit up straight on the bar stool. Her center of gravity shifted wrong, her hand slipped off the counter, and she went sideways like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Caitlyn caught her with both arms, one around Jinx's back and one at her elbow, stopping her descent toward the floor. The motion pulled Jinx close, her body against Caitlyn's chest, and Caitlyn was suddenly holding most of Jinx's weight in her arms.

She weighed nothing. That was the first thought, and it was alarming. Jinx was small, but Caitlyn hadn't registered until this moment just how thin she was. Caitlyn could feel ribs through the thin fabric of her top, her shoulder blades, the narrow span of her waist. Her body was warm but insubstantial, like holding something fragile.

"You're tall," Jinx announced from somewhere around Caitlyn's chin height. Her head was tilted back, looking up, and the bar's lights caught the glitter on her cheekbones, making her face shine. Her breath was sweet with tequila and something citrusy. "Why are you so tall? It's annoying. It's rude, actually. You're rude."

"I'll write a formal apology letter later," Caitlyn replied, adjusting her grip to better support Jinx's weight. "Can you walk?"

"Obviously I can walk. I have legs."

"Then let's use them, please."

Jinx's legs, as it turned out, were not functioning well. She could take steps technically, but each one was an adventure. Caitlyn kept an arm around her waist (so narrow, her hand practically nearly spanning the full width of it) and guided her toward the exit.

The bartender caught Caitlyn's eye as they passed and gave a nod. "Get home safe, ladies."

"Thank you," Caitlyn smiled, shouldering the door open while simultaneously preventing Jinx from walking directly into the door frame.

Outside, the air was warm and heavy with humidity. The parking lot was mostly empty now, the bar's neon sign casting flickering blue light. Caitlyn's car was parked close, thank god.

"Stupid tall pretty Caitlyn," Jinx was muttering as they walked. "With your stupid tall pretty genes. And your stupid tall pretty face. And your stupid tall pretty legs. And your stupid tall pretty everything."

Caitlyn kept her eyes forward and did not respond to any of this.

She got Jinx into the backseat and buckled her in, reaching across Jinx's body to click the seatbelt into place. Their faces were close for a moment, Caitlyn leaning across, and Jinx's unfocused eyes fixed on her from inches away.

"Your eyes are really blue," Jinx said. "Did you know that?"

"I've been made aware."

"Like, really really… someone took the whole sky and just, poof! Put it in your face." Jinx giggled and her hand came up, reaching toward Caitlyn's cheek, and Caitlyn leaned back out of reach before contact was made.

"T-thank you," Caitlyn hurried away, closing the back door. Her cheeks were warm. She blamed the humidity.

The drive to Vi's apartment took about twenty minutes. Vi fell asleep within the first three, her head against the window, snoring peacefully. Jinx, however, was very awake. Her body might have been surrendering to alcohol but her mind apparently refused to follow, and she talked the entire drive.

She talked about the stars and about how the light from the nearest star other than the sun took years to reach Earth. She talked about how when you looked at the night sky you were looking at the past, and if they looked back, they would see the Ancient Romans. She talked about how the ISS was up there right now, probably, passing over them, and the people inside it were seeing sixteen fucking sunrises a day.

"Sixteen sunrises," she repeated, her forehead pressed against the window. "Can you imagine?"

"It would be beautiful," Caitlyn conceded.

"I want to see it," Jinx announced. Her voice dropped, went soft and young and yearning. "More than anything."

"You will."

"How do you know?"

"Because your work is too good for them not to notice you."

Jinx was quiet for almost a full minute after that. Caitlyn glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Jinx staring at the back of her headrest.

"You're weird," Jinx finally said. "You're really weird, Caitlyn."

"So I've been told."

They reached Vi's apartment and Caitlyn impressively maneuvered Vi out of the car and up to the apartment. Vi made it to the couch and collapsed face-down, already deeply asleep before her body finished settling into the cushions.

Caitlyn pulled a blanket over her, tucked it around her shoulders, pressed a kiss to her hair. Then she turned to deal with Jinx.

Jinx was in Vi's kitchen. She had opened the refrigerator and was staring into it.

"Jinx," Caitlyn sighed. "Go to the spare room down the hall."

Jinx closed the refrigerator and looked over. Her expression had suddenly shifted from aimless to determined, and Caitlyn was now very scared.

"I'm not staying here."

"What do you mean? It's nearly two in the morning."

"I'm going home. I need to go home."

"Jinx, that's not practical right now. Vi's apartment is perfectly comfortable. You can go home in the morning."

"No." Jinx shook her head, making her sway. "No. I have to go home now. I have to feed my cat."

Caitlyn paused. "Your cat?"

"She's alone and she hasn't eaten since this morning because I left food out for her for the day but she probably already ate it all because she does that, she eats everything immediately because she’s a fat fucking cat, and now she's going to be hungry and upset and she's going to claw my brand new couch."

The distress in Jinx's voice was convincing alone. Her eyebrows were pinched together, her lower lip pushed out, her eyes wide with genuine worry. 

"Can you call someone?" Caitlyn tried. "A neighbor? A friend?"

"At this hour? You sound crazy. I also don't talk to my neighbors. They're all old and they complain about my music." Jinx was already moving toward the front door, her determination apparently providing coordination her drunkenness had stolen. "I'm going."

"How are you planning to get home?"

"I'll walk."

"Your apartment is across the city."

"I hear fresh air is good for you."

"Jinx, it's a two-hour walk minimum and you can barely stand."

"I can stand fine." Jinx demonstrated this by releasing the counter she'd been leaning on. She swayed, caught herself, but straightened with visible effort. "See? I'm going." She was at the door now, pulling it open. "Goodbye."

And she was gone. 

Caitlyn stood in Vi's kitchen for approximately four seconds. She looked at Vi, unconscious on the couch, dead to the world. She looked at the open door. She heard Jinx's combat boots clomping away.

She grabbed her keys and followed.

Jinx had made it to the parking lot. She was standing beside Caitlyn's car, arms crossed, her small body illuminated by the parking lot's single functioning light. She looked up at Caitlyn's approach with an expression of absolute expectation.

"Unlock it," Jinx demanded.

"Why should I?"

"You're not going to let me walk home alone and we both know it, so just fucking drive me."

The sheer, brazen audacity of it all was beyond infuriating. 

Jinx was right.

Caitlyn unlocked the car. "Get in. Seatbelt."

Jinx grinned. Caitlyn turned away from it and got into the driver's seat and focused very hard on adjusting her mirrors.

Jinx dropped into the passenger seat and immediately began struggling with the seatbelt. The mechanism defeated her repeatedly, her alcohol-impaired coordination making the simple task impossible. After fifteen seconds of watching this in her peripheral vision, Caitlyn reached across.

"Here." She took the seatbelt from Jinx's fingers (their hands touching briefly, Jinx's skin warm) and guided. The action brought her face close to Jinx's, their heads nearly touching, and Jinx was looking at her from a few inches away with those wide dilated eyes and that glitter on her cheeks and Caitlyn could smell her, tequila and vanilla and something sweet like sugar.

She clicked the belt in and retreated to her side of the car quickly.

"Which way?" Caitlyn asked, starting the engine.

"East," Jinx pointed. "I think."

"You think?"

"I know. Definitely east."

Caitlyn pulled out of the parking lot. East it was.

What followed was an odyssey that would have put Odysseus himself over the edge.

"Turn left here," Jinx directed at the first intersection.

Caitlyn turned left.

"Wait, no. Right. It was right."

Caitlyn made a U-turn.

"Okay go straight for a while."

Caitlyn went straight.

"Do you recognize that gas station? I think it's near my gym."

"You go to a gym?"

"Sometimes. Anyway that means we're going the right way."

"Are we?"

"Probably."

Six blocks later: "Turn right at this light."

Caitlyn turned right.

"Okay this doesn't look right."

Caitlyn breathed through her nose. "What does looking right look like then?"

"There should be a twenty-four-hour taco place. Oh! I'm hungry. Can we stop for tacos?"

"No."

"You're so mean."

"Don’t test me right now, Jinx. I’m too tired for this. I’m only doing this for—what’s your cat’s name?"

"Her name is. Her name is..." Jinx trailed off, frowning deeply. "I forget."

Caitlyn didn’t even try to dignify that with a response.

Between inaccurate navigational directions, Jinx talked. The alcohol had stripped whatever filters she normally possessed and the result was a stream of consciousness.

"Did you know that there are more trees on Earth than stars in the Milky Way?" she said at one point, her head lolling against the headrest, her eyes on the car's ceiling.

"I did know that, actually."

"Most people don't believe it when you tell them. They think space is infinite so there must be more stars. But the Milky Way only has like two hundred billion and Earth has three trillion trees. Three trillion! Can you imagine? Three trillion trees and we're still killing the planet."

"It's a staggering number."

"You know what else is staggering?" Jinx turned her head to look at Caitlyn. Her expression was oddly serious. "Your career. I looked you up."

Caitlyn glanced at her. "Oh?"

"I wanted to know why Vi was dating you… what was so special." Jinx's words were running together slightly, soft at the edges, but comprehensible. Jinx was quiet for a beat. "The bus driver thing… I…"

Caitlyn's hands adjusted on the wheel. "Yes?"

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," Caitlyn responded.

"You do?"

"You were angry. I'd challenged your work and you wanted to hurt me back. It's not complicated."

Jinx rolled her head sideways to look at her again.

"Nobody else gets that," she said. "Nobody else just gets it like that."

"Hm? Gets what?"

"The why of what I do."

Caitlyn didn't know what to say to that. 

Jinx sat up slightly. "I know this street. My building is like ten minutes from here."

"Fabulous."

Ten minutes later (twelve, actually, because Jinx insisted on a shortcut that wasn't a shortcut), they pulled into the parking lot of Jinx's building, her apartment complex. It was a structure that had clearly been beautiful once, maybe decades ago, before the years and weather and general time had worn it down to faded brick and cracked stucco. A security light by the entrance flickered in an irregular pattern.

Caitlyn turned off the engine.

Jinx sat still for a moment. Her eyes were half-closed, her head back against the headrest, her blue hair spread across the seat. She looked exhausted and young and very, very drunk.

"We're here," Caitlyn prompted.

"I know." Jinx's voice was thick. "I just need a second."

She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment and took a deep breath in. "Take your time." At that point, Caitlyn couldn’t give a fuck anymore.

Jinx sat for another thirty seconds, then unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the car door, and swung her legs out.

She did not stay standing for long.

Her left ankle turned and her body lurched forward, her hands reaching for the car roof, missing, reaching for the door, catching it at the last second.

Caitlyn was out of her seat and around to the passenger side before the thought to move had fully formed. Her hand found Jinx's arm, then her waist, stabilizing her.

"Easy," she coaxed. "I've got you."

Jinx looked up at her. In the yellow parking lot light, her face was washed gold, her eyes vivid and large. Whatever defensive mechanisms Jinx wielded during sober hours, alcohol seemed to strip most away.

"You don't have to help me," Jinx spoke quietly.

"I know."

"I don't need help."

Caitlyn looked at her. "I can see that," She settled on, gently.

Jinx attempted to stand without assistance. Caitlyn caught her before she hit the pavement.

"Okay," Jinx relented, her voice tiny. "Maybe a little help."

Caitlyn walked her, keeping her arm around Jinx's waist, taking the majority of Jinx's weight against her side. Jinx leaned into her, her head barely reaching Caitlyn's shoulder, her body warm and small against Caitlyn's taller frame.

They crossed the parking lot. Caitlyn shouldered the door open with her free arm and guided them inside.

"Which floor?"

"Third."

Of course there was no elevator. Caitlyn looked at the stairwell, then looked at Jinx, then looked at the stairwell again.

"I hate these stairs," Jinx mumbled against Caitlyn's shoulder. "I’m moving out soon, I swear."

"Let’s just focus on getting up the stairs before we try and become realtors."

Jinx's legs seemed to operate on a time delay, each foot placement requiring conscious effort and frequently miscalculating. By the second floor landing, Caitlyn had both arms around Jinx now, supporting her fully, Jinx's feet barely brushing the stairs.

"You're strong," Jinx observed. Her voice was muffled against Caitlyn's shoulder.

"Years of training."

"Vi's strong too but it feels different… she's like… brute strong… you're..." Jinx paused. "Like a panther, smooth and dangerous."

"Thanks, Jinx."

"You’re welcome."

Caitlyn huffed something close to a laugh despite herself.

"Please don’t kill me. Better yet, don’t hurt me at all."

"I would never."

"Kill me?"

"Hurt you."

Finally they made it to the third floor. Caitlyn was a bit winded and grateful for the arrival. She guided them down the hallway, per Jinx’s directions until they were outside her door.

Caitlyn looked at Jinx. Jinx looked at the door.

"Keys," Jinx instructed.

"Yes, where are they?"

Jinx patted her hips. The shorts were so tight they were essentially a second skin. The front pockets were clearly empty, flat against her thighs with no room for anything as bulky as a key ring.

Jinx reached behind herself with one hand, attempting to access her back pocket. Her arm flailed. Her coordination failed spectacularly, her hand waving somewhere in the vicinity of her own lower back without making productive contact with any pocket.

She tried again. Same result. Her face scrunched in concentration and frustration.

"I can't," she announced. "My arms stopped working."

"What?"

"They're not working, Caitlyn. They've gone on strike. They're done for the night."

For the nth time of the night, Caitlyn took a deep breath in and assessed the situation. They were standing in a hallway Caitlyn was not familiar with at what was probably three-something in the morning. Jinx needed to get inside and the keys were in Jinx's back pocket which for some reason, she could not retrieve.

The back pocket of shorts that could basically be classified as underwear.

Caitlyn's mouth went dry.

"Jinx," she began, keeping her voice level with conscious effort. "If you allow me to, I can get your keys."

Jinx blinked up at her. "You wanna put your hand on my ass?"

"Jinx-no," Caitlyn blushed. "I just want to get you inside and we need your keys for that."

"Okay, okay, sure, you have full permission to touch my butt."

"I'm—for fuck’s sake, Jinx, I’m just getting your keys."

"From my butt pocket, therefore butt touching. You could just say 'Jinx, can I touch your butt' and I would say yes."

Caitlyn felt heat crawl up her neck, spreading across her collarbones, creeping toward her face. This was absurd. She was a grown woman, nearly a full-fledged astronaut, and maintained composure under accelerating G-forces most pilots would balk at. She could retrieve keys from a pocket.

"May I please retrieve your keys?" She asked, very formally, through slightly gritted teeth.

"Permission granted." Jinx turned, bracing one hand against the wall for balance.

The shorts were—they were very short. Had Caitlyn mentioned that yet? The back pockets were small, decorative almost, positioned high on the curve of denim. Caitlyn could see the rectangular shape of the key ring pressed against the fabric.

Her fingers found the pocket edge, the warm fabric, and she slid two fingers inside the pocket with the maximum possible efficiency and minimum possible contact. The key ring was there, metal against her fingertips, and she grasped it and extracted it in one smooth motion.

Three seconds at most.

It felt like an eternity.

"Got them," Caitlyn shook her head, stepping back. Her voice came out slightly higher than its normal.

Jinx turned back. She was grinning. 

"See?" Jinx said. "That wasn't so bad. You barely copped a feel."

"I did not cop a feel!" 

"Just a little one."

"Jinx."

"Kidding, I’m kidding. But you should open the door now, my legs are about to go on strike too."

Jinx's apartment opened before them like a wormhole. The immediate visual was chaos, various laptops on the kitchen table, all displaying different programs. Sticky notes, dozens of them, in multiple colors, papering the refrigerator and the edge of a mirror visible through a half-open bathroom door. Equations, reminders, fragments of thought captured in hasty handwriting.

Art on the walls, vivid abstract prints that looked like they might be hand-painted, swirling galaxies of color. A bookshelf overflowing with technical manuals and cheap paperback novels in equal measure. A blanket on the couch that was clearly handmade, crochet in pink and blue, the yarn slightly uneven in places.

"Bathroom," Jinx gasped. "Now."

They made it just in time.

Caitlyn held Jinx's hair. She knelt on the cold bathroom tile beside her and gathered the long blue strands in her hands, pulling them back from Jinx's face, holding them in a loose ponytail at the base of her skull. Her other hand rested on Jinx's back, between her shoulder blades, and she rubbed small circles there.

Jinx threw up violently. Her small frame shook with the force of it, trembling under Caitlyn's hand, her fingers white-knuckled on the toilet rim. The situation was miserable and undignified and Jinx was clearly suffering.

Caitlyn said nothing. She just stayed, her hand moving in steady gentle circles, her other hand keeping blue hair safe from the onslaught.

Between waves, Jinx gasped for air, panting, her eyes streaming. "This is," she managed between breaths, "so fucking embarrassing."

"Don't worry about that."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one puking your guts out in front of..." She trailed off, another wave hitting, and Caitlyn tightened her hand on Jinx's back, anchoring her.

When it finally passed, when Jinx's body stopped heaving and her breathing began to even out, she sat back on her heels. Her face was flushed and damp, mascara smudged under her eyes, nose running slightly. She looked wrecked.

Caitlyn tore toilet paper from the roll and handed it to her wordlessly. Jinx wiped her face, blew her nose, tossed it. Caitlyn flushed the toilet for her.

"Can you stand?" Caitlyn questioned.

"Give me a minute."

Caitlyn gave her a minute. Then she helped her stand, one hand under Jinx's armpit, the other above her waist. She ran the tap, warm water, and wet a washcloth, handing it to Jinx. Jinx pressed it against her face with both hands, holding it there, breathing into the warm damp fabric.

"Teeth," Jinx mumbled, lowering the cloth. "I need to brush my teeth."

Caitlyn found the toothbrush in a holder by the sink, frayed at the bristles. She applied the toothpaste as Jinx reached for the tube and attempted to squeeze out half its contents, and Caitlyn intercepted, applying a normal amount instead. 

Jinx was swaying, her elbow kept bumping the counter as she tried to brush her teeth.

Just to steady her, Caitlyn placed a hand on Jinx's hip. Just one hand, light and firm, holding her in place so she could finish brushing without falling over. Their eyes met in the mirror reflection, Caitlyn behind her, her hand slightly visible on Jinx's hip. The image was intimate in a way that made Caitlyn's throat tighten.

Jinx spat, rinsed, and spat again.

"Okay," she said to her reflection. "Bed."

Caitlyn walked her to the bedroom. It was small, the bed taking up most of the floor space, sheets tangled and unmade. A constellation map was taped to the ceiling directly above the bed.

Jinx pulled away from Caitlyn's supporting arm then. 

And then her hands went to the hem of her top.

She pulled it over her head in one fluid unselfconscious motion. The shirt went up, went off, went somewhere to the left, tossed without thought. And Jinx was standing there in a bra that was small and lacy and a deep color somewhere between red and rose, maroon maybe, dark and contrasting against her pale skin.

Blue clouds swept across Jinx's shoulders, curled down one of her arms, and in the other direction went down her torso, wrapped around her ribs in swirling patterns. They were artistically beautiful. The blue ink was nearly the same shade as her hair.

Caitlyn's mind went blank.

Jinx's body, the delicate arch of her collarbones, the dip of her waist, the lacy edge of that bra against the swell of her chest, the ink across her body like water.

She turned around fast.

"Jinx." Caitlyn’s voice was fine. She was fine. "Please get under the covers."

"Hm?" Jinx's voice came from behind her, casual and curious. "Why'd you turn around?"

"Because you're undressed."

"I'm not undressed, I'm in a bra. It's basically the same as a bikini."

"It is not the same."

"How is it different? Same areas covered."

"The context is different. And you should either put a shirt on or get under the blankets. It's late and you need to sleep."

Silence for a beat. 

Another beat.

Then, tentatively and quietly, "...Am I that repulsive?"

Caitlyn's entire body went rigid. The word repulsive in relation to Jinx was so fundamentally, aggressively wrong that it made something sting in Caitlyn's chest.

"No," she answered immediately. "That's—not at all."

"Then what's the problem?" The sound of the creak of floorboards behind her, Jinx moving, probably. "I thought I had a decent figure, at least."

"You do." The words escaped. "Um. Your—you, uh. You have a—it's, fuck Jinx, please cover yourself."

She was stammering. 

Jinx giggled.

"Y'know, Caitlyn," Jinx started, and the giggling faded into something softer, something thoughtful and slow. "Have I told you you're weird yet?"

"You might have mentioned," Caitlyn replied, still facing the wall.

"Yeah." The creak of bedsprings. Jinx was getting into bed, maybe. Caitlyn couldn't confirm without looking and she was not going to look. "You're the only person who sees me for my brain and not my body."

Caitlyn's hands clenched at her sides.

Jinx continued, her voice trailing off with approaching sleep, "Everyone is so judgy. They look at me and they see the hair and the tattoos and the body and they make their little assessments. Like, 'oh, she's pretty in a way but she's weird, she's small, she's too much, she's not enough, she's this, she's that.' And I fucking hate it. I hate when people do it. They just see my body."

The bedsprings creaked again.

"But… for whatever reason," Jinx said, barely above a whisper now, "I… for some reason I wish you were more like them."

Caitlyn’s heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears even as she stood perfectly still. The words settled themselves in her mind, their meaning arranging and rearranging, and every possible interpretation she could construct led to the same impossible conclusion.

Caitlyn couldn't breathe.

She risked a glance over her shoulder.

Jinx was in bed, the blankets were pulled up to her chin, her hair spread across the pillow in tangled waves. Her eyes were already half-shut, her face slack with unconsciousness. 

"Jinx," Caitlyn needed to change the topic. Anything. "Where do you keep the cat food? I'll feed your cat and then leave."

One of Jinx's eyes opened and stared at Caitlyn with confusion, her brow furrowing.

"Huh?" Her voice was thick, distant, already more asleep than awake. "I don't have a fucking cat."

Caitlyn stared at her.

There was no cat.

She looked around the apartment again with fresh eyes: no food bowls on the kitchen floor. No litter box in any corner. No scratching post, no cat toys, no fur on the furniture. Nothing. Not a single piece of evidence suggesting any animal had ever resided in this space.

There was no fucking cat.

Caitlyn looked back at Jinx who was fully asleep now or at least pretending to be. She looked peaceful like someone who hadn't just orchestrated one of the most elaborate drunk deceptions Caitlyn had ever encountered.

Caitlyn pinched the bridge of her nose. She breathed in slowly through her nose. She breathed out slowly through her mouth.

Then she moved.

She went to the kitchen, found a clean glass in the cabinet, and filled it with water from the tap. She brought it to Jinx's bedside and placed it on the nightstand, within easy reach. She found a bottle of Advil in the bathroom cabinet and brought it over, placing it beside the water glass.

She looked at Jinx one more time. 

…for some reason I wish you were more like them.

Caitlyn let herself out of the apartment. She locked the door behind her, tested the handle, and confirmed it was secure.

She walked down three flights of stairs and across the parking lot and got into her car and sat there.

3:48 AM. 

She was frustrated. She had been played. Manipulated by a drunk twenty-something-year-old into serving as an unpaid butler for over over an hour across the city. Her entire night had been hijacked. She had a morning briefing for work and she was going to be exhausted and it was because she'd been too soft, too accommodating, too unwilling to simply say no and lock Jinx inside Vi's apartment.

But beneath that frustration, against all logic, Caitlyn Kiramman was smiling.

The muscles of her face betrayed her, the corners of her mouth curling upward of their own accord. The absolute audacity. Jinx probably genuinely believed she had a cat earlier.

Caitlyn laughed. 

She shook her head. She started her car up. She drove home in silence, the radio off, the city dark and quiet around her.

She was smiling the entire way.

And she was also thinking about other things. Y’know. The other things Jinx said and did. 

Caitlyn pulled into her own driveway at 4:24 AM. She turned off the engine and just sat in the dark.

"No," she told herself out loud, to the empty car.

She was dating Vi. She loved Vi. Jinx was drunk and probably wouldn't remember any of it in the morning. The words were alcohol talking, meaningless in the light of day.

This meant nothing.

Caitlyn went inside and got ready for bed. She set her alarm for 0700 and climbed under her covers and closed her eyes.

She did not fall asleep for a very long time.

When she finally did, she dreamed about a mysterious supernatural blue figure in the wind.

Chapter Text

Jinx laid in her apartment bed and was absolutely, definitively, certainly NOT thinking about Caitlyn Kiramman's hand on her wrist (even through gloves).

No, specifically, she was of course thinking about the Hohmann transfer calculation (the orbital maneuver necessary for moving a spacecraft between two different orbital altitudes) for a potential Mars trajectory using her ion drive at the efficiency levels suggested by her simulation data.

She was thinking about the delta-v (change in velocity) requirements.

She was thinking about specific impulse optimization.

She was NOT thinking about Caitlyn's voice when she'd said "report." She was NOT thinking about how it had gone from measured to worried in zero seconds, maybe even fearful.

She was NOT thinking about the time Caitlyn's hand had lingered on her.

She was NOT thinking about freckles on a nose bridge, visible through a faceplate, close enough to count.

(Seven. They were very faint, but seven.)

"Shit," Jinx groaned to her ceiling.

Her phone buzzed.

Ekko: yo, how's astronaut school? have you punched the rich girl yet?

Thank god. Ekko. Her oldest… companion, one of the few people who could match her intellectually and tolerate her personally. He worked at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, not in Houston, and Powder missed him a lot.

Jinx: give it time

Ekko: damn that bad

Jinx: idk maybe more weird

Ekko: how?

Jinx stared at her phone. How? How could she put into words the specific type of confusion that came from spending every day with someone you were supposed to dislike and finding that the dislike was getting... complicated.

(Why was she even supposed to dislike Caitlyn? That was for another time.)

Jinx: she's arrogant and rigid and privileged and she smells like expensive perfume and thinks shes so much better than me

Jinx: but idk

Jinx: i like

Jinx: thought for a bit

Jinx: she could be wore

Jinx: worse*

Jinx: damn it

Ekko: wow 

Ekko: well what are you going to do?

Jinx turned her phone face-down on the mattress and pressed both hands over her face. What was she going to do? 

What was she going to do? 

There was nothing to do because there was nothing happening. She was at most experiencing Stockholm Syndrome but situated in NASA training. This was Pavlovian conditioning. It was her brain mistaking the adrenaline and enjoyment for her work with Caitlyn. Those positive feelings she held were overlapping, unfairly. 

She picked her phone back up.

Jinx: ig i just gotta wrestle w it a bit

Ekko: okay

Ekko: at least shes attractive tho 👀

Jinx: ??? WHAT

Jinx: THATS VIS EX FIRST OF ALL

Jinx: SECOND OF ALL

Ekko: chill out yk theyre chill and

Ekko: yk im not wrong 👀👀👀

Jinx threw her phone across the room. It landed on the carpet with an unsatisfying thud. She rolled over, buried her face in the pillow, and willed her brain to shut off.

Those damn compatibility exercises, of course, continued.

They were now back in Mel's office. Caitlyn arrived forty seconds after Jinx and they sat in pointed silence until Mel appeared.

"Welcome back," Mel greeted, settling into her own chair with her notepad. "Did you both think about the assignment? A time when you made an incorrect assumption about someone?"

"I'll go first," Caitlyn started. Jinx rolled her eyes internally but said nothing.

"During my test pilot training," Caitlyn began, "my flight instructor was a woman named Grayson. She didn't coddle. She'd tell you what you did wrong in the bluntest possible terms and expect you to fix it without hand-holding." Caitlyn's hands were still in her lap, perfectly composed. "I assumed, initially, that her harshness was a mask for overconfidence or lack of skill."

"And?" Mel prompted.

"And I was completely wrong. She was the best pilot I'd ever seen. Her harshness wasn't a mask at all. She didn't waste words. She was the reason I became a good pilot. She broke down every assumption I had previously held about what competence looked like, and she rebuilt me from the ground up."

Mel nodded. "Please state what was the incorrect assumption?"

"I thought that someone who presented differently from my expectations must be lacking."

Mel made a note. "And how did you revise that assumption?"

"I watched her fly and saw the results with my own eyes. I trusted the data over my initial impression."

"Excellent. Thank you, Caitlyn." Mel turned. "Jinx?"

Jinx shifted in her chair. She actually did do her homework here, or at least tried to. She thought about her answer for a while, but struggled to land on something that wasn’t so tied to the woman sitting beside her.

She'd settled on something safer.

"In my first year at university," Jinx said, "my academic advisor was this guy named Singed. He was old-school, in a way, pretty traditional in his approach to bio-engineering. I thought he was behind the times and his methods were outdated and he was holding me back."

"And you were wrong?"

"He was teaching me fundamentals that I thought I'd outgrown. I had rushed through them before, thinking they were unimportant but those fundamentals saved my life when one of my experiments failed and I had to debug from first principles." Jinx shrugged. "I assumed his methodology was weird."

"Interesting parallel," Mel commented mildly. "Both of you made assumptions based on surface presentation that were contradicted by deeper observation."

"Lots of people do that," Jinx shrugged.

"Indeed. But the question is what you do with the corrected information." Mel leaned forward slightly. "I'd like to try something different today. I'd like you each to ask the other person one question about something you genuinely want to know, perhaps even something personal."

"What?" Jinx nearly spat out.

"You're going to be each other's only company for six months. Building personal understanding isn't a luxury but a necessity."

"We can do that on station," Jinx argued.

"You could and you should. But in my experience, the longer personal connection is delayed, the harder it becomes. Starting on neutral ground is easier than starting in isolation."

Jinx looked at Caitlyn. Caitlyn looked at Jinx.

"I'll go first," Caitlyn said again. She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What really made you want to go to space?"

Jinx blinked. She'd expected something different, though she didn’t know what.

"That's a big question," Jinx sighed.

"You can take your time."

Jinx was quiet for a long moment. She looked at Mel's neutral, patient face then at her own hands, which had stilled in her lap.

"It's the furthest thing away," she finally settled on. "From everything. From where I started, from what people expect, from the gravity—pun intended—of all the shit that holds you down." She paused. "When I was a kid, the sky was the only thing that was the same in my neighborhood as everywhere else. It didn't matter who you were or what you did, everyone looked up at the same stars. Space was the one thing that was equal." A breath. "I wanted to go there because it was the only place where nobody could tell me I didn't belong. And, well, it’s cool as fuck, if I may say so myself."

"Thank you," Caitlyn eventually said. Her voice was different than before, softer than Jinx had ever heard it, maybe except for those embarrassing moments she was forced to bear witness to Caitlyn and Vi hanging out. "I appreciate your honesty."

Jinx nodded once, tight. "My turn." She looked at Caitlyn directly. "Why did you become a pilot?" Jinx asked. "You have the money and the name to do literally anything. You could have stayed in your family business right? Gone into politics or anything cushy and safe. Why risk your life and do all this work?"

It was a question that had bothered her for years since the first time she met Caitlyn, since the first time she looked her up, and had to come to terms with the fact she was more than accomplished.

Caitlyn was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, small and private. "Because, actually, it's the one thing I do that has nothing to do with my name. No one cares whose daughter you are when the engine flames out at 40,000 feet. No amount of money makes a carrier landing in bad weather easier. It's the one part in my life where I am judged purely on my ability." She held Jinx's eyes. "Sound familiar?"

Why did she have to say that?

Something inside Jinx’s chest that she'd been holding rigid since the day she learned about this assignment, the belief that Caitlyn Kiramman was nothing like her, could never understand her, inhabited a different world even, was shattering.

"Yeah," Jinx looked down. "It does."

The remaining days before launch started to blur together in a cascade of final preparations. Medical checks, equipment reviews, even press events that Jinx absolutely hated doing.

The crew held a press conference. She sat behind a table with Caitlyn, facing a room of reporters and cameras, and tried to look like someone who belonged in front of international media attention.

They'd been prepped together in a green room beforehand.

"You're vibrating," Caitlyn commented, checking her own appearance in a mirror.

"What?"

"Your leg has been bouncing for five straight minutes."

"So what?"

Caitlyn turned then, and her gaze swept over Jinx in a quick assessment. "Your collar is crooked."

Jinx looked down. It was.

"Here." Caitlyn crossed the room and reached for Jinx's collar without another word.

Caitlyn's fingers were cool against Jinx's neck. Quick, efficient, straightening the fabric with two tugs. She was close enough for Jinx to see the individual threads of her dark hair. She was close enough to smell the perfume she wore.

"There." Caitlyn stepped back. "Much better."

"Thanks," Jinx whispered.

"We should look unified out there," Caitlyn continued, breaking Jinx's spiral before it could take off. "The press will pick up on any visual or behavioral inconsistencies between crew members and try to write a story constructing conflict."

"Right." Jinx shook out her hands. "I can do that."

"Just be yourself." A pause. "Within reason."

"'I’m always within reason."

"Oh I'm sure."

They looked at each other for a moment and Jinx had saw it, that almost-smile. The barely-there curve at the corner of Caitlyn's mouth. She was starting to appreciate those almost-smiles (which was a terrible habit and she needed to stop).

The press conference room itself was as miserable as Jinx expected. Rows of reporters, camera flashes going off like miniature lightning storms, conversation dying as she and Caitlyn walked out together. The NASA logo was projected behind them on a massive screen, flanked by American flags and mission patches. A long table with two microphones, two nameplates, two glasses of water.

Caitlyn walked slightly ahead of her, and Jinx was grateful for that because it meant she could follow without looking lost. 

Jinx tried to emulate Caitlyn’s posture, professionalism, and energy, but probably failed to mimic any of it successfully.

Caitlyn pulled her microphone slightly closer and Jinx did the same. The cameras clicked and whirred.

A NASA communications officer stood at a podium to their left and introduced them and the mission parameters, the timeline, and the scientific goals. Jinx listened to herself being described in third person. Dr. Jinx Devaux, mission specialist, selected for her expertise in engineering and astrophysics, youngest crew member assigned to a long-duration ISS mission in recent years and for some reason it sounded like someone else's life.

Then it was their turn to speak. Caitlyn went first, obviously, because she was the Commander and because Caitlyn always went first.

"Thank you all for being here," Caitlyn greeted into the microphone. "This mission represents a significant step forward in our understanding of long-duration spaceflight operations with reduced crew configurations. Dr. Devaux and I are deeply honored to be selected for this expedition, and we're committed to maximizing the scientific return of every day we spend on station."

Then Jinx had to say something. She leaned toward her mic.

"Yeah, what she said." A ripple of laughter through the press corps. Good, that was probably good, right? "Uh, I'm really excited about the experimental payload we're bringing up. The ion drive prototype alone has the potential to reshape how we think about interplanetary transit times. And the crystalline formation arrays, the plasma containment work, all of it can only be done in microgravity. This is years of research coming to fruition and I'm very lucky to be the one running it."

She sat back. Caitlyn gave her a small nod and Jinx felt a stupid little rush of validation that she absolutely did not need.

The questions began.

The first few were standard. Timeline inquiries, technical questions about the automation upgrades, questions about their training regimen. Caitlyn fielded most of these with her usual eloquence and Jinx jumped in when the questions touched her experiments directly. It was going well and Jinx started to relax.

Then a man in the third row raised his hand. He was maybe fifty, gray at the temples, press badge hanging from his neck.

"Question for Dr. Devaux," he spoke, and already something about his tone made Jinx tense.

"Go ahead," she responded.

"Dr. Devaux, you're twenty-six years old. You'd be the youngest person on a long-duration ISS mission in over a decade. Some in the aerospace community have expressed concern that your selection was, shall we say, more influenced by optics than operational readiness. The narrative of a young, unconventional, attractive candidate makes for good press, but there are veteran engineers with decades more experience who were also in the selection pool. How do you respond to the suggestion that your selection was, at least in part, a PR decision rather than a purely merit-based one?"

The implication was clear: you're here because you make a good story, not because you're the best candidate. You're just a diversity pick, a marketing tool, here to be a young face for the cameras.

Her brain, usually so fast and so sharp, so ready with a comeback for any challenge, stalled. And some deep, old part of her, froze.

She inhaled to respond. She didn't know what she was going to say but she had to say something, couldn’t let the man stand there gloating, couldn’t let the camera flashes keep catching her stupefied.

Yet Caitlyn spoke first.

"I'll take that one."

Caitlyn's voice cut through the haze in Jinx’s mind and she turned her head. Caitlyn was leaning forward slightly, both forearms on the table, and her expression had shifted from professionally pleasant to something considerably harder. Her blue eyes were fixed on the reporter with an intensity that Jinx hadn’t even seen ever on her.

"Dr. Devaux’s selection was made by a panel of twelve senior NASA officials, including the Chief of the Astronaut Office, the Director of Flight Operations, and multiple external science advisors," Caitlyn informed. "The selection criteria are rigorous, transparent, and documented. They include technical competency evaluations, psychological fitness assessments, physical qualification, and a comprehensive review of the candidate's research portfolio and potential contribution to mission objectives."

She paused.

"Dr. Devaux’s research portfolio includes seven published papers, three of which have introduced novel theoretical frameworks that are now being adopted across the field. Her ion drive prototype, if validated in microgravity, will represent the single most significant advancement in electric propulsion technology in fifteen years. She holds the highest technical competency scores in her candidate class. She redesigned a station system that three separate engineering teams had failed to optimize. She is here because she is, without qualification or caveat, the most capable person for this role."

Jinx was staring at her. She couldn't help it. Her mouth was slightly open and her brain, stalled from the question itself, was now stalled for an entirely different reason.

Caitlyn wasn't done.

"And I'll add, on a personal note," Caitlyn continued, and her voice shifted again, dropped slightly, "that the suggestion of 'optics' as a motivating factor for crew selection is not only inaccurate but insulting. To Dr. Devaux, to the selection committee, and to the integrity of this program. I would ask that future questions be grounded in the facts of our crew's qualifications rather than in unsubstantiated speculation."

Caitlyn wasn’t finished. “I am a decorated officer, leader of this expedition and she is nonetheless my equal, if not superior in a multitude of ways. Address us with respect, or keep your mouth shut.”

The reporter opened his mouth like he was considering a follow-up and then appeared to think better of it. He sat down.

The NASA communications officer jumped in quickly. "Next question, please."

The press conference continued but Jinx barely registered the rest of it. She answered questions when directed at her, some autopilot version of herself handling the mechanics of speech while her actual consciousness was stuck in the past, replaying what had just happened.

Jinx's hands were trembling slightly under the table. She pressed them flat against her thighs and breathed.

The press conference ended. They stood, shook hands with the communications team, posed for a few final photos, and were guided back toward the green room.

Jinx should say something. She needed to say something. She opened her mouth and what came out was, "You didn't need to do that."

Caitlyn glanced at her. Her expression had returned to its normal setting: composed, neutral, slightly unreadable. "Hm?"

"I can handle my own questions."

"I-I know."

"Then why the hell did you that?"

Caitlyn was quiet for a few steps. The green room was ahead of them, the door visible at the end of the corridor.

"Because it was an inappropriate question that deserved to be corrected by the mission's commanding officer," Caitlyn answered.

Something hot flared in Jinx's chest. "Riiight. The commanding officer. That's what that was."

Caitlyn glanced sideways at her. "What does that mean?"

"You jumped in front of me like I'm some kid who can't speak for herself at the adult table."

"That's not what I did."

"That's exactly what you did! You literally said 'I'll take that one' like it was yours. You took my question, directed at me, about my qualifications, and you answered it for me." Jinx's voice was rising and she didn't care. The hallway was empty. "How do you think that looks on me? You think that helped? You think the guy who already thinks I'm a PR stunt is going to change his mind because my commander had to come rescue me?"

Caitlyn stopped walking and turned to face her fully.

"You were blindsided. I could see it on your face and I made a judgement call, which is the point of my job."

"A judgement call." Jinx laughed. "You made a judgment call that I couldn't handle myself in front of the international press all in front of every single person who already questions whether I deserve to be here and you confirmed it for them. Because the girl needed her commander to step in."

"That is not how anyone interpreted it."

"How would you know? You have no idea what it's like to be in my position!" The words were tumbling out now, hot and fast and ugly. "You walk into every room and people already assume you're competent. People know you belong. You have never once in your life had someone look at you and ask you those questions he asked me! You don't know what that feels like so you don't get to decide how I handle it!"

Caitlyn's jaw tightened. Her composure was holding but Jinx could see it failing.

"I was trying to support you," Caitlyn replied through gritted teeth.

"I didn't ask for your damn support."

"You didn't have to ask. You're my crew."

"There it is again! My crew. Like I'm under your fucking possession." Jinx jabbed a finger toward her. "I am not one of your projects, Caitlyn, and I don't need you to swoop in and save me from the big bad mean reporter."

"Excuse me, Jinx? I am the commander of this expedition, and when at work, that hierarchy exists for a reason. That man questioned your right, the credibility of my operations as a whole, and I had every right to respond."

"I COULD HAVE HANDLED IT!"

The shout echoed down the hallway, Jinx's chest heaving. Her hands were clenched at her sides into fists, trembling with adrenaline and something that burned behind her eyes.

Caitlyn stared at her. "Okay," Caitlyn said, her eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. "You want to play that game? Then I am your boss, Dr. Devaux, if you recall, and I am mission leader and everything falls to my duty."

Jinx's throat was tight.

"You don't get to pull rank on me for this," Jinx spat. "We’re not on the station yet. This was you deciding I looked weak and couldn’t handle myself."

"I didn't say you looked weak."

"Your actions said it loud and clear on international fucking television."

Caitlyn's shoulders went back and her chin came up and for a moment.

"I genuinely don't understand you," Caitlyn said, and her voice had an edge now, sharper than Jinx was used to hearing from her. "A man publicly questioned your merit on national television and your issue is with ME? With the person who corrected him?"

"My issue is that you didn't let me correct him myself!"

"You weren't correcting him! You were sitting there!" Caitlyn seemed almost startled by her own raised voice, her jaw flexing like she was trying to reel herself back in and failing.

"For three seconds," Caitlyn continued, her voice still too loud for the hallway, "you sat there and he had you. He stole the moment and any longer and all the press would have had their answer. And I was supposed to, what, watch? Watch him win? Watch the cameras capture you looking uncertain and do nothing?"

"It wasn't your place!"

"Well I'm sorry that watching someone tear down your entire career on camera while you sat there speechless wasn't something I could just observe with some fucking professional detachment!" Caitlyn's hands moved as she spoke, gesturing with a frustration that looked almost foreign on her. "What was I supposed to do, Jinx? Seriously. What was the correct response? I am genuinely trying to understand what world you live in where someone defends you and you treat it like an attack!"

"Because it felt like one!"

"HOW?" Caitlyn's eyes were wide. "Explain it to me because I cannot wrap my mind around it!"

"Because YOU said it and that means everyone watching thinks I needed you to say it! That I couldn't have said it myself!"

"That's insane."

"Excuse me?"

"That is an insane interpretation of what happened." Caitlyn's composure was properly gone now. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with frustration, her voice carrying heat. "I defended your qualifications with only positive publicly verifiable facts about your published work and your technical scores. And you're standing here acting like I insulted you. Do you hear yourself?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm crazy."

"Then stop acting like it! I did the right thing and you’re punishing me for it!"

"You took something from me!"

"WHAT? What did I take? The opportunity to respond to some sexist question from a mediocre journalist? That's what you wanted? You wanted that moment?"

"I wanted the choice! I wanted to be the one who decided how to handle it! Whether to fight him or dismiss him or tear him apart, that should have been MY call!"

Caitlyn stared at her. Her breathing was very visibly elevated, her chest rising and falling faster than normal. Two pink spots sat high on her cheekbones and her blue eyes were blazing in a way that under any other circumstances Jinx might have found, well—anyway.

"Fine," Caitlyn settled on after a moment. "Fine. Sorry that I robbed you of your autonomy. I understand the complaint. But you're not just angry about the choice, are you? You're angry that it was me specifically. Because if Vi had done it, or anyone else on this planet, you'd be grateful. But because it's me, because it's Caitlyn fucking Kiramman, it has to be a power play. It has to be condescension. It has to have an agenda."

Jinx's mouth opened and nothing came out.

"I know your work and I know what you're capable of. When that man questioned your right to be here, I felt personally offended because your presence on this mission is the single greatest asset this program has and I know that with certainty that I don't know how to make you believe." Her hands clenched at her sides. "And you just looked at me like I slapped you."

"That's not—"

"That is exactly how you looked at me." Caitlyn cut her off. "As if I alone am an amalgamation of everything wrong in your life. I don't know how to exist in a dynamic where everything I do, no matter the intention, gets interpreted as the worst possible version of itself."

Jinx's throat was closing. The anger was still there but it was getting tangled up with something else. She shoved back against that. 

"Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with controlling every situation," Jinx said, and she could hear how weak it sounded, "I wouldn't have to assume the worst."

Caitlyn looked at her for a long moment. "You know what?" She sighed. "I think you're determined to see me as the enemy. I think you need me to be the villain in your story because it's simpler than the alternative. And I can't fight that. I've been trying, and I really thought we were getting somewhere, but now I’m learning you can’t see past that at all."

"I'm not misunderstanding you."

"You are. Willfully." Caitlyn straightened her sleeves. "But fine. I'll stop trying to make you see otherwise. You want professional distance? You want me to sit silently the next time someone questions your credentials? Done. Consider it a standing order from your controlling commanding officer, since that's the only thing you'll accept from me."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Caitlyn's eyebrows rose. "I cannot believe you right now."

Jinx had nothing. Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking and she had absolutely nothing.

Caitlyn waited. Then she nodded once. "I need to debrief with the communications team about coverage," She turned away. Her voice was flat now, everything gone. Just the commander left. "I suggest you review the transcript for any corrections needed before it goes to print."

She held Jinx's eyes for one more beat. Plain and visible and not hidden behind anything. Caitlyn, for one second, let Jinx see that she was hurt.

Then it was gone.

"I'll see you at quarters," Caitlyn stated.

Jinx's back hit the wall. She slid down it until she was sitting on the cold floor with her knees pulled up, her hands in her hair, her forehead against her kneecaps.

"Fuck," Jinx whispered into her knees.

She sat on the hallway floor for four minutes and thirty-two seconds. Then she stood, grabbed her stuff from the green room, changed shirts, and left before Caitlyn could come back.

That night, Jinx was lying in bed and she was not okay.

She'd been cycling through the same emotional rotation for five hours straight: anger, guilt, anger again, confusion, guilt again, something unnameable, then back to anger. The rotation was getting faster each loop, the gaps between states shrinking until she was feeling all of them simultaneously, a nauseating emotional chord that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

Caitlyn hadn't come back to quarters before Jinx left. Or if she had, she'd gone straight to her room and shut the door.

Jinx picked up her phone and put it down. Picked it up. Put it down. Stared at the ceiling. Picked up the phone.

No texts from Caitlyn. Why would there be?

A text from Vi, three hours old: "saw the press conference! you guys looked great! proud of you sis 💪"

Jinx didn't respond.

A text from Ekko, one hour old: "yo LMAOOO" followed by a link.

Jinx stared at the link. It was TikTok. She should ignore it. She should put the phone down and go to sleep and deal with everything tomorrow.

Instead she tapped the link.

It was a clip from the press conference. The angle was the wide shot that showed both of them at the table. The video started with the rude reporter's question, cut to just the last few words for context, and then Caitlyn leaning forward. Someone had added a slow zoom on Caitlyn's face and text overlay that read: "when your captain said STAND DOWN 💀"

2.7 million views posted five hours ago.

She scrolled to the comments.

"THE WAY SHE DIDN'T EVEN HESITATE. zero seconds of deliberation. she just went for the throat"

"commander kiramman said sit the fuck down sir and he SAT"

"ok but look at devaux's FACE at 0:47 she's looking at her like 😳"

Jinx scrolled back up and went exactly to 0:47. She watched her own face, captured in high definition on international broadcast, the moment Caitlyn started speaking. Her mouth slightly opened, eyes wide, expression completely, humiliatingly vulnerable.

She looked, if you were an internet person with a romantic imagination, like she was falling in love on camera.

Jinx's face burned. She kept scrolling.

"nasa said hot girl space mission and i'm buying merch"

"I would simply pass away if caitlyn kiramman defended my honor like that"

"my equal if not superior MA'AM??? ON LIVE TELEVISION??? that's a wedding vow"

"ARE WE SHIPPING THEM because I'm shipping them"

"ok wait I did a little digging and the tall one dated the short one's SISTER???? excuse me???"

Jinx locked her phone so fast.

…

She unlocked it and kept scrolling.

More videos. Different edits of the same moment, different angles, different music, different text overlays. One had dramatic orchestral music playing over Caitlyn's defense. Another had it set to a love song Jinx didn't recognize, slowed down, with a soft filter making everything look like a movie scene.

She kept scrolling.

A compilation of every time Caitlyn looked at Jinx during the press conference. In each one, while Jinx was speaking or answering a question or even just sitting there, Caitlyn's gaze was angled toward her watching with an expression that was, Jinx had to admit when seeing it from the outside, more attentive than general professional interest warranted.

In one clip, Jinx was answering a question about her ion drive, talking with her hands the way she always did, and in the background Caitlyn's face was doing that almost-smile.

Someone had zoomed in on it and added a heart-eyes emoji and the caption: "she's so in loveeee."

Jinx's chest hurt.

She exited TikTok and opened Twitter, because apparently she was a masochist and she hated herself.

Trending: #SpaceGirlfriends

Trending: #Kiramman

She pressed on #SpaceGirlfriends.

Fan edits already made in the span of hours set to songs Jinx didn't know and set to songs she did, footage of Caitlyn's face, a side-by-side comparison of Jinx's face at the beginning of the press conference versus her face during Caitlyn's defense, captioned: "they’re in love."

"I'm not in love," Jinx told her phone screen as if it mattered.

A tweet with 52,000 likes: a screenshot of Caitlyn mid-defense, jaw set, eyes hard. Caption: "oh ik she would commit crimes for her btw."

A reply: "sending two women who look at each other like THAT into space alone"

Another reply: "the coworkers to lovers pipeline is REAL and it's funded by NASA."

Jinx wanted to throw her phone across the room. She also wanted to keep looking. The two impulses warred and the looking won.

She found a thread from an aerospace journalist titled "Interesting crew selection for NASA’s newest expedition. Two-person crew, both women, for a 6-month duration mission. Some questions about whether this represents adequate operational redundancy or whether reduced crewing introduces unacceptable risk."

The replies were split. 

A reply from a verified account, bio reading Former NASA Flight Director: "The crew configuration is sound. Automation upgrades make dual-crew operations viable. Both Kiramman and Devaux are supremely qualified. This discourse is embarrassing."

Jinx appreciated that. 

She kept scrolling and found another thread. This one somehow had compiled Jinx's background and Caitlyn’s.

"rich girl publicly defending poor girl's right to exist in the same spaces... i'm writing the dissertation"

What the fuck?

Jinx turned off her phone.

The anger was gone. It had drained out of her at some point during the scrolling. "I hate the internet," she announced to nobody in her dark room.

Jinx did not sleep well that night.

Chapter Text

A little over a month passed since Vi's birthday party. Caitlyn was used to the days being monotonous, seeing the world in greyscale. Then violet started appearing in watercolor splashes across every moment, and Caitlyn loved it, she did—she loved her, and her life was fine until she started to see blue. 

Blue was everywhere.

The night of Vi’s party had faded into obscurity, or at least Caitlyn tried to force it to. The next day, she told Vi the basics of driving Jinx home and helping her get to bed, leaving out that Jinx was downright horrible with directions when drunk, that she definitely didn’t have a cat (if Vi was wondering), that she had wanted Caitlyn to see her topless—nope, definitely did not mention any of that.

These omissions sat in her stomach like stones in a pond. Caitlyn was, fundamentally, an honest person. She valued transparency and direct communication in herself and others. The act of keeping something from Vi felt wrong in a way she couldn't articulate, because what was she keeping, exactly? Nothing had happened. Jinx was blackout drunk, wouldn’t remember any of it, and was definitely not making decisions on a sound mind. Caitlyn, in return, had operated with a level of professionalism and respect. She knew she had. She'd just helped her girlfriend's drunk sister get home safely. That was all.

But was it really?

Regardless, life continued flowing. Caitlyn continued to train, logged flight simulator hours and physical fitness sessions and review briefings. She and Vi had dinners and watched movies and existed together in their comfortable rhythm. Everything was normal and fine and good.

Enter a random weekday night, 10:47 PM.

Caitlyn was in bed with a technical manual on updated docking procedures. The capsule integration with the ISS required specific alignment protocols had been revised in the most recent software update, and Caitlyn tried to stay up to date with it.

Her phone rang. Vi's contact photo (a selfie of the two of them at a beach, Vi's arm over Caitlyn’s shoulders as Caitlyn took the photo, both of them squinting against the sun) appeared on screen.

"Vi?" She answered on the first ring.

"Hey, babe." Vi's voice was tense. There was wind noise behind her, the sound of traffic, suggesting she was outside somewhere. "I kind of need a big favor."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Jinx."

Caitlyn's body reacted before her mind caught up. Her spine straightened. Her grip on the phone tightened. A jolt of something sharp and immediate in her chest, concern or adrenaline or both.

"What about Jinx?" She kept her voice even.

"She's blackout at some club. She called me and sounded pretty messed up and asked me to come pick her up. But you know I’m out of town for work and I don't get back until tomorrow afternoon." Vi's voice was tight with frustration of being unable to help. "I've been trying to figure out what I can do but it's late and the only people I'd trust are not answering and I just. I can’t just leave her. She shouldn't be at a club alone that drunk."

Caitlyn knew where this was going from the first sentence and was already moving. She marked her page in her reading, set it aside, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Which club?"

"A place called Shimmer? It's across the city."

Caitlyn knew the area. It wasn't a good area. Late night clubs on that street populated a lesser fortunate neighborhood, and attracted all sorts of individuals.

"Can't she call a car?" Caitlyn asked, though she was already changing out of her pajamas.

"You know how she normally is." Vi's voice was heavy. "And she’s hella drunk now."

"I'll go," Caitlyn told her.

"Are you sure? I know it's a lot to spring on you. I know she's not exactly..."

"Vi. I'm leaving now."

"Cait. Fuck, thank you. Seriously. I owe you. I love you."

"You don't owe me anything. I love you too. I'll let you know when she's safe."

They hung up. Caitlyn finished dressing and she grabbed her keys and walked out.

The drive to Shimmer took longer than Caitlyn would have liked on a good day, and that definitely wasn’t now when her mind was racing with all sorts of dangerous situations Jinx could have ended up in. Caitlyn used the time to think about logistics. She would go, get Jinx, extract her, then drive her home. It should be simple and straightforward, and not the first time Caitlyn’s helped a drunk Jinx home now.

The club came into view and Caitlyn's previous assessment of the area was confirmed. Shimmer was loud before she could even see it, music thumping through the night air from a block away. The building was flashing, industrial, with a line of people outside that stretched around the corner. Neon lights spelled the name in purple over the entrance. A bouncer the size of a refrigerator leaned against the door frame.

Caitlyn pulled into the parking lot, killed the engine, and sat for a very quick moment.

She didn't have Jinx's phone number. She realized this now, in the parking lot, with something close to disbelief at her own failure to anticipate this detail. She couldn't tell Jinx she was here, nor would Jinx probably see it at this state, and also a low chance she’d even go out if she did.

She definitely had to go inside.

When she got to the door, the bouncer looked her up and down with mild amusement but waved her through without issue.

Inside, the club was everything Caitlyn typically disliked condensed into a single space. The volume was painful, bass frequencies that she could feel in her ribs that vibrated through the floor and up through her shoes into her bones. The air was incredibly hot and thick with humidity and sweat and smoke machine fog and undoubtedly the smell of spilled alcohol. Bodies were everywhere, packed onto the dance floor, pressed against the bar, occupying every dark corner and elevated surface.

The lighting was intentionally disorienting with strobes and colored washes that made the space feel like the inside of a migraine. Purple, blue, red, all colors cycling. In the strobing light, faces appeared and disappeared, expressions rendered alien and anonymous.

Caitlyn moved through the crowd with purpose. She was taller than most people here, which helped with visibility. She scanned methodically at the bar first and saw no blue hair, then looked at the perimeter (still no), then the dance floor.

The dance floor was the most dense, so many bodies in motion, pressed close, moving to the bass-heavy electronic pulse. Caitlyn positioned herself at the edge and searched, her height advantage allowing her to see over most heads.

She spotted Jinx in the center of the floor.

Jinx was dancing. Her body moved with unconscious rhythm, hips swaying, arms above her head, her entire small frame given over to the music. She was wearing a black mesh top that was barely a shirt at all, the mesh sheer enough to reveal a dark bra beneath, and shorts so short that it moved with every hip rotation, riding up her thighs. Why was this sight becoming familiar? The blue braids were loose tonight, whipping around her shoulders as she moved, catching the purple lights and seeming to glow.

She was… incandescent. Even across a crowded floor, even in simultaneously dark and blinding lights, even among dozens of other dancing bodies, Jinx commanded attention. There was something about the way she moved that was completely uninhibited, completely free, like she'd forgotten that anyone was watching and existed only in the music and her own body.

And then Caitlyn saw the other woman.

She was tall. Significantly taller than Jinx, though most people were. Blonde hair that fell past her shoulders in a golden cascade that caught every light in the club and seemed to shine even in the darkness. She had delicate features, almost doll-like in their symmetry: wide blue eyes, a small upturned nose, full lips curved in a gentle, inviting smile. She looked like a model, long-limbed and graceful, and she was dressed in white that contrasted against the club's dark aesthetic. For a moment, a flash of what could only be described as insecurity passed through Caitlyn. 

For what?

This woman was beautiful.

And she was dancing with Jinx.

Close. Getting closer. Their bodies nearly touching. The blonde woman's hips mirrored Jinx's rhythm, matching her movement with easy synchronization. She leaned down and said something close to Jinx's ear, something that made Jinx laugh, her head tipping back, her neck exposed, and the blonde woman leaned down slightly more, her lips grazing Jinx’s skin.

Caitlyn had never seen Jinx smile or laugh like that with her.

The blonde woman's hand found Jinx's hip.

Something ignited in Caitlyn's chest.

A surge of something hot and sharp that flooded her system like adrenaline that made her hands clench and her jaw tighten and her vision narrow to a point focused entirely on that hand on Jinx's hip.

Someone’s hand.

On Jinx's hip.

Where Caitlyn had placed her own hand weeks ago, steadying Jinx while she brushed her teeth. Where Caitlyn had held her, walking her up three flights of stairs. Where Caitlyn's palm now familiarly knew the shape of, the warmth of, from a night that apparently no one except Caitlyn remembered.

This tall, beautiful stranger. This person who didn't know Jinx, who didn't know about her brilliance or her thesis or that she didn’t have a cat or the layout of her apartment or the way her voice could be so soft and unguarded. This woman was touching her and Jinx was letting her and Jinx was laughing and the woman's hand was sliding from hip to waist and pulling Jinx closer and their bodies were flush now, moving together, and Jinx's eyes were closed with an expression of loose, drunk contentment.

Caitlyn moved.

She didn't think about it. Her body moved across the dance floor of its own volition, weaving between dancing bodies, crossing the distance.

She inserted herself between them.

She forced her way into the narrow space between Jinx and the blonde woman and turned to face the stranger with a smile that was polite and pleasant and entirely a lie.

"Hi," Caitlyn greeted. Her voice was pitched to carry over the music, clear and certain. "Sorry to interrupt."

The blonde woman blinked. Her eyes widened, taking in Caitlyn's appearance, the way she'd appeared from nowhere like a summoned entity. Up close this stranger was even prettier, deep blue eyes and long lashes and for a moment Caitlyn felt like her own didn’t compare. Did Jinx think this woman had great blue eyes? Did Jinx think the sky looked prettier on this woman’s face? Did Jinx think this woman was pretty and tall, too?

"She's with me," Caitlyn tried to say with as little venom as possible in her voice. And as she said it, she wrapped her arm around Jinx's waist.

The blonde woman looked at Jinx, then at Caitlyn, then at the arm around Jinx's waist. Understanding crossed her face, followed by disappointment, followed by graceful acceptance.

"Oh," she nodded. Her voice was sweet, high, and gentle. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"No harm done." Caitlyn's smile didn't waver.

The blonde woman raised a hand in a small wave toward Jinx, a farewell gesture, and then she turned and disappeared into the crowd, her golden hair swallowed by the bodies and the dark.

Caitlyn's arm was still around Jinx's waist. Jinx, who had gone from eyes-closed bliss to confusion to recognition in the span of seconds, was looking up at Caitlyn with an expression that was rapidly cycling toward fury.

"Caitlyn?" Jinx shouted over the music. Her eyes were glassy with alcohol but sharp with something else. "What the fuck?"

"We're leaving," Caitlyn stated. She tightened her arm and began guiding Jinx toward the exit, toward the glowing sign that promised escape from the noise and the heat.

"The fuck we are!" Jinx planted her feet though ineffective, given that they were on a crowded dance floor and people kept bumping them. "I was dancing! I was having a good time! Let go of me!"

"Vi called me," Caitlyn said into Jinx's ear, leaning down. "You called Vi because you were too drunk and she couldn't come so she asked me to."

"That was so long ago! I'm fine now!"

Caitlyn looked at the dilated pupils, the unsteady posture, the flush across her cheeks. "You are not fine."

"Let go of me, Caitlyn." Jinx's voice was rising, her small body tensing against Caitlyn's hold. "I'm serious."

"We can discuss this outside. Come on."

Caitlyn kept moving. She was bigger and stronger and Jinx was drunk enough that her resistance, while spirited, was physically ineffective. Caitlyn guided them through the crowd, her arm firm around Jinx, her other hand clearing a path. People moved aside for them, perhaps sensing the tension, or something else.

They burst through the back door into the parking lot. The night air hit them refreshingly cool and clean after the club's oppressive atmosphere. The sudden relative silence (the music still thumped through the walls) was almost disorienting.

Jinx wrenched herself free the instant they were outside.

The force of her escape sent her stumbling back, catching herself against a parked car. She rounded on Caitlyn with her whole body, every line of her small frame vibrating with anger.

"What the actual fuck?" Jinx's voice was loud in the parking lot, raw and angry. "What the actual FUCK, Caitlyn?"

"Jinx, lower your voice."

"Don't you tell me to lower my voice! You just cockblocked me! Do you know who that was? Do you know how hot she was?"

"No, I do not, nor do I care how attractive she was."

"Of course you don't! Because you just swoop in and decide what's best for everyone! God's gift to decision-making! Caitlyn fucking Kiramman knows best!"

"You were too drunk to make that decision with a stranger and you know it."

"I am NOT too drunk! I'm at a club! People are drunk at clubs! That's the whole point!" Jinx's hands were gesturing wildly, her small body radiating so much energy. "She was gorgeous and she was into me and we were having fun and you just—you showed up and took that away like you have ANY right to say that!"

"I was trying to help you!"

"I didn't ask for your help!"

"Vi asked me to come!"

"I was fine by the time you showed up! I was more than fine! I was having the best night I've had in months and you ruined it!"

Caitlyn stood very still. The parking lot lights buzzed above them casting the scene in unflattering clarity. Jinx's makeup was smudged. Her mesh top hung off one shoulder. Her shorts were twisted slightly from the dancing and the exit. She was beautiful and furious and shaking.

"Who are you to police me?" Jinx demanded. Her voice cracked slightly on the question but she pushed through it, jabbing a finger in Caitlyn's direction. "Huh? Who the fuck are you? You're not my sister. You're not my friend. You're my sister's girlfriend who shows up uninvited and kidnaps me and acts like she has some claim."

"I do not act like I have a claim on you."

"Then WHY?" Jinx's voice broke higher. "Why did you do that? Why did you come in there and act like that?"

"Because it was the fastest way to get you away from a situation that could have gone badly, that, need I remind you, I was sent here to do!"

"That's bullshit!"

Caitlyn opened her mouth but faltered.

Jinx was right, in a way. It sort of was bullshit. The rational explanation, the logical justification Caitlyn was trying was a fiction and they both knew it. There were a hundred ways Caitlyn could have handled this situation that didn't involve inserting herself harshly and claiming Jinx like a possession. She could have waited a bit and watched. She could have tapped Jinx's shoulder and told her then that Vi sent her. She could have stayed at the edge of the floor and caught Jinx's eye and beckoned her over.

She hadn't done any of those things.

She had seen another woman's hand on Jinx's waist and she had crossed a crowded room and she had done it because the alternative, the idea of walking away, of letting that blonde woman keep touching Jinx, of watching Jinx leave with her, had been physically unbearable.

The truth was ugly and Caitlyn couldn't say it.

"I'm a grown fucking woman!" Jinx was still going, her voice ragged now, the anger running hot but starting to fray at the edges. "I make my own choices! I decide who I go home with and who I don't and it's not your business! It is NEVER your business!"

"You're right," Caitlyn relented.

"Fuck off!" Jinx's voice went higher still, almost a shout. "I'm not your fucking girlfriend!"

Caitlyn felt the words in her chest.

"You don't have that right," Jinx continued, and her voice was changing now, the anger still present in the set of her jaw and the tension of her shoulders but something else creeping in underneath, something that was making her voice thinner, tighter, less stable. "You and I don't have that relationship."

Jinx was crying.

Just one tear. It fell from the corner of Jinx's left eye, cutting through the smudged remnants of whatever makeup she'd worn into the club, sliding down her cheek in a single line. Jinx didn't seem to notice it, or if she did, she didn’t care to acknowledge it. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. Her whole body was rigid.

Caitlyn stood in the parking lot and looked at Jinx, small and furious and crying one single silent tear, and felt the ground shift beneath her understanding of everything.

"You're right," Caitlyn felt her chest heaving. "I'm sorry. I overstepped. But I'm still taking you home."

Jinx stared at her for a long moment. The fury was still there but it was exhausted now, spent, the bonfire burning down to embers. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, roughly, the motion angry.

"Fine," Jinx said. "Fine. Whatever."

The drive to Jinx's apartment was half an hour of absolute silence.

"Do you... want to stop for tacos?" Caitlyn tried, once, remembering last time. Her plea wasn't meant with any type of response.

Jinx remained pressed herself against the passenger door, as far from Caitlyn as the car's interior allowed. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her face turned to the window, her breath fogging the glass. She didn't speak or look at Caitlyn once.

Caitlyn drove. She knew the destination now, she didn't need directions. The city passed outside the windows, dark and quiet, streetlights pooling on empty roads. The only sounds were the engine and the occasional swish of passing cars and Jinx's breathing, slightly uneven, slightly shaky.

Caitlyn wanted to say something. She wanted to explain, to apologize properly, to articulate the thing that had driven her across that dance floor. But every sentence she composed in her head made no sense, and so she said nothing.

When they arrived, Jinx had her seatbelt off before the car was fully turned off. Her hand was on the door handle. She paused.

Caitlyn waited.

Jinx's hand tightened on the handle. Her shoulders rose with a breath. Then she pushed the door open, swung her legs out, and stood.

She was steadier tonight than before. Perhaps angry enough and hurt enough that adrenaline was overriding the alcohol. She stood without wavering, her back straight, her small frame silhouetted against the apartment building's dim lighting.

She didn't look back.

Caitlyn watched her walk across the parking lot.

Wait, Caitlyn thought. Wait, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I don't know why. Please turn around. Please look at me.

Jinx went inside. The door closed behind her.

Caitlyn sat in her car for a long time, keeping her hands on the steering wheel. The engine was off and the car was cooling around her and outside the light flickered its irregular pattern and somewhere in the building above her, Jinx was (hopefully, successfully) climbing three flights of stairs alone.

I'm not your fucking girlfriend.

Caitlyn leaned forward until her forehead rested against the steering wheel.

Why did she do it? Why did she cross that dance floor? Why was another woman's hand on Jinx's hip enough to override every rational thought in Caitlyn's mind?

(She suspected why.)

Caitlyn drove home. She texted Vi: "She's home safe. Was a bit upset with me but fine."

Vi replied within a minute: "Thank you so much. I owe you one. Sorry she was difficult."

Caitlyn typed a response. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted it. Typed a third.

"Don't worry, love. Get some sleep."

Caitlyn went to bed. She lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling and did not sleep for hours.

When she finally did sleep, she dreamed about a parking lot and tears and the sound of a door closing.

The weeks after the club incident were an exercise in suffering.

Caitlyn went through the standard routine of her life with no change. Training. Fitness. Work. Briefings. Home. Vi. But something was off.

Vi noticed. Of course Vi noticed. She noticed when Caitlyn's laugh was delayed by half a second. When Caitlyn's goodnight kisses landed slightly off-center. When Caitlyn's attention drifted during conversations, her eyes going distant, her mind clearly somewhere else.

"Hey," Vi said one evening, over dinner at Caitlyn's. "You okay? You've been somewhere else lately."

Caitlyn looked up from her plate. "I’m okay. Just tired. The training schedule has been intense."

Vi studied her for a moment. Her eyes were warm, concerned, loving. She reached across the table and squeezed Caitlyn's hand.

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"Of course."

Another lie. Added to the growing pile.

Caitlyn hated herself a little more each day. The dishonesty was corrosive. It ate at the foundation of who she believed herself to be. And yet here she was, evading the truth, smiling at her girlfriend while her mind had begun to circle endlessly around someone else.

She tried to stop. She tried to put Jinx out of her mind, to close the box, to reassert control over her own consciousness. She threw herself into work with renewed intensity. She logged extra simulator hours. She read everything she could get her hands on. She exercised until her muscles burned and her mind went quiet.

But in the spaces between, in the shower, in the car, in the dark before sleep, she was left with nothing but her own unwelcome thoughts.

How long could it continue this way?

The answer, after the fact, was not long. 

Vi and her were in Caitlyn's bed. The evening had been unremarkable, consisting of dinner (Caitlyn cooked salmon with roasted vegetables), a show they'd been watching together (something Vi chose, a crime drama that Caitlyn found slightly formulaic but Vi enjoyed), then bed. Vi was scrolling through her phone. Caitlyn was reading on her tablet. It was domestic.

"Hey," Vi started.

"Yes, love?"

"I think we should break up."

Chapter Text

Jinx couldn't exactly verbalize why Caitlyn defending her so earnestly put her on edge. She wasn't even trying to be difficult. She truly didn't mean to be. There were times in the past where Jinx purposefully said something or did something to tick someone off (namely: Caitlyn) but that genuinely wasn't the case here.

Why did Caitlyn's care hurt her so much?

It was a question she kept turning over in her brain like a Rubik's cube, one that kept presenting new color configurations every time she thought she was close to an answer. Was it because acceptance from Caitlyn threatened the narrative she'd built in her head? That Caitlyn Kiramman is disgustingly privileged, controlling, and everything she had spent her life hating? The very same story that kept her safe, that maintained a distance between them and that meant she didn't have to examine why her pulse jumped when Caitlyn entered a room?

If Caitlyn genuinely cared about her, truly respected her work, and really did feel personal offense when Jinx was “attacked”, then the narrative collapsed. And if the narrative collapsed, then what was left?

Jinx wasn't ready for that.

But understanding why she reacted the way she did and knowing how to fix it were entirely separate problems, assuming there was anything to fix at all.

Jinx tried to think about it in the breaks between work, which had devolved into full-blown preparations for blast off and the station itself. Getting a proper moment's rest was, frankly, nearly impossible. There were equipment reviews, procedure walk-throughs, experiment loadout verifications, physical fitness maintenance, psychological evaluations (those were the worst and consisted of sitting across from a specialist who asked how she was feeling when Jinx could barely look at her one and only crewmate).

It was made no easier by the fact that Caitlyn was ignoring her.

Or, perhaps more accurately: maintaining a rigid professional distance that was somehow worse. Full ignorance would imply that Caitlyn was affected, and was feeling something about what happened between them. But this distance? This was worse. This was Caitlyn operating as if Jinx was simply another colleague, another name on a roster, another body.

They ran through drills together, they performed test experiments, preparations, even those damn bonding exercises with Mel, and all the while Caitlyn's stupidly perfectly neutral face never faded. She acted like nothing had happened, ever happened between her and Jinx, like they truly didn’t know each other outside of the building at all and all of it had been some hallucination Jinx constructed alone.

In the bonding sessions, Caitlyn was open and friendly and cooperative in front of Mel. She said the right things. She asked appropriate questions. She made eye contact and nodded at appropriate intervals and performed every aspect of interpersonal engagement that the exercises required.

And then they left the room and it changed.

"Good work today, Dr. Devaux," Caitlyn would say in the hallway after. Dr. Devaux. Every time. With that perfect professional courtesy that gave Jinx nothing to push against.

Jinx wanted to scream. Call me Jinx.

But she didn't say it because she was the one who'd drawn the line. She was the one who'd accused Caitlyn of performing, of strategizing, of basically making everything into the "Caitlyn Kiramman Show." She was the one who'd demanded distance in her way and Caitlyn was simply giving her what she'd asked for.

This was what Jinx wanted, right?

Didn't she say she and Caitlyn would just be the most perfect professional colleagues ever? Now Caitlyn was acting as precisely that, as nothing more than the respectable, nice, capable coworker. So why the hell did Jinx care?

It didn't help that every night she went on her phone, her social media was still flooded with edits and anonymous users insisting she and Caitlyn were "down bad" and "incredibly fucking gay" for each other. The press conference footage refused to die. New edits appeared daily, set to new songs, with new filters, new slow-motion zooms on new microseconds of interaction. Jinx even saw her follower count across all platforms rise, and when she checked who was following her, it was all ship accounts. Accounts with names like "expeditionl0vers" and "kirammandevaux" and "spacegfs" with profile pictures that were cropped screenshots of the two of them.

If these people knew what was truly going on behind the scenes, would they still ship them? What would they say? Would they defend Caitlyn or Jinx? Would they call Jinx ungrateful? Would they call Caitlyn overbearing?

Why did it matter?

Did it matter?

To make matters worse, they were about to enter quarantine together. The Health Stabilization Program, NASA called it. Before astronauts are cleared for launch, they enter a controlled isolation period, typically lasting fourteen days, designed to minimize the risk of carrying any communicable illness to the station. A cold, a flu, or even a mild respiratory infection that would be a minor inconvenience on Earth could become a dangerous medical situation in the closed environment of the ISS with limited pharmaceutical options and no possibility of rapid return.

Fourteen days of confined living, just her and Caitlyn in a shared space with limited outside contact.

The first week would be spent in Houston, at modified crew quarters near the Johnson Space Center. Then, approximately six days before the scheduled launch date, they would fly to Kennedy Space Center in Florida and take up residence in the astronaut crew quarters inside the Neil Armstrong Operations and Checkout Building. The whole period would be spent continuing final training activities, running mission simulations, completing medical checkouts, and avoiding any exposure to illness.

The quarantine guidelines were strict but not exactly prison-like. They could continue contact with friends, family, and colleagues who themselves followed quarantine protocols of health screenings, temperature checks, masks and distance maintenance. But they couldn't go to public places and couldn't interact freely with anyone who hadn't been medically cleared. Their world would shrink dramatically from the normal scope of daily life to the contained ecosystem of their shared quarters and approved training facilities.

Jinx arrived at the Houston quarantine quarters with one large duffel bag and three laptop cases. The space was nice, actually, nicer than her last assigned apartment. A shared living room contained a comfortable couch and a television and a bookshelf that someone had stocked with a mix of paperbacks and technical journals. There was a small kitchen with full appliances and a refrigerator that the quarantine support staff would restock. Individual bedrooms on opposite sides of the living area. One shared bathroom, which was less ideal but survivable.

Caitlyn's things were already there when Jinx arrived. Her bedroom door was open and Jinx could see inside as she passed: a small stack of books on the nightstand, clothing already hung in the closet with color-coordinated hangers, toiletries arranged on the dresser.

Caitlyn herself was in the kitchen. She was wearing civilian clothes, which was somehow more jarring than seeing her in uniform. Dark jeans and a fitted gray pullover and her hair down, loose past her shoulders. She was organizing something in a cabinet, her back to the entrance.

"I'm here," Jinx announced from the doorway.

Caitlyn turned. "Good afternoon, Dr. Devaux. Your room is on the right side. The support staff dropped off the initial provisions this morning. If you have any dietary preferences that weren't on your submitted form, we can update the order."

"Nope. I'm good."

"Alright. We have a mission simulation scheduled for tomorrow at 0900 at the training facility. Transport arrives at 0830."

"Got it."

Caitlyn nodded once and turned back to the cabinet. Conversation over. 

Jinx stood in the doorway for another few seconds, waiting for something she couldn't name, and then grabbed her bags and went to her room and closed the door and sat on the bed and stared at the wall.

Fourteen days of this.

She pulled out her phone.

Jinx: entering quarantine now

Jinx: pray for me

Vi: you'll be great!! have fun!!! try to be nice!!

Jinx: im always nice

Vi: Jinx.

Jinx: WHAT

Vi: just try okay? 

Jinx locked her phone without responding and fell backward onto the mattress. The ceiling of her quarantine bedroom was white and featureless.

Caitlyn woke early. Jinx knew this from the first few days because she could hear her through the apartment despite their rooms being on opposite sides. The coffee maker was running, the soft pad of footsteps going from kitchen to bathroom to the small fitness area.

By the time Jinx emerged each morning, Caitlyn was already showered and dressed and usually sitting at the kitchen table with her tablet and a cup of tea, reviewing something.

"Good morning," Caitlyn would say without looking up.

"Morning," Jinx would reply.

And that was it. That was the full extent of their non-work-related interaction. 

Coffee was made and available. Jinx noticed that Caitlyn had figured out (from where?) that Jinx took her coffee black and strong. The French press was always full of something rich and it was always ready when Jinx appeared.

Jinx just drank the coffee and said nothing and hated herself a little more each morning.

Their training activities continued. Mission simulations at the nearby facility, medical checkouts, emergency procedure rehearsals, coordinating responses to simulated crises.

The work was fine. Their professional synchronization hadn't degraded despite the personal tension. If anything, the absence of personal connection made their professional interactions cleaner, sharper, more efficient. There was no banter to derail a drill. No moments where Jinx lost her train of thought because Caitlyn said something unexpectedly warm or funny or insightful.

They were a perfect professional crew.

It was fucking miserable.

Jinx was on the couch with her laptop, working on a final calibration model for the ion drive test chamber. The math was complicated and absorbing and ate her whole brain so she was grateful for the distraction.

Caitlyn was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled like garlic and herbs and was actually really good, which was annoying because Jinx's own culinary contributions to the quarantine household consisted of cereal consumed directly from the box and one attempt at pasta.

The domestic sounds of Caitlyn cooking filled the quiet of the apartment and Jinx tried to focus on her calculations and not on the image of Caitlyn in the kitchen, cooking.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Caitlyn announced from the kitchen. "If you'd like some."

"Sure," Jinx said to her screen. "Thanks."

Twenty minutes later they were at the kitchen table. Caitlyn had made chicken with roasted vegetables and some kind of grain. They ate in silence for approximately four minutes before Jinx's tolerance reached its limit.

"This is good," she complimented. 

"Thank you." Caitlyn took a bite. Nothing else.

More silence. 

The sound of forks on plates. 

Jinx lasted another two minutes.

"Do you always cook like this?"

"Like what?"

"Well… good, I guess?"

Caitlyn's fork paused. "I enjoy cooking as a meditative task."

"Huh."

The conversation died again. 

Jinx ate the rest of her dinner and washed her plate and went back to her laptop and did not ask Caitlyn any more questions.

This was what she'd asked for.

Day 6 and they were at the JSC medical facility in adjacent rooms, going through the standard pre-quarantine health verification. Blood draws, vitals, vision tests, cardiac monitoring.

Jinx sat on the exam table in a paper gown that crinkled every time she breathed and stared at the wall and thought about how everything was about to change.

The doctor pressed a stethoscope to Jinx's back. "Deep breath in."

Jinx inhaled.

"And out."

She exhaled.

"Your resting heart rate is elevated compared to your last check," The doctor noted, reviewing her chart. "78 beats per minute, up from your baseline of 64. Any particular stressors?"

"I'm about to be launched into space in a rocket," Jinx replied. "So maybe."

The doctor smiled. "Fair. Any interpersonal concerns you'd like to discuss? The psychologist is available for additional sessions if needed."

"Nope. Everything's great."

"Alright. Your physical markers are all within acceptable range. You're cleared for continued quarantine and pending final check before launch."

"Awesome."

Jinx dressed and exited the exam room. Caitlyn was already in the hallway, dressed, leaning against the wall with her arms folded and her eyes on her phone. She looked up when Jinx appeared.

"All clear?" Caitlyn asked.

"Yep. You?"

"Clear."

They walked to the transport vehicle together in silence.

Two days later Jinx had a nightmare.

This wasn't unusual. She'd had nightmares her whole life, the impact of her… complicated childhood she didn’t like to dwell on. Usually they involved fire, or falling, or voices she would never see again. Many times they involved a situation where Jinx was forced to watch and unable to help.

The latest one involved the launch.

In the dream, the rocket was on the pad and the countdown was running and everything was normal until ignition, and then instead of the clean controlled thrust of nine engines, there was an actual catastrophic explosion. The capsule disintegrated around her, the heat rose exponentially, and she had about a max of three seconds of consciousness before...

She woke up gasping.

Her t-shirt was damp with sweat. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was coming in short, shallow bursts that she recognized intellectually as the precursors of a panic attack.

She pressed her palms flat against the mattress and counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Breathe in. Hold. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Breathe out.

It wasn't working.

The walls of her bedroom were too close. The ceiling was too low. The space was too small and she was going to be in a much smaller space soon, strapped to a chair, helpless, depending on engineering and physics and controlled chemical reactions to keep her alive and if even one tiny bolt failed, if one seal cracked, if one calculation was off...

She needed air. 

Jinx shot up, her legs unsteady. She opened her bedroom door and stumbled into the dark living area and went straight for the kitchen where there was a window.

She made it to the counter and gripped the edge of it and stared out the window at the Houston night. Stars faint through the light pollution. The moon, half-full, hanging there steady and constant.

One. Two. Three. Four.

"Jinx?"

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

She flinched so hard she nearly knocked a bowl off the counter.

Caitlyn was standing in the hallway entrance to the living area. She was in sleep clothes, her hair loose and slightly tangled from sleep. 

She didn’t call her Dr. Devaux.

"I'm fine," Jinx managed.

Caitlyn didn't move from her spot for a moment. She seemed to be calculating something, weighing something, her expression cycling through uncertainty in a way Jinx wasn't used to seeing on her, then she came into the kitchen.

"You're having a panic attack," Caitlyn declared. But her voice was the soft one that Jinx hadn't heard in days.

"I'm not. I'm—fine."

"Your hands are shaking and you're breathing at approximately thirty breaths per minute. That's twice your normal rate."

"No—I’m—fine."

"Okay." Caitlyn didn't argue. She also didn't leave. She moved to the counter perpendicular to Jinx's position, about four feet away, and leaned against it.

They stood in the dark kitchen for a minute in silence. Jinx continued to grip the counter and Caitlyn leaned against the adjacent one. The only sound was Jinx's breathing, gradually slowing.

"I dreamed the rocket exploded," Jinx heard herself explain.

Caitlyn was quiet for a moment. Then: "The Challenger disaster?" The Challenger disaster was a space shuttle that disintegrated a minute into the air, killing all crew members.

"Less fire, more... pressure change." Jinx's grip on the counter tightened. "I could feel myself... in the dream. I felt the capsule breaking apart around me."

"That's a common anxiety dream for astronauts pre-launch. Almost everyone has some variation of it."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

Jinx looked at her. In the dim light from the window, Caitlyn's face was partially illuminated, partially in shadow. She looked different like this. The rigid composure that characterized her during waking hours was loosened by sleep, and the person underneath was someone Jinx rarely got to see.

"What happens in yours?" Jinx asked lowly.

Caitlyn's eyes moved to the window. "In mine, the launch goes fine. Everything is nominal. And then once we're in orbit, something fails and I don't catch it in time." Her voice was very controlled but very quiet. "In my version, the failure is my fault."

She dreamed about being responsible and failing. She dreamed about not being good enough, not fast enough, not attentive enough. She dreamed about the weight of command.

They were quiet for another minute. Jinx's breathing had evened out. The panic was receding, the physiological cascade slowing, her heart rate dropping back toward something manageable. Having another person in the room helped. 

Having Caitlyn there helped. She could admit that, at least to herself at this moment. 

"Thank you," Jinx said. 

"I heard you moving loudly. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"You could have just gone back to sleep."

"I couldn't have, actually."

They stood together for another few minutes, existing in the same dark kitchen. And Jinx felt the tension between them ease, just barely, like a fist unclenching one finger at a time.

Then Caitlyn spoke: "Go back to sleep. We have the final simulation assessment at 0800 and I need you at full capacity. Performance reviews will be documented."

And just like that, the fist closed again.

Commander Kiramman, reporting back for duty. 

Jinx's jaw tightened. "Right. Wouldn't want my performance reviews to suffer."

Amicro-movement, the slightest tightening around Caitlyn’s eyes, "That's not what I... I just meant that sleep is important for..."

"I got it." Jinx pushed off the counter. "Goodnight, Commander."

She walked back to her room. 

Fuck.

Jinx pressed her hands over her face.

It was becoming a habit that she didn't sleep much.

They flew to Kennedy Space Center on day nine.

The astronaut crew quarters in the Neil Armstrong Operations and Checkout Building were comfortable and contained the same layout as the Houston space, generally, with a shared living area, individual rooms, kitchen, and a small gym. The walls were lined with photographs of previous crews stretching back decades. Men and women in orange and white and blue suits, giving thumbs up, posing with arms around each other, smiling at cameras. Historical faces Jinx recognized from textbooks. People who had done this before her, who had sat in these same rooms and felt what she was feeling now.

She touched the frame of a photo as she passed. An early 2000s crew, six of them, grouped tight together and grinning. They looked like people who believed absolutely in what they were about to do.

"We'll be up there too," Caitlyn said from behind her. "After the mission."

Jinx pulled her hand back and moved on without responding.

The remaining days before launch were utterly consumed by final training activities. Mission simulations replicated launch day procedures step by step, practiced until they were muscle memory. Medical checkouts, the final round, blood draws and cardiac monitoring and neurological assessments, the last bureaucratic barrier between them and the rocket.

Suit fittings. The pressure garments, custom-molded, received their final adjustments. Every seal was verified. Every measurement confirmed.

Jinx stood in her suit during the final fitting and felt the weight of it settle onto her body. 

"Seal integrity confirmed," the suit tech announced, checking each connection point. "All indicators are green. You're cleared, Dr. Devaux."

"Thanks."

She stepped out of the fitting room and found Caitlyn in the corridor, already suited, reviewing something on a tablet. She looked up.

"All good?" Caitlyn asked.

"Green across the board."

"Good."

Caitlyn returned to her tablet. Jinx stood there for an extra second, watching her, then turned and walked toward the changing area.

Jinx called Vi.

It was evening. Caitlyn was in her room doing God knows what and Jinx sat cross-legged on her bed with her phone propped on the nightstand, Vi's face filling the screen.

Vi looked the same as always.

"Hey, space girl."

"Hey. I’m leaving soon."

"Two days." Vi's grin shifted into something more serious. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrified. Also I've never been more ready for anything in my life."

"Sounds about right." Vi leaned closer to her camera. "You're going to be incredible up there. You know that, right?"

"I know." Jinx picked at a thread on her blanket. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'm gonna miss you too. But six months will fly by. No pun intended."

"Terrible pun."

"Thank you, I try."

They talked for over an hour. Vi told her what she planned during Jinx's space adventure, including (but not limited to) a cross-country road trip she'd been meaning to take, finally getting their shared storage unit organized, and maybe adopting a dog. She asked what Jinx was most excited about on station and the answer, of course, was her experiments obviously, but also seeing the aurora from above and experiencing sixteen sunrises a day.

"Hey, Vi?" Jinx said, near the end of the call.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for, like, everything. My whole life. Getting me here."

Vi's eyes went shiny. "Don't make me cry, asshole."

"I'm serious!"

"I know." Vi pressed a hand against her eyes and laughed. "You did this yourself, Jinx. Your brain, your work, your fight. I just made sure you ate enough meals along the way."

"That's not nothing."

Vi dropped her hand. "I love you. Go to space and come back in one piece, alright?"

"I love you too."

They hung up. Jinx stared at her phone screen for a while. Vi's contact photo stared back.

She called Ekko next.

"Yo," he answered immediately. His face appeared, slightly blurry, his workshop visible behind him. "Two days, right?"

"Two days."

"How are you?"

"Conflicted as fuck."

"About the mission or about the hot commander?"

"Ekko, I swear to god."

"I'm just asking! The internet has opinions! I've seen the edits!"

"Stop watching the edits."

"They're compelling! That one set to the Hozier song actually made me feel things."

"Yeah, goodbye."

"Okay okay okay." Ekko held up his hands in surrender. "For real though. How's the situation?"

Jinx pulled her knees to her chest. "We're being professional. She's being professional."

"Sounds miserable."

"It is."

"Have you considered, and hear me out here, apologizing?"

"For what?"

"Jinx."

"I was right!"

"Sure."

Jinx was quiet. Ekko knew her too well. 

"Maybe," she conceded.

"So apologize."

"Since when are you giving wise advice?"

"Since always. Maybe you should start listening."

Jinx laughed despite herself. "I'll think about it."

"Think fast. You're about to be locked in a can with her for six months."

"Thank you, Ekko, for reminding me of that because I had completely forgotten."

"That's what I'm here for." His expression softened. "Anyway. I'm proud of you. You know that?"

"Yeah I know."

"Good. Can you bring me a piece of the moon back?"

"That's not how any of this works."

"I don't care. Make it happen."

They hung up and Jinx was smiling and also her eyes were wet and she wiped them roughly with the back of her hand and fell back on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Two days.

Launch day minus one.

Suit fit checks, one more time, confirming everything was perfect. Communication system testing, verifying that every channel between the capsule, mission control, and the station was operational. Weather briefings for the launch window. Final review of abort scenarios and contingency procedures.

Jinx moved through the day in a state of heightened alertness. She noticed things she usually tuned out like the precise shade of blue in the sky, the smell of salt in the air from the nearby coast, how the ground crews moved with quiet efficiency and purpose.

In the afternoon, the crew families arrived for the pre-launch visit.

A controlled, quarantine-compliant opportunity for astronauts to see their loved ones one final time before launch. The visitors went through health screenings, wore masks, and were supposed to maintain distance.

Vi came in the designated visitation area when Jinx walked in, standing with her arms already open, and Jinx forgot about dignity and professionalism and distance requirements and ran across the room to hit her sister at full speed.

"Oof." Vi caught her and wrapped her arms around her. 

They held on for a long time. Vi's hand was on the back of Jinx's head, holding her close, and Jinx pressed her face into Vi's shoulder and breathed and tried to memorize the feeling.

"You got this," Vi murmured against her hair.

Jinx nodded into her shoulder.

When they finally separated, Vi's eyes were red but she was smiling and Jinx was blinking too fast but also smiling and they looked at each other and didn't need to say anything else.

Ekko had shown up too. He was leaning against the wall in the back trying to look casual and failing.

"Moon rock," he reminded when Jinx approached.

"Shut up," Jinx replied, and hugged him.

He hugged her back. "Kick ass up there," he told her.

"Obviously."

That was all Jinx needed. Vi and Ekko. Her people. Her tiny crew on the ground. She didn't need a large farewell party or emotional speeches from a dozen acquaintances.

She lingered with them for the allotted time, talking and laughing and soaking in their presence like sunlight before a long winter. When the quarantine officer signaled that visitation was ending, Jinx hugged Vi one more time and squeezed Ekko's shoulder and walked away.

In the hallway, returning to the crew quarters, she passed the adjacent visitation room. The door was partially open and through it Jinx could see Caitlyn.

She was with her parents Jinx recognized them from photos and from the briefest descriptions Vi had given her years ago. A tall man with silver temples and Caitlyn's exact bone structure. A woman with dark hair (Caitlyn's shade exactly) and honestly could have passed for Caitlyn’s older sister.

They were speaking in voices too low for Jinx to hear through the door. Caitlyn's father had one hand on her shoulder. Her mother was holding both of Caitlyn's hands in hers. Their expressions appeared conflicted, understandably..

Caitlyn said something. Her mother laughed, a short sound, and pulled Caitlyn into a hug. Caitlyn's arms came around her mother and held. Jinx could see, even from the hallway, even from this angle, that Caitlyn's eyes were closed and her expression was open how it never was around Jinx anymore.

Her father joined the embrace with both arms around both women.

Jinx looked away and kept walking. 

T-minus… ah fuck it, it was launch day.

Jinx's alarm was set for 3:30 AM but she was awake before it. She had been awake since 2, maybe, lying in the dark with her eyes open and her mind running through the sequence for the thousandth time.

She got up at 3:15, before the alarm. Her body was electric, adrenaline already flooding her system despite the early hour. She showered, dressed in the pre-launch clothing that would go under the pressure suit. She braided her hair tight against her head.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. "You're going to space today," She told her reflection.

Her reflection stared back, looking slightly terrified.

She emerged from her room at 3:45 to find Caitlyn already in the living area also dressed and alert. She stood, hands clasped behind her back, looking outward.

She turned when Jinx appeared.

"Ready?" Caitlyn asked.

"Yeah." Jinx's voice was steady and she was surprised by it. "You?"

"Yes."

They were driven to the pre-launch preparation area where the suit technicians were waiting. The suiting-up process was long and meticulous, each step performed with the focus and reverence of ritual. The cooling undergarment first, a full-body layer threaded with thin tubes that would circulate temperature-regulating fluid against Jinx's skin during the heat of ascent. Then the pressure suit itself, piece by piece, each section pulled on and sealed and verified.

The suit techs worked efficiently but carefully. The communications cap went on, fitting snugly over Jinx's hair, the headphones positioned over her ears, the microphone near her mouth.

Then the helmet. The tech lifted it, positioned it over her head, and locked it into place with a click and the soft hiss of pressurization equalizing. The world narrowed to the dimensions of the visor.

"Comm check," Caitlyn's voice came through Jinx's headphones. 

"Loud and clear," Jinx replied. Her own voice sounded different inside the helmet, close and contained.

"All indicators green on my side. You?"

Jinx checked her wrist displays. "Green."

"Copy."

They were walked to the crew transport. Suited and helmeted, they stepped out of the building into the pre-dawn air.

The ground crew lined the path, applauding. Dozens of people, technicians and engineers and support staff, the people who had spent months working toward this morning. They clapped and cheered and a few held small American flags and Jinx felt a pressure behind her eyes that she blinked through rapidly.

These people had built this. Years of their lives dedicated to putting two people safely off this planet and bringing them safely back.

Jinx raised a hand as she walked. 

The transport vehicle was a modified car, white, climate-controlled, quiet inside. Jinx sat and the door closed and the applause was muffled and then gone.

She looked out the window as they pulled away from the building and turned toward the launch pad.

The rocket was there.

Illuminated against the dark sky, spotlights casting it in sharp white. It was seventy meters tall, slender and white and large, vapors of liquid oxygen venting from the fuel connections in billowing clouds that caught the light and glowed. The capsule sat at the peak, their capsule, their spacecraft, the vehicle that would carry them off the surface of the Earth.

Jinx pressed her face to the car window. "Oh my god," she whispered.

From the seat beside her she heard, "It's truly something, isn't it?"

Caitlyn was also looking at the rocket through her window. Her expression was unguarded, open and awed, the commander mask set aside for just this moment. Jinx was partly surprised Caitlyn was speaking to her, initiating conversation outside of mandatory work talk.

"Yeah," Jinx breathed. "It really is."

They stopped looking out the window and stared at each other. In the dim vehicle interior with the rocket growing larger in both their windows… then Caitlyn looked away and the moment ended and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

At the launch pad complex, the elevator carried them up the launch tower, ascending alongside the rocket's immense body, the ground falling away below them in darkness. The crew access arm, extending from the tower to the capsule entrance, was a narrow enclosed walkway suspended hundreds of feet in the air.

They walked the arm in single file. Caitlyn first, Jinx following. Their boots produced a rhythmic pattern of sounds on the metal grating. The wind was audible through the arm's structure, pressing against its sides, carrying the salt smell of the coast below.

At the capsule entrance, the closeout crew waited. Four technicians who would perform the final suit verifications and assist with entrance. These were the last people to touch them, the last hands to check their seals, the last human contact before they left Earth.

Caitlyn paused at the hatch. 

The sky behind them was beginning to lighten at the eastern horizon. The very first suggestion of dawn, a small thin line of light. Stars were still visible above, thousands of them, sharp and steady in the air.

Caitlyn glanced at Jinx. "I’ll… see you inside," She said. But she held Jinx's gaze for an extra beat. And there was something in her eyes, something behind the neutral expression.

Or maybe Jinx was projecting. She was probably projecting.

"Copy, Commander," Jinx responded.

Caitlyn turned and entered the capsule.

Jinx looked up for one last look at the sky from the surface of Earth. The moon, still visible, hanging low. The planet spread out below her in shadows and distant lights.

Six months.

She inhaled and followed into the capsule.

The interior of the Crew Dragon (a spacecraft built to transport astronauts up to the ISS) was compact and white and everything was perfectly engineered. Two seats awaited them, positioned side by side with minimal spacing between them. Display screens mounted ahead and above, showing system readouts and data. The hatch behind them, which would seal in minutes and not reopen until they reached orbit.

Caitlyn was already in her seat, the commander's position. The closeout crew was fastening her harness, connecting communication lines to her suit, verifying oxygen flow from the capsule life support. She was running through her checklist, hands moving across panels, voice making callouts that the tech confirmed.

Jinx lowered herself into the right seat, the mission specialist's position. She'd sat in this seat dozens of times during simulations and training. The shape of it was familiar, the angle, the position of the displays. But this time it was different because this time the rocket beneath them was fueled and the engines were real and the countdown was running.

The closeout tech fastened her harness. Each strap and belt pulled snug, then checked, then verified by a second tech. She was pressed into the seat, secured against the acceleration forces that would soon compress her body.

"Communications connected," the tech confirmed. "Oxygen flow nominal. All indicators green."

"Confirmed on my end," Jinx replied.

The techs finished their work. She shook hands with both of them then they withdrew, backing out of the capsule carefully, and the hatch began to close.

The sound of the hatch sealing was a mechanical clunk, then followed by the hiss of pressure equalization, then silence.

"Dragon, this is Houston. How do you read us?"

"Houston, Dragon, reading you five by five." Caitlyn's voice was steady and clear and confident and grounding. "Commander Kiramman confirming comm link nominal."

"Mission Specialist Devaux, comm link nominal. All stations clear."

"Copy, Dragon. Looking good. We are proceeding with the countdown. Current T-minus is two hours thirty-seven minutes. We'll keep you updated."

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes. Jinx lay in her seat (the orientation was reclined so they were essentially lying on their backs, looking up at panels above them) and breathed and counted her heartbeats and tried not to think about the hundreds of tons of kerosene and liquid oxygen sitting beneath her body.

The pre-launch sequence was designed to be long and methodical. Boring, even. The engineers wanted the countdown to be routine, wanted the crew to be calm, wanted each step to be practiced and familiar so that the actual moment of ignition would feel like just the next item on a very long checklist.

Jinx ran through her portion of the pre-launch tasks. She verified her console displays, confirmed each system reading against expected parameters. Navigation was nominal. Environmental control was nominal. The abort system, if absolutely necessary, was operational. Power was at full capacity. Her displays showed a sea of green indicators.

Between checks, she looked out the small window beside her seat. The view showed a slice of sky, still and a section of the launch tower structure adjacent to the capsule.

"T-minus one hour," Houston announced. 

"Beginning final propellant loading sequence."

"T-minus forty-five minutes. Crew, how are you doing up there?"

"Nominal, Houston," Caitlyn responded. "Crew is comfortable and ready."

"Copy that, Commander. Looking great from our end."

Jinx's heart rate was climbing. The steady drum in her chest increases in tempo like a song building toward its climax.

On the private crew channel, away from Houston's ears: "You okay?" Caitlyn asked directly to her.

Jinx swallowed. "Yeah. You?"

"Yes."

"Whatever happens after we get up there," Caitlyn said, "whatever is… going on between us, I just want you to know that there is nobody else I would rather have in that seat."

Jinx's throat went tight and she stared at the ceiling of the capsule, at the white panels and the emergency lighting and the indicator arrays.

"Uh. Same," She managed.

The private channel went quiet after that. 

"T-minus twenty minutes."

"Copy."

"T-minus fifteen minutes. Closing propellant loading. Pressurizing tanks."

The vehicle hummed with building energy. Jinx could feel it gathering, accumulating, the rocket transforming from an inert structure into a live system. 

"T-minus ten minutes."

"Copy, ten minutes." Caitlyn's commander voice, clear and unwavering.

"T-minus five minutes. Dragon, this is your five-minute call. Final vehicle verification."

"Dragon verified. All systems go for launch."

Three hundred seconds.

"T-minus three minutes."

The rocket was pressurized. The engines below them were primed with ignition fluid, ready to spark. Half a million gallons of propellant waited for the signal.

"T-minus two minutes."

Jinx closed her eyes.

This was it. 

She made it.

"T-minus sixty seconds. Crew, final confirmation."

"Commander Kiramman, go for launch."

"Mission Specialist Devaux, go for launch." Her voice was strong. Where that strength came from, she had no idea, but it was there when she needed it.

"Copy. Dragon crew is a go. Final countdown commencing. Thirty seconds."

The automatic sequencing took over. The rocket's computers ran through the final checks at speeds no human could match. 

"Twenty seconds."

"Fifteen."

Jinx thought about Vi and about Ekko. She thought about her apartment today, and the ones from her childhood.

"Ten."

She thought about Caitlyn saying "there is nobody else I would rather have in that seat."

"Nine, eight, seven, six, five..."

The engines ignited. She felt it before she heard it. A deep, primal rumble that came up and into her bones, into the base of her spine.

"Four, three, two, one."

"Liftoff."

The clamps released and the rocket rose and the force hit Jinx with what she assumed it felt like to be between the palms of God. If she believed in God, that is.

Three Gs of acceleration instantaneously upon her. Her body weight tripled in a fraction of a second, pressing her into the seat with force that squeezed air from her lungs and pinned her limbs down. The vibration was total, shaking through the capsule, through the seats, through her teeth and her skull. The sound was beyond comprehension, a roar so immense that it ceased to be sound at all and became pure force, pure presence.

They were rising.

Jinx felt it in her stomach, in her inner ear, in every cell of her body. The sensation of upward motion at a speed and force that nothing in human experience could prepare you for.

"Vehicle is supersonic," Caitlyn reported, and somehow her voice was mostly steady through the chaos. "Altitude 12 kilometers, velocity Mach 1.2."

The vibration continued to intensify. Max-Q was approaching, the point of maximum aerodynamic pressure on the vehicle. The rocket was punching through the atmosphere at increasing speed and the air was fighting back, pressing against the nose and the capsule and every surface.

"Approaching Max-Q," Caitlyn called.

The shaking reached a peak. The capsule rattled, the instruments vibrating, the whole structure singing. Ten seconds of it. Fifteen now. Jinx's teeth were clenched, her jaw tight, and her body braced against the seat.

Then it passed. They'd punched through. The air was thinning, the resistance fading, and through Jinx's window the sky was going black.

"Max-Q confirmed. Vehicle nominal. All systems green. MECO in twenty seconds," Caitlyn announced. "Preparing for stage separation."

Main engine cutoff. This was the moment when the first stage, having burned through its fuel, would shut down and separate from the rest of the vehicle. A brief moment of weightlessness before the second stage ignited.

"Ten seconds to MECO."

Jinx counted with her.

"MECO."

The engines cut and the force vanished entirely and Jinx's body lifted against the harness and for one extraordinary heartbeat the world was completely silent and completely weightless and completely still.

Then separation. 

A series of mechanical sounds, bangs and clicks and the push of pneumatic systems as the first stage released its hold on the second stage. Jinx felt the vehicle lighten, felt the mass of the first stage drop away beneath them, and then the second stage engine ignited and thrust resumed.

Gentler now. One G, maybe one and a half. A firm push rather than the crushing force of the first stage. The single vacuum engine drove them higher, faster, out of the last wisps of atmosphere and into the true darkness of space.

"Stage separation confirmed," Caitlyn reported to Houston. "Second stage nominal. All indicators green."

"SECO in sixty seconds," Caitlyn announced.

SECO, or second engine cut off, was the last push needed to achieve orbital velocity. The speed at which they would fall around the Earth continuously matched to the planet's curvature so precisely that they would never hit the ground and just keep falling and falling in a perpetual arc.

"Thirty seconds to SECO."

Jinx watched her velocity readout climb. 25,000 km/h then 26,000 then 27,000. 

"SECO."

The engine cut.

Then… weightlessness.

"Houston, Dragon." Caitlyn's voice. "We have confirmed orbit insertion at altitude 210 kilometers and velocity 7.67 kilometers per second. All systems nominal."

"Copy, Dragon. Perfect insertion. Welcome to orbit. Congratulations to the crew. Beautiful ascent."

A sound escaped Jinx somewhere between a laugh and a sob and neither. 

She was here.

She was in space.

"Jinx?" Caitlyn on the private channel. Not Dr. Devaux. "Are you alright?"

"I'm," Jinx tried. Her voice cracked. "Holy shit."

A breath from Caitlyn that sounded like it might have been a laugh. "Yeah. Holy shit."

For thirty seconds, they floated in their seats in the capsule in orbit around Earth.

The coast phase lasted approximately nineteen hours.

They had nineteen hours of gradually adjusting to their orbit, raising it incrementally with small thruster burns, aligning their trajectory with the ISS's position. Jinx spent those hours between tasks and wonder. When she wasn't running through the post-insertion checklist or monitoring approach telemetry or communicating with Houston on timeline updates, she was at the window.

Earth from orbit was beyond anything she'd imagined. 

She saw the Sahara from above, a vast canvas of gold and brown stretching across North Africa. She saw thunderstorms in the Pacific, illuminated by internal lightning, flashing silently below them. She saw the Nile as a ribbon cutting through the desert. She saw the Great Barrier Reef as a pale shadow in water.

She saw the aurora, too, shimmering green and purple curtains draped across the polar regions, visible as strips of color painted across the atmosphere's edge.

Each orbit was ninety minutes. Each one showed her something new. The Earth was infinite in its details, endlessly varied, endlessly beautiful, and Jinx pressed her face to the window and felt small and huge simultaneously.

"Approaching the rendezvous corridor," Caitlyn announced from her seat after approximately fifteen hours. "ISS visual acquisition in approximately two hours."

"Copy." Jinx pulled herself reluctantly from the window and returned to her station. The work continued.

The ISS appeared first as a point of light against the star field, brighter than any star, moving at a slightly different rate. As they drew closer over the next two hours, it grew from a point to a shape to a structure, the details resolving. The whole thing spread wider and wider in the window.

"Contact in thirty minutes," Caitlyn informed Houston. Her hands were on the controls, managing the final approach, making tiny adjustments to their trajectory. "Approach velocity point-three meters per second. Alignment nominal."

"Copy, Dragon. You're looking great. ISS is ready for you."

Twenty minutes. The station filled the forward window now. 

"Point-two meters per second. One hundred meters."

Jinx watched the docking port grow in the forward camera feed. 

"Fifty meters. Point-one meters per second."

"Copy, Dragon. Looking perfect."

"Twenty meters."

"Ten."

The approach was autonomous, the capsule's guidance system managing the final alignment with precision that exceeded human capability. But Caitlyn's hands hovered over the manual controls, ready to intervene if anything deviated from the parameters.

"Five meters."

"Three."

"Contact."

A mechanical kiss, the docking ring of the capsule meeting the docking ring of the station, gentle, precise. Then the harder sounds of the capture mechanism engaging, latches closing in sequence, the hard dock confirmed.

"Docking confirmed," Caitlyn announced to Houston. "Hard capture achieved. We are attached to the International Space Station."

"Copy, Dragon! Beautiful docking. Welcome home, crew."

This was home now. This structure, this collection of modules and nodes and solar arrays and scientific equipment, orbiting about 400 kilometers above the Earth at 28,000 kilometers per hour. 

Post-docking procedures began. Pressure equalization between the capsule and the station, ensuring the atmosphere on both sides of the hatch was compatible and safe. 

"Pressure equalized," Caitlyn confirmed, checking her readouts. "Atmosphere analysis complete. Nominal on all parameters."

"Copy. You are clear to open the hatch."

Jinx looked at Caitlyn. Caitlyn looked at Jinx.

This was it. The door between them and the station. The last boundary between the capsule that had carried them here and the home that would keep them alive for six months.

Caitlyn moved to the hatch. In microgravity, her movement was fluid, practiced, her body adjusting to the environment with ease. She positioned herself at the hatch controls, verified the final indicators one more time, and released the mechanism.

The hatch swung inward.

The station was on the other side.

Caitlyn entered first, pulling herself through the docking adapter and into the vestibule connecting the capsule to the Harmony module of the ISS. Her movement was smooth, hands finding rails with certainty.

Jinx followed.

She pulled herself through the adapter, through the vestibule, and floated into the station proper. The module opened around her, wider and taller than the capsule, equipment racks lining the walls (or what could be walls, for in microgravity, every surface was a potential floor or ceiling or wall).

"Houston, Dragon crew has successfully entered the International Space Station," Caitlyn reported from beside her. "We are on board."

"Copy that, Commander. Congratulations. Welcome to your new home. Take your time orienting. We'll begin handover activities per the timeline."

There was no handover crew waiting for them. The station had been unoccupied for weeks before their arrival, prepared remotely by ground control. It was just them. Just the two of them in this miracle of engineering, floating in the light, surrounded by the sound of machines keeping them alive.

Jinx was in. She drifted toward a window, and Earth stared back.

Swirled with white clouds, lit by sun, the curve of the horizon visible, the thin glowing line of atmosphere at the edge separating world from void. Beneath the atmosphere, the surface, detailed and beautiful, landmasses and oceans and the evidence of four billion years of geological and biological history spread out below as a painting made by time itself.

And above, in every direction that wasn't Earth, were stars. Jinx pressed her hands against the window. Beyond it, the universe stretched in every direction to infinity.

She'd made it.

The girl who grew up looking at the sky through smog in a neighborhood where nobody expected anything from anyone, the girl who worked from salvaged components, the girl who had been told her dreams were ridiculous and unachievable for someone like her. That same girl was in space. She was looking down at the whole world and the whole world couldn't reach her up here.

Jinx laughed and the sound echoed in the module and she didn't care, she didn't care about anything except this moment, this feeling, this absolute perfect certainty that every hard thing in her life had been worth it for this.

For right now, floating in front of this window with the stars in her eyes and Earth below her and the whole future stretching ahead, Jinx let everything else go. 

Chapter Text

"I think we should break up."

Caitlyn set her tablet on the nightstand with steadiness that contrasted how badly her hands wanted to shake. She turned to face Vi fully, sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around her waist. Vi was beside her, now more cross-legged, her phone abandoned face-down on the mattress. She looked calm.

"What?" Caitlyn began. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's been coming for a while," Vi said. Her voice was gentle, caring. "I've been thinking about it for a few weeks now."

"A few weeks?" Caitlyn's chest tightened. "You've been thinking about ending our relationship for weeks and you didn't say anything to me?"

"I tried to say other things first. I tried to ask you what was going on. I tried to be there. You kept telling me you were fine and pushing me away."

"But… I am fine."

"Cait." Vi reached for her hand. Caitlyn pulled it back, reflexive, immediate. Vi's fingers closed on empty air and her expression flickered, her eyebrows pulled up.

Fuck.

"Don't," Caitlyn said. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Don’t say you've already made up your mind. Don’t say this is decided."

Vi was quiet for a moment. She pulled her hand back into her own lap and folded it with the other. When she spoke again, her voice was thicker. 

"I haven't made up my mind completely," Vi answered. "That's why I'm talking to you about it instead of just leaving. But Caitlyn, you have to hear me when I tell you that something is wrong and it's been wrong for a while and I'm running out of ways to reach you."

"What do you mean, reach me? I'm right here. I'm literally right here, in my bed which is mostly our bed at this point, with you."

"Your body is here." Vi's eyes were shining now. She was trying not to cry and Caitlyn could see the effort of it in the muscles of her jaw and the rapid blinking. "Maybe your body has been here every night, but the rest of you, Cait, the rest of you has been somewhere else for over a month. Maybe longer."

Caitlyn opened her mouth to argue and then closed it because she could feel the truth of it pressing and denying it would be a lie so blatant that even she couldn't sell it.

"Something happened," Vi continued. "Something shifted. And I don't know what it is because you won't tell me and every time I try to ask you shut it down. You say you're tired. You say training is intense. You say it's nothing." A single tear escaped, tracking down Vi's cheek. She wiped it away quickly, roughly. "And I've tried to just be patient. I've tried to give you space to figure it out. I've tried to be the fun one, the easygoing one, the one who doesn't push. But it's been weeks and you're still pulling away from me and I'm starting to feel like I'm dating a wall."

"Vi, that's not fair."

"It IS fair!" Vi's voice cracked and she pressed her hand over her mouth for a second, collecting herself. When she dropped it, her expression was so vulnerable in ways Caitlyn had rarely seen from her. Vi was strong. Vi was steady. Vi didn't cry easily and seeing her like this felt like being stabbed.

"It is fair," Vi repeated, quieter. "Because I have been trying, Caitlyn, for weeks. I have been trying so hard to be enough for whatever you're going through and it's not working and I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I'm your second priority. I'm tired of talking to you and seeing your eyes go somewhere else. I'm tired of kissing you and feeling like you're performing and you don’t actually want to be there."

She had been performing. Executing the relationship like a checklist: dinner, check. Kiss goodnight, check. Say I love you, check. And every single time, some part of her attention was elsewhere, whether she knew it or not.

"I love you," Caitlyn said and she meant it, and they were genuinely true words, which was perhaps the worst part of it all.

"I know you do," Vi smiled softly. "I believe you. But loving someone and being in love with someone are different things and I… I think we might have crossed from one to the other without either of us noticing."

"What do you want me to do?" Caitlyn asked, her voice strained. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"See, that's the problem." Vi laughed, watery and sad. "You're asking me what to do. I don't want to tell you what to do, Cait. I want you to want to fight for this. I want you to look at me and feel panicked about losing me and I can see on your face right now that you're upset, but I can also see that you're not panicking. You're sad but you're not desperate. And that tells me everything."

"I don't know what's happening to me," Caitlyn admitted. The honesty felt like swallowing glass. "Something is wrong and I don't know what it is. I don't know how to explain what I can't identify."

Vi studied her for a long moment. The tears had stopped but her eyes were still red, still wet. She looked exhausted.

"Okay," Vi said. "Then here's what I've got to say. I love you. I want to be with you. But I can't keep doing this if nothing changes. So either we do couples therapy together and try to work through whatever this is, or you can do solo therapy and figure out what's going on in your head on your own, and we see where that leaves us. Or." She paused. "Or we end this now, Cait, before it gets worse."

"An ultimatum," Caitlyn observed.

"A boundary," Vi corrected. "I'm setting a boundary. I've never done it before with you and I probably should have sooner."

Caitlyn looked at her. She looked at the strong jaw and the pink-tinged eyes and the broad shoulders and the hands that had held her through years of her life, quite literally. Vi was offering her a lifeline. A chance to fix whatever was broken without burning everything to the ground.

"Therapy," Caitlyn answered. "I'll do therapy on my own."

Maybe relief crossed Vi’s face, but conflicted with something else that meant she'd been hoping Caitlyn would choose the couples option. Like the solo choice confirmed something Vi had already suspected about the nature of the problem.

"Okay," Vi replied softly. "Okay. Thank you."

"Are we..." Caitlyn cleared her throat. "Are we still together? Right now?"

"Yes." Vi reached across the space between them again and this time Caitlyn let her take her hand. Vi's grip was warm and strong and familiar. "We're together. We're just also going to work on this. Both of us. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Vi squeezed her hand and lifted it and pressed a kiss to Caitlyn's knuckles. "Come here," she murmured, and pulled Caitlyn into a hug.

Caitlyn let herself be held. She pressed her face into Vi's shoulder and breathed in the scent of her and tried to feel what she should be feeling. 

She felt grateful. She felt guilty. She felt tired.

She did not feel desperate.

Vi was right about that.

They fell asleep tangled together, Vi's arm wrapped heavy across Caitlyn's waist, and Caitlyn lay awake for a long time in the dark and thought about how the person she should be fighting hardest to keep was there breathing against her neck yet her mind was still all over the place.

The therapist's office was on the fourth floor of a modern building, all glass and modern architecture and occasionally potted plants that looked too green to be real but turned out, upon close inspection, to actually be alive. The waiting room was quiet, soft music playing from somewhere. Two other chairs occupied by people who carefully avoided eye contact.

Caitlyn sat with her ankles crossed and her hands in her lap and her spine very straight and told herself this was fine. People went to therapy. Functional, capable, successful people went to therapy. It was a sign of self-awareness, not weakness.

"Caitlyn?" A woman appeared in the doorway leading to the offices. She was young, maybe Caitlyn's age or slightly younger, with long pink hair that fell past her shoulders and large, warm eyes that seemed to immediately acknowledge every micro-expression on Caitlyn's face. She had an energy about her that was difficult to describe. 

"I'm Seraphine," she introduced, extending her hand. "It's lovely to meet you."

"Likewise." Caitlyn shook her hand. Seraphine's grip was gentle but present.

The office was small and comfortable. Two chairs angled toward each other, a small table with a box of tissues and a glass of water already poured, a window that let in natural light, and the walls were a warm color.

"Please, sit." Seraphine settled into her chair, tucking one foot beneath her. She had a notebook in her lap but didn't open it immediately. "How are you feeling about being here?"

"Fine," Caitlyn responded automatically. Then she caught herself. "Actually, a tad uncomfortable. I'm not someone who typically does this."

"That's very normal. Can I ask what brought you here specifically?"

Caitlyn smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her pants. "My girlfriend recommended it. Or rather, she gave me the option of therapy or ending our relationship, and I chose therapy."

Seraphine's expression didn't change. No judgment, no surprise. Just steady, open attention. "That sounds like a difficult conversation to have had."

"It… was."

"And how did it feel? When she presented that choice?"

Caitlyn considered the question carefully. How had it felt? "I felt guilty," she said. "Primarily I felt guilty because she was right. I’ve… just been performing, going through the motions. I have been withdrawn. I have been distant. And she's been trying to meet me halfway and I haven't been meeting her there."

"Do you know why you've been withdrawn?"

Caitlyn looked at the window. The sun was coming through at an angle that caught dust particles in the air, making them clearly visible. "I think something has been occupying my mind. Something I haven't allowed myself to examine."

"Something… could it be someone?"

"I'm not sure," Caitlyn said. Which was half-true.

Seraphine seemed to sense this. She didn't push. Instead she shifted direction slightly, leaning back in her chair. "Tell me about yourself, Caitlyn, beyond the relationship. Who are you when you're not someone's girlfriend?"

"I'm a registered astronaut with NASA. I'm a pilot, originally. Air Force very briefly, test pilot school, then the astronaut corps."

"That's impressive. How does that feel to have accomplished that?"

"It feels... earned." Caitlyn chose the word deliberately. "It feels like the one part of my life that I built entirely on my own merit."

"The one part? What do you mean by that?"

"My family is wealthy. They are the type of family where doors open because of the name rather than the person. I chose military service specifically because it was an area where money and name and connections were irrelevant. You either perform or you don't. You either land the plane or you crash it. There's no trust fund that makes you a better pilot."

Seraphine nodded slowly. "It sounds like proving your merit is very important to you."

"It's the most important thing."

"Why?"

The question was simple and enormous. Caitlyn stared at the wall for a moment.

"Because without it, I'm just another Kiramman. I am another product of privilege. Another person who was given everything and earned nothing." The words came out with more venom than she intended. "My mother is a politician. Successful, respected, powerful. My father is a businessman. Also successful, also respected, also powerful. And they expected me to follow one of those paths. Law, politics, finance—something befitting the family name."

"But you didn't."

"I joined the Air Force the day after I graduated from university. My mother didn't speak to me for two weeks."

"That must have been painful."

Caitlyn's hands tightened in her lap briefly before she consciously relaxed them. "It was. My mother is—she's not a bad person. She's brilliant and accomplished and she loves me deeply. But her love has always come with conditions attached and a very specific vision of who I should be and what my life should look like. And every choice I've made that deviates from that vision is received as a personal rejection to her."

"How does that affect your relationship with her now?"

"We're… civil. We see each other regularly. We have dinner, we make conversation, we perform the roles of loving mother and mostly dutiful daughter. And underneath it there's always this tension, this awareness that she's looking at my life and seeing a disappointment. Every achievement I bring home, every milestone in my career, is measured against the career she wanted me to have."

Seraphine was quiet for a moment, letting the words wash over them both. "You used the word perform twice very recently. Once about your mother and once about your girlfriend earlier. Do you notice that?"

Caitlyn blinked. She hadn't noticed. But now that Seraphine pointed it out, she could feel the thread connecting them. The constant, exhausting effort of appearing to be what was expected while something underneath remained unseen.

"I suppose I perform a lot," Caitlyn said slowly.

"And when you're performing, who is the real Caitlyn? Where does she go?"

"I don't know." The admission felt enormous. "I'm not sure I know who she is without the performance."

Seraphine smiled gently. "Then that's what we're here to figure out, together, at whatever pace feels right for you."

Caitlyn nodded. She was not someone who cried easily, who displayed emotion publicly, who let herself be vulnerable with strangers. But something about Seraphine's openness, the lack of judgment, the simple patience of her questions, made her feel like her composure was breaking.

"I think now," Caitlyn stated carefully, "that there might be more to unpack here than I initially assumed."

"There usually is," Seraphine agreed. "And that's okay. We have time."

They talked for the remaining time about other things. Caitlyn went over her typical daily routine, a brief overview of her social life, and some more about her relationship history before Vi. Seraphine asked questions and listened and made occasional notes and never once made Caitlyn feel like she was lacking.

When the session ended, Caitlyn stood and shook Seraphine's hand and scheduled a follow-up for the next week. She walked to the elevator and pressed the button and waited and felt strangely light.

In the parking garage, sitting in her car, she checked her phone. A text from Vi, sent an hour ago: "Hope it went well today. Love you. Dinner tonight?"

Caitlyn typed back: "It was good. Thank you for pushing me to do this. Unfortunately, I’m meeting my parents for dinner. Sorry, love."

She sat for another moment before starting the engine. 

Something… could it be someone?

Caitlyn turned her car key and pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the highway. She had somewhere to be now. 

Her parents were expecting her.

The Kiramman estate was forty minutes outside the city if traffic was clear, which it rarely was. Today it took just over an hour, Caitlyn stuck in the crawl of afternoon congestion, her hands on the wheel, her mind running preparation drills that were eerily similar to the ones she ran before flight simulations.

Her mother would ask about the promotion timeline. Caitlyn would deflect with details about training that sounded impressive without inviting follow-up questions.

Her father would ask about Vi. Caitlyn would say things were good and change the subject.

Her mother would mention the gala in November and hint that Caitlyn should attend. Caitlyn would say she'd check her schedule knowing she had no intention of attending.

Her mother would say something about Caitlyn's weight or her hair or her posture or her career choice. Caitlyn would absorb it and would smile. Would say "yes, Mother" or "I'll consider that, Mother" and let it slide off her like water.

She'd been doing this for as long as she could remember, this performance of the ideal daughter..

The estate appeared at the end of a long private road, flanked by old trees that formed a canopy overhead. The house itself was Georgian in style, red brick with white columns, far too large for two people and the small staff who maintained it. Caitlyn's childhood had echoed in these halls, literally. She remembered running through the corridors as a small girl and hearing her footsteps bounce back to her, the house so large that it made even a child's enthusiastic noise feel swallowed.

She parked in the curved drive. She checked her appearance in the mirror (hair neat, no mascara smudges, blazer unwrinkled, expression neutral). Breathed in. Breathed out.

"Showtime," she murmured and then winced at herself for the word, because Seraphine had made her aware of the performing thing and she was already catching herself doing it again.

The front door opened before she reached it. Jameson, who had been the estate manager for longer than Caitlyn had been alive, stood in the entrance with his usual professional warmth.

"Miss Kiramman. Lovely to see you."

"Hello, Jameson. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. Your parents are in the sitting room."

The sitting room. The formal space reserved for guests and occasions, which told Caitlyn that her parents were in receiving mode. This was going to be a structured visit, topics pre-considered, conversations structured, all entirely unsurprising to Caitlyn.

She walked through the entrance hall of marble floors, a chandelier that was older than the country, fresh flowers on the sideboard, all unchanged since her childhood and into the sitting room where her parents were arranged like a portrait. Her father in his wingback chair by the fireplace, newspaper folded on the table beside him. Her mother on the settee, a cup of tea balanced precisely on its saucer, her posture so perfect that Caitlyn's own spine straightened involuntarily in response.

"Caitlyn, darling." Her mother rose and crossed the room and air-kissed both of Caitlyn's cheeks. She smelled like jasmine and something subtle and expensive. "You look well. Though perhaps a bit tired? Are they working you too hard?"

And there it was, ladies and gentlemen: observation one. Perhaps fourteen seconds into the visit?

"I'm fine, Mother. Training is demanding but manageable."

"Tobias, put your phone away. Your daughter is here." This was directed at Caitlyn's father, who was indeed looking at his phone. He set it aside immediately, stood, and pulled Caitlyn into a proper hug. He was taller than her by almost two inches and Caitlyn felt, briefly, like a child again in his arms.

"Hello, sweetheart. Good drive?"

"Traffic was terrible."

"It always is. I keep telling your mother we should move closer to the city but she won't hear of it."

"The city is loud and dirty and too crowded," her mother said, reseating herself and picking up her tea. "Sit, Caitlyn. Would you like tea? Or something cold?"

"Tea is fine." Caitlyn sat in the chair opposite her mother. Her father returned to his. Jameson appeared with a fresh cup and saucer, prepared to Caitlyn's preference without being asked, and disappeared again.

The first twenty minutes were relatively safe territory. Her father asked about work in general terms, such as how was training progressing, was the schedule manageable, was she eating enough. Standard parental inquiries delivered with genuine interest. Tobias Kiramman was a kind man, quiet, somewhat overshadowed by the force of his wife's personality but present in his love for his daughter. He asked questions and listened to the answers and nodded in the places that mattered.

Her mother, Cassandra, listened too, but differently. She listened how one examines a product, checking for flaws, measuring.

"And the promotion timeline?" Cassandra asked, right on schedule. "Commander certification, you said?"

"I'm already commander-certified. I'm currently in the eligible pool for a confidential mission assignment."

"Yes, but when will the assignment come? You've been eligible for quite some time now, haven’t you?"

"These things operate on their own timeline, Mother. Crew rotations are determined by mission requirements and crew availability. It could be months or it could be next week."

"Hmm." Cassandra sipped her tea. It communicated, remarkably, that this timeline was unacceptable, that Caitlyn should be doing more to expedite the process.

"I imagine if you'd gone into law you'd have made partner by now," Cassandra added, almost offhandedly, as if the thought had just occurred to her, as if she hadn't said a variation of this same sentence at every visit for years.

"Possibly," Caitlyn replied, her voice was even. Her tea was warm in her hands. "But I wouldn't have been happy."

"Happiness." Cassandra's tone suggested this was a quaint but ultimately unserious metric for life decisions. "I suppose that's the generational difference. We measured success by impact. Contribution. Legacy."

"Flying experimental aircraft for the military was a contribution, Mother."

"To what? To defense contracts and weapons systems?"

"To the advancement of aviation science and the safety of future pilots."

"Hmm."

Another hmm. Caitlyn drank her tea.

Her father cleared his throat. "Cassandra, she's doing remarkable work. The astronaut program is incredibly competitive."

"I know it's competitive, Tobias. I'm not suggesting otherwise. I'm simply noting that there are other paths that are equally competitive and perhaps more aligned with the family's existing networks and influence."

"Mother." Caitlyn set her cup down carefully. "I am not going to become a lawyer. That was decided years ago. I would appreciate if we could stop revisiting it at every visit."

Cassandra looked at her daughter with an expression that managed to be both proud and disappointed simultaneously. It was a particular talent of hers, that expression. The pride was real but it was always, always diluted by the awareness that Caitlyn's impressive achievements existed in the “wrong” field.

"I just want to make sure you're maximizing your potential," Cassandra frowned. "You have gifts, Caitlyn. A mind that could change policy and could shape legislation. You could run for office someday and win."

"I don't want to run for office."

"You don't know what you'll want in ten years."

"I know I won't want that."

"You sound very certain for someone who doesn't know when her next job assignment will arrive."

Caitlyn's jaw tightened.

"How is Vi?" her father asked, the question clearly a deliberate intervention, a redirect. He'd been doing this since Caitlyn's teenage years, throwing conversational life rafts when the waters between Caitlyn and Cassandra grew choppy.

"She's well."

"You should bring her to dinner sometime. We haven't seen her in forever."

"I'll mention it to her." Caitlyn smiled at her father. He tried. He tried so hard to be the buffer, the mediator, the soft landing after Cassandra's impacts.

His failing, if it could be called one, was that he never directly challenged his wife. He redirected, he smoothed, he deflected, but he never once said "Cassandra, stop criticizing our daughter". Never once did he draw a hard line. His love was passive where Cassandra's was active, and both forms left Caitlyn feeling like she was alone.

They moved to the dining room for dinner. The table was set for three with linen napkins folded into shapes, crystal water glasses, and silverware positioned at exact distances from the plate edge. The meal was prepared by their cook and it was excellent, as always. Roasted duck with fig glaze mainly, on the sides seasonal vegetables and fresh bread.

Over dinner, Cassandra pivoted to another favorite topic: Caitlyn's social connections.

"The gala is in December. Have you RSVP'd?"

"I haven't received an invitation."

"I'll have one sent to you. The family running it are connected to the aerospace committee in Congress. It would be beneficial for you to be seen."

"I'll check my schedule."

"You should prioritize it. Networking doesn't stop because you're in a technical field."

"I network plenty within my field, Mother."

"Within your field, yes. But the decisions about your field's funding are made by people in rooms you're not in. I can get you into those rooms."

It was, Caitlyn had to admit, not incorrect advice. It was actually shrewd and strategic, thinking that had made Cassandra Kiramman a formidable political figure in her own right. The problem was never the advice itself, usually. The problem was the delivery, the assumption that Caitlyn hadn't considered these possibilities on her own, the implication that without Cassandra's guidance Caitlyn was somehow operating in her career blindly.

"I appreciate the thought," Caitlyn answered.

Her father mentioned a documentary he'd watched about the ISS and asked Caitlyn thoughtful questions about orbital mechanics and she answered them and for fifteen minutes the dinner felt almost normal, almost warm, almost like a family enjoying each other's company.

Then Cassandra asked about the future.

"Where do you see yourself in five years, Caitlyn?"

"Hopefully having completed a long-duration mission. Possibly transitioning to a leadership role within the astronaut office."

"And personally?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Family. Children. Stability." Cassandra's eyes were steady on her daughter's face. "Your next big milestone is thirty. These things have timelines."

"Mother."

"I'm simply asking."

"You're asking a question you already know my answer to. I've told you I'm not certain I want children. That hasn't changed."

"People change their minds."

"I haven't changed mine."

"And Vi? Is she of the same mind?"

"We haven't discussed it in detail."

Cassandra's eyebrow rose. To anyone else it would be invisible. To Caitlyn, it was a billboard. 

"We're quite happy with where things are," Caitlyn added, and hated how defensive it sounded.

"Of course you are, darling." Cassandra returned to her meal.

Caitlyn ate three more bites, excused herself to use the restroom, and stood in the powder room with her hands on the marble countertop and stared at herself in the mirror. Her expression was perfect. Not a crack visible.

The performance was flawless.

She returned to the table and they finished dinner and moved to the sitting room for after-dinner drinks (her father: whiskey, her mother: a small glass of port wine, Caitlyn: water, because she was certainly not staying overnight).

At around 8:15 PM, Caitlyn began her extraction process. "I should head back. Early start tomorrow."

"Of course." Her father stood and hugged her again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Drive safe, sweetheart. We're proud of you."

He said it every time. Caitlyn suspected he said it specifically because he knew Cassandra wouldn't, and he wanted to make sure Caitlyn heard it from at least one parent before she left.

Her mother walked her to the door. In the entrance hall, under the chandelier, Cassandra put her hand on Caitlyn's arm and Caitlyn stopped.

"You know I only push because I see what you're capable of," Cassandra remarked. Her voice was different here, away from the formal setting of the sitting room. Closer to sincere. "You could have the world, Caitlyn. I just want to make sure you're reaching for it."

"I am reaching, Mother, just for a different world than the one you'd choose."

A flicker of something that might have been regret, or acceptance, or the closest thing to an apology that Cassandra Kiramman was capable of producing, flickered across her face.

"Well," Cassandra relented. "Reach far, then."

"I will."

Cassandra air-kissed her cheeks again. Caitlyn walked to her car, got in, and sat in the driver's seat with the engine off for a full minute before starting the car.

Her hands were shaking slightly. Caitlyn gripped the steering wheel and waited for it to pass.

Every time. Every single time she came here she left feeling like this, this hollowed out. Wrung through. Like she'd run a marathon. The effort of being Cassandra's daughter, of meeting expectations she would never fully satisfy, of maintaining the appearance of the relationship they both wanted to have but neither could quite build.

She loved her mother. She did. That was the worst part.

Caitlyn started the car and pulled down the long drive and turned onto the main road and began the journey back to the city. The sun was setting, orange and pink streaking across the sky, and she drove in silence because her mind needed quiet after the noise of her family.

Seraphine's questions echoed in her mind. When you're performing, who is the real Caitlyn? Where does she go?

Maybe she went here into this car, on this road, in the intermission between one performance and the next. Maybe the real Caitlyn only existed in transit, in the gaps, in the moments where no one was watching and she could just be whatever she was without meeting anyone's standard for it.

That was a depressing thought.

Caitlyn turned on the radio then. Classical music filled the car, something orchestral and sweeping, and she let it carry her home.

She was twenty minutes from her apartment, stopped at a red light, her mind drifting between the therapy session and her dinner and Vi and the exhaustion of a day that had required so much emotional labor, when her phone rang.

The sound cut through the classical music, the car's bluetooth system flashing a name on the dashboard screen.

MADDIE NOLEN.

Caitlyn stared at the name. The light turned green. A car behind her honked. She pulled forward automatically, her eyes still catching on the name glowing on her dashboard.

Maddie Nolen.

She hadn't heard from Maddie in… well over a year now. She hadn't spoken to her since the last time they'd seen each other, which had been brief and uncomfortable.

Her phone continued to ring, the name pulsing on the screen. Caitlyn's hands tightened on the wheel and her mind cycled through responses: ignore it, answer it, let it go to voicemail and deal with it later.

The phone continued to ring.

Chapter Text

The first thing Jinx learned about living in space was that sound never stopped, surprisingly. At least, not aboard the ISS.

On Earth, silence existed in passing or its own entire moments. There were late nights in her apartment, if she turned off her laptops and held still, she could find periods where the world went quiet. In space, there was no such thing. The ISS was a living organism, a machine that breathed and hummed constantly, its life support systems circulating air through ducts, fans pushing atmosphere through filters, pumps moving coolant through thermal regulation loops, computers processing data in soft electronic chirps. The ambient noise level hovered around sixty decibels at all times, roughly equivalent to a conversation or a running dishwasher and it never stopped once.

Never.

Jinx had known this intellectually from training, from briefings, from the detailed environmental reports she'd memorized. But knowing and actually living it were different things, and the first night she spent in her crew quarters—containing a compartment with a sleeping bag strapped to the wall, a laptop mount, a small reading light, and a privacy curtain—she laid in her bag and listened to the station breathe around her and thought: I fucking hate this already.

The sleeping bag was disorienting too. In microgravity, there was no sensation of lying up, down, left or right. She was floating inside a bag that was tethered to the wall, her body positioned vertically relative to the module's orientation, but without gravity pulling her down there was no distinction between vertical and horizontal. Her arms drifted up if she didn't tuck them into the bag. Her hair, freed from the braids for sleeping, formed a blue halo around her head that tickled her face.

She slept poorly that first night. Most astronauts reportedly did. The body's circadian rhythm, tuned to twenty-four hour day and night cycles on Earth, took time to adjust to the ISS schedule of artificial lighting that mimicked a standard twenty-four-hour day while outside the windows the sun rose and set every forty-five fucking minutes.

When her alarm went off at 0600 GMT (the station operated on Greenwich Mean Time to coordinate with international ground teams), Jinx unzipped her sleeping bag and floated out and bumped her shoulder on the crew quarters wall and grabbed the handhold by the privacy curtain.

Day one on the station, for real this time, all post-launch adrenaline mostly gone. 

It was time to work.

The daily schedule on the International Space Station was regimented, every hour was pre-planned by Mission Control, uploaded to their scheduling system the night before, and broken into fifteen-minute increments of tasks. Morning hygiene, breakfast, daily planning conference with Houston, work blocks, lunch, more work blocks, exercise, dinner, evening report to Houston, personal time, then finally sleep.

It was, in structure, not unlike a very boring prison though with significantly better views.

The morning routine was its own adventure in microgravity logistics. Brushing teeth meant applying paste to the brush, brushing incredibly carefully to avoid droplets floating freely, and then swallowing the paste or spitting it into a towel because there was no sink with running water. Washing her face meant using a pre-moistened wipe. Her hair was managed with a rinseless shampoo that she worked through the blue strands and then wiped away with a towel, the whole process requiring careful containment because water in space behaved like a science experiment, clinging to surfaces in wobbling spheres rather than flowing downward.

On the second morning, Jinx emerged from her crew quarters to find Caitlyn already at the galley area in Node 1 of the station, preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, Dr. Devaux." Caitlyn was tethered to the galley surface by a foot loop, her body anchored while her hands moved through the food preparation. She was in her standard daily wear aboard: a NASA-issued compression shirt (royal blue, fitted, making her arms and shoulders far too visible for Jinx’s liking, not that she noticed or anything) and utility pants with multiple pockets that velcroed shut. Her hair was pulled back in its nearly permanent station ponytail.

"Morning," Jinx replied, floating into the galley area and grabbing a handhold to stop her drift.

Station food was, well, station food. The menu had been pre-planned months before launch, their meals selected from rotating options of thermostabilized pouches, rehydrated items, and irradiated foods. No refrigeration existed for most items (there was a small cold storage unit for some fresh foods that arrived with resupply missions, but those wouldn't come for weeks). No bread either, because crumbs floated and could damage equipment or be inhaled, so tortillas served as the universal substitute.

Jinx's breakfast that morning consisted of rehydrated scrambled eggs which barely tasted like scrambled eggs, a tortilla with peanut butter, and coffee. The coffee was the highlight. Dispensed from the hot water port into a sealed pouch with a straw, it was instant and mediocre by Earth standards, but in space, the familiar warmth and caffeine hit was a lifeline.

She ate floating near the galley, her food pouches tethered to the surface by velcro strips, sipping coffee through the straw and watching Caitlyn organize the day's schedule on her tablet.

They didn't talk. They hadn't really talked beyond logistics and initial reactions after orbit insertion. The professional distance was intact, maintained, and preserved in the vacuum like everything else up here.

Jinx told herself she preferred it this way.

But they did talk at the Daily Planning Conference, 0730 GMT each morning. They floated in front of the communication terminal in Node 2, both wearing headsets, and Houston walked them through the day's activities. Today's plan included station familiarization procedures, inventory verification of the experimental payload, basic maintenance checks on life support systems, and the first of Jinx's experiment setup protocols.

"Commander Kiramman, we're showing a slight pressure differential," Houston informed during the briefing. "Nothing outside safe parameters, but we'd like you to verify the inter-module ventilation valve position when you have a moment today."

"Copy, Houston. I'll check it during my maintenance pass this morning." Caitlyn's voice was crisp and awake and Jinx listened to it through her headset and felt irritated by how grounding (pun intended!) it was.

"Dr. Devaux, your experiment timeline has been updated in the shared drive. We'd like you to begin the ion drive test chamber installation in Kibo today if possible. The equipment is secured in rack position."

"Copy that. I'll pull it after breakfast."

"Excellent. Now for a weather note, you'll be passing over a significant tropical storm system in the Indian Ocean during your afternoon block. Good photo op if you're near a window. Have a good day, crew."

The comm went silent and they removed their headsets and went their separate directions. 

Kibo was Jinx's domain. The Japanese module was the largest pressurized laboratory on the station, with an external platform for experiments that needed direct space exposure and a robotic arm system for deploying and retrieving them. Inside, the module was clean and wide, relatively speaking, with multiple experiment racks that could accommodate various equipment configurations.

Jinx's ion drive test chamber was packed in modular components across five rack positions. Unpacking it, assembling it, calibrating it, and installing it would take the better part of three days. This was her baby. Her design, her engineering, her calculations turned into physical hardware. Every bolt, every wire, every sensor was there because Jinx had determined it needed to be there.

She pulled the first component crate from its secured position and began the assembly process. Tools wanted to float away. Screws, if dropped, would drift into ventilation intakes. Every component had to be tethered during work or it would wander off like a lost child.

Jinx narrated her progress to the documentation camera mounted above the rack. Station protocol required video recording of all major installation procedures for ground review and future reference.

"Component A-1 is secured to the mounting bracket. Torque applied to specification, forty-two Newton-meters. Moving to component A-2, the primary containment vessel." She handled the cylindrical vessel with both hands, guiding it toward the bracket. In microgravity, mass still existed even without weight, and this piece was heavy enough that if she accidentally sent it drifting at speed, it could damage the adjacent rack.

"Vessel seated and the alignment verified against the marks. Engaging the locking mechanism now."

The work was exactly what Jinx needed to keep her mind off everything else. For four hours, she existed in the flow state of building, her brain engaged entirely by the technical challenge, her body adapting incrementally to working in zero-g.

Lunch happened around 1230 GMT. The galley area was small enough that if both of them were there simultaneously, they were within arm's reach of each other.

Jinx heated a pouch of tortilla soup in the food warmer while Caitlyn prepared something involving rehydrated shrimp and a tortilla wrap. They worked around each other carefully, this choreographed avoidance that said that they knew where the other was and perfectly avoided them.

"How's the installation progressing?" Caitlyn asked without looking up from her food preparation.

"On schedule. Component group A is fully mounted and secured and I’m starting group B after lunch."

"Good. Let me know if you need any assistance with the mounting hardware. Some of the overhead rack positions can be difficult to reach in the suit alone."

"I'll manage."

Jinx squeezed soup from the pouch into her mouth. It was warm and slightly spicy and she ate it while floating near the "ceiling", which was a relative concept she'd chosen as her preferred lunch position because it gave her the most space from Caitlyn's preferred position near the "floor".

They ate in silence. Outside the small porthole window, the Earth turned and turned and turned.

Exercise was mandatory on the ISS for a very specific and non-negotiable reason: without the constant pull of gravity, the human body deteriorated rapidly. Bones lost density at a rate of approximately one to two percent per month and muscles atrophied. Cardiovascular fitness heavily declined. Without countermeasures, an astronaut returning from a six-month mission would be physically wrecked, barely able to walk.

The countermeasure was roughly two hours of daily exercise, split between cardiovascular work and resistance training. The equipment lived in Node 3, which contained the Advanced Resistive Exercise Device (ARED), the T2 (treadmill), and the CEVIS cycle, a stationary bike bolted to the wall.

The schedule allotted exercise time in blocks. Caitlyn typically took the first block, and Jinx occupied the next.

On the third day, Jinx's installation work ran off schedule and she arrived at Node 3 for her exercise block fifteen minutes early. Caitlyn was still on the treadmill.

The treadmill harness system looked ridiculous from the outside. Elastic bungee cords attached to a waist and shoulder harness, pulling the astronaut down toward the running surface to simulate body weight. The loading was adjustable, typically set to about seventy percent of body weight, enough to provide meaningful stress on the skeletal and cardiovascular systems without causing injury.

Caitlyn was running in her exercise clothes, strapped to the treadmill surface by the bungee system, her legs moving with powerful muscle that showed someone who had been a distance runner long before she became an astronaut.

Jinx floated into the node and grabbed a handhold and suddenly had nowhere else to look.

The module was small. There was one entrance, one working area, and all the exercise equipment shared the same space. If Jinx wanted to begin her session on the CEVIS bike, which was her typical warm-up, she'd be positioned approximately four feet from the treadmill. Four feet. In direct line of sight.

Caitlyn was sweating. The moisture clung to her skin in zero-g, forming a sheen on her forearms and her neck and the exposed strip of her lower back where her tank top had ridden up with the motion. In microgravity, sweat didn't drip, but pooled and accumulated on the skin.

Jinx looked between the CEVIS bike and Caitlyn, then at the bike again.

"You're early," Caitlyn commented between controlled breaths. Her stride didn't falter..

"Installation timings, yada yada. I'll start on the bike if you're almost done."

"Eight more minutes."

Eight more minutes. Jinx positioned herself on the bike and began pedaling. The bike had no seat in the traditional sense, just a backrest and waist strap that held her in position. Pedaling without gravity was strange. All force came from her own muscles, no body weight assisting on the downstroke.

She faced the same direction as Caitlyn's treadmill. Which meant, if she looked up from the bike's display, she was looking directly at Caitlyn's back. Directly at the defined musculature of her shoulders moving with each arm swing… at the strip of skin above her waistband… at the flex of her calves.

Nope.

Jinx stared at the bike display. Heart rate: 142. Cadence: 85. Power output: 120 watts.

Just eight minutes.

She heard Caitlyn's breathing, steady and rhythmic. She heard the soft impact of each foot on the treadmill belt. She heard the slight squeak of the bungee system with each stride.

Seven minutes.

Six.

Jinx pedaled harder. Her heart rate climbed. 155. 162. She was going too hard for a warm-up and she didn't care.

Five minutes.

"You're pushing high watts for a warm-up phase," Caitlyn observed. Of course she'd noticed. Of course she was monitoring.

"I like a fast start."

"Your heart rate data goes to Houston. The doctor will flag it if you spike too high too early."

"I'm aware of the procedures and how my own body works, Commander."

A beat of silence. 

Caitlyn's strides continued. "Copy."

Four minutes. 

Three.

Two.

The treadmill beeped. Caitlyn's pace slowed from running to walking, the bungees creaking with the reduced motion. Jinx kept her eyes firmly, aggressively on her display.

When Caitlyn unclipped from the harness and floated free of the treadmill, she was directly beside Jinx's bike for the three seconds it took to grab a handhold and reorient toward the exit. Three seconds where she was close enough that Jinx could feel the warmth radiating from her exercised body, could smell the exertion.

"All yours," Caitlyn murmured and left.

Jinx's power output dropped by thirty watts the moment she was alone. She slumped forward against the bike's support and breathed.

"Fuck this," she whispered to the empty module.

Day four brought Jinx's first real conflict with Caitlyn, and it happened because of a damn ventilation fan.

The station's ventilation system was critical. Without gravity to create convection currents, the atmosphere in a spacecraft would form into pockets. An astronaut sleeping in a closed crew quarter could, theoretically, suffocate in a bubble of their own exhaled carbon dioxide if ventilation failed. The fans ran constantly, pushing air through the modules, mixing it, keeping the atmosphere uniform and breathable.

There was a fan in the Japanese module. Specifically, in the overhead section above rack position J-4, which happened to be directly adjacent to Jinx's ion drive test chamber installation. This fan had a bearing whine. A subtle, high-frequency sound that sat at the exact pitch Jinx's ears were most sensitive to, a sound that most people might not notice but that Jinx could not ignore.

It wasn't a malfunction exactly. The fan was operational and was moving air at the correct rate. But the bearing was degrading and producing a noise that was driving Jinx slowly insane.

On day four, after twelve hours of working beside this fan and feeling her concentration fragment every time the whine hit and it felt like it was scraping the inside of her skull, Jinx decided to “fix” it.

The fan assembly was accessible through a removable panel in the overhead section. Jinx had the tools. She had the knowledge. She had the replacement bearing . The repair would take approximately forty minutes and would eliminate the noise and extend the fan's operational life by an estimated six months.

She should have told Caitlyn. Station protocol required that any maintenance activity be logged, approved by ground, and coordinated with the commander. This was true even for simple repairs, and especially true for anything involving the ventilation system, because any interruption to airflow, even brief, needed to be accounted for in the station's environmental monitoring.

Jinx knew this.

…She didn't tell Caitlyn.

The repair went flawlessly. She removed the panel, accessed the fan assembly, swapped the degraded bearing for the fresh one, reassembled everything, verified the fan's operation, and replaced the panel. In total, it all took only forty-three minutes and now the noise was gone. 

Jinx felt satisfied. She felt accomplished. She felt like she'd solved a problem efficiently and independently and that her engineering skills had once again proven themselves.

She felt these things for only so long before Caitlyn appeared in the module doorway.

"Dr. Devaux." Oh, fuck. The commander tone.

Jinx looked up from her test chamber calibration. "Yeah?"

"Did you perform maintenance on the ventilation fan in the overhead section of this module?"

Jinx considered lying. 

"Yes," she answered instead.

Caitlyn floated into the module. She moved to the overhead section and examined the panel Jinx had removed and replaced. Her fingers traced the edge, checking the seal. Then she turned and looked at Jinx with an expression that was very very carefully, very deliberately neutral. Which meant she was fucking furious.

"Without logging it," Caitlyn noted.

"It was just a bearing swap. Twenty minutes of actual work."

"Without coordinating with ground."

"Ground would have taken six hours to approve a maintenance request for a non-critical system. The fan was operational. It wasn't an emergency. I just helped improve it."

"Without informing me."

"You were in another node."

"My physical location doesn't exempt you, or I, from protocol." Caitlyn's voice hadn't risen yet and somehow that was worse than yelling. "The ventilation system is categorized as life-critical infrastructure. Any modification, any maintenance, any interaction with life-critical systems requires commander approval and ground coordination. You know this."

"I only swapped a bearing, Caitlyn. The fan was operational the entire time. Air flow was never interrupted. I verified the output before and after."

"That's irrelevant."

"It's completely relevant. The result is what matters and the result is a fixed fan with six more months of operational life."

"The result is not what matters in this context." Caitlyn's jaw was tight. Her eyes were hard and focused and Jinx could see the anger. "The process matters for a reason, because if you bypass protocol on just a bearing swap today, you establish a precedent. You establish in your own mind that protocol is optional when you're confident in your abilities. And the next time, it's a slightly bigger modification. And the time after that. And eventually you're making changes to systems without oversight that could, god forbid something goes wrong, kill us both."

"That's a slippery slope argument and it's fallacious."

"It's risk management and it's how we stay alive up here." Caitlyn's hands were gripping a handhold, her knuckles white. "I am not your enemy, Dr. Devaux. I am not trying to suppress your abilities or slow your work. I am trying to ensure that we both survive this mission. And that requires that you follow the procedures that exist specifically because two people alone on a station have zero margin for error."

Jinx felt her own anger rising, hot and defensive. The same old pattern: Caitlyn telling her what to do, Caitlyn asserting authority, Caitlyn treating her like someone who needed to be managed.

But.

Was it?

Somewhere underneath the reflexive fury, a small rational voice pointed out: she's right and you know she's right. If Jinx had made a mistake during that repair (not that she would have), if the fan had failed to restart, if a fragment of material had entered the air system, there was no one else to help. Just Caitlyn. And Caitlyn would have been working blind, unaware that a modification had been made, unable to troubleshoot effectively because she didn't know what had changed.

"Fine," Jinx relented. She didn't like saying it. "I'll log it retroactively and submit the report to ground."

"And in the future?"

"In the future I'll follow protocol. Can I get back to work now?"

Caitlyn looked at her for another long moment. Then she nodded once.

"Thank you. I'll need the maintenance report by the end of day for my commander's log." She left.

Jinx floated in the module (silent because she'd fixed the damn fan, which was an improvement that benefited both of them and you're welcome, Caitlyn) and felt a confusing tangle of emotions that she couldn't separate into individual threads. Anger, yes. Guilt, also yes. Frustration at the bureaucratic rigidity of protocol. Understanding of why that rigidity existed. And underneath all of it, inaccessible and unwelcome, the awareness that Caitlyn had said "kill us both" and her voice had tightened on the last word like a person imagining a specific, personal loss.

Night on the station was, you guessed it, artificial. The lighting system dimmed at 2130 GMT, the module lights transitioning from their full-spectrum daytime setting to a reduced blue-light mode that was supposed to facilitate circadian adjustment. "Supposed to" being the words, because Jinx found herself awake well past midnight most nights, her brain refusing to power down.

On the fourth night, she had the nightmare again.

The same one from quarantine with the countdown, the ignition, the moment where physics betrays you and fire consumes everything before oblivion.

She woke up gasping. Her sleeping bag was twisted around her body and her hair was in her face and the station was dark and humming and her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her ears.

She pressed her hands against her face. 

Through the thin wall of her crew quarters, through the equipment racks and module structure that separated her sleeping compartment from the corridor and from Caitlyn's compartment on the other side of the module, she heard a sound.

Caitlyn shifting in her sleeping bag. 

Jinx held her breath.

In quarantine, Caitlyn had come to her. 

Jinx waited, but she wasn’t sure why.

Today she heard no sound of a zipper opening, no sound of feet (or the zero gravity equivalent, hands on handrails) moving through the module. No appearance of a tall figure in the crew quarters doorway.

Caitlyn didn't come.

She was awake (Jinx was almost sure of it) but she didn't come. She stayed in her compartment and Jinx stayed in hers and the station hummed between them.

Jinx lay in the dark for a long time after that realization. Her breathing was steady now, the panic receded, her heart rate normalized. But sleep didn't return.

Caitlyn hadn't come.

It wasn’t a surprise.

Jinx had pushed her away, right? She had demanded distance and they called each other "Commander" and "Dr. Devaux". Caitlyn, who listened, who respected boundaries, was operating based on this and Jinx couldn’t blame her.

Jinx stared at the curve of the wall in the dark and thought: I did this.

On the ISS the difference between weekdays and weekends was minimal during the first weeks of a mission. The schedule was slightly lighter on weekends with more personal time and fewer mandatory work blocks, but there was still maintenance to do, still experiments to run, still the task of keeping a spacecraft operational.

Jinx spent the morning of a weekend completing component group B of her test chamber installation. The work required precision and patience, guiding delicate sensor arrays into position and calibrating them. She documented each step, spoke into the camera, moved through the protocol with extra professional care.

Around 1100 GMT, she took a break and floated toward where the station's small cupola was accessible. The cupola was a dome of windows providing a 360-degree view of Earth below and space around, and it was, by universal agreement of every astronaut who had ever visited the station, surely the most extraordinary room humans had ever built.

Jinx had visited the cupola briefly during their initial station orientation but hadn't had extended time there yet. Today, with the lighter schedule, she had thirty minutes of personal time blocked and she intended to spend every second of it at those windows.

She pulled herself through the connecting tunnel into the cupola and stopped.

Caitlyn was already there.

She was floating in the center of the dome, her body positioned so she could look "down" through the window facing directly toward Earth. Her hands were resting lightly on the window frame. Her face was tilted toward the glass and the light from Earth was painting her features in shifting colors as they passed over different terrain below.

She didn't have her tablet. She was just looking.

Jinx considered retreating. The space was small, maybe two meters in diameter at most, and two people in it simultaneously meant proximity.

But the view was right there, visible through the windows beyond Caitlyn's floating form, and it was so blue and vast and impossible that Jinx's body moved toward it before her brain could complete the calculation.

Caitlyn heard her enter and turned her head. Their eyes met across the small space. Something flickered in Caitlyn's expression (surprise? caution? something else?) and then she shifted slightly, moving more to one side of the dome, creating room.

Jinx floated to the opposite side and positioned herself at the window and looked down.

They were over the Pacific Ocean. The water below was a beautiful shade of blue-green, dotted with islands that appeared as dark spots. Clouds formed highways of white across the surface.

"We're coming up on the Australian coast," Caitlyn informed quietly. 

Jinx said nothing but she didn't leave. They floated on opposite sides of the windows and watched Australia appear on the horizon, the brown and red of the outback spreading beneath them, the coast defined in brilliant white sand against dark water.

Twenty minutes of silence. Time where the tension between them seemed irrelevant, unable to compete with the sheer enormity of what they were both witnessing. 

Then Jinx's schedule alarm beeped on her wrist. Lunch, then work, then exercise, then more work. The day continued.

"I should go," Jinx said.

"Of course," Caitlyn replied.

Jinx pushed off from the window frame and floated toward the cupola exit. She paused at the threshold.

"It's really something," she tried.

"It is," Caitlyn agreed.

Jinx left.

On day six, Jinx was deep in the calibration sequence for her ion drive test chamber's primary sensor array when Houston came through on the comm with a scheduling update.

"Dr. Devaux, we've added a joint crew update video to tomorrow's schedule. NASA public affairs has requested a short filmed segment, approximately five minutes, for the agency's social media channels. Brief overview of mission status, crew health, initial impressions. Informal and friendly."

Jinx's stomach dropped.

A joint crew video.

The internet that was still, presumably, creating edits and shipping them and analyzing every microsecond of their press conference for romantic subtext.

"Copy, Houston," Jinx managed. "Do we have a script?"

"Talking points will be uploaded to your schedule. Keep it natural. The public affairs team is looking for personality, not polish."

"Right."

She could hear, through the module, the faint sound of Caitlyn receiving the same update. Neither of them commented to the other about it.

That night, in her crew quarters, Jinx pulled up the talking points on her laptop. It was just standard stuff: mission duration update, how they were settling in, a brief mention of the scientific objectives, maybe a joke or two to humanize the experience.

She scrolled to the bottom of the document where a note from the public affairs team read: "Please position yourselves together in frame. Shoulder-to-shoulder preferred. Crew unity is visually important for public confidence."

Shoulder to shoulder.

Jinx closed her laptop.

The crew update video was shot the next morning after their daily planning conference. They positioned themselves in Node 2, near the communication terminal, with a window visible behind them for the space backdrop. The camera was mounted on a stand that Caitlyn adjusted for framing.

"Ready?" Caitlyn asked, checking the camera angle on the monitor.

"As I'll ever be."

"Just be natural."

"Mhm."

Caitlyn looked at her. There was the ghost of something at the corner of her mouth, the suggestion that in other circumstances, in a different version of their relationship, she might have smiled. Then it was gone and she pressed record.

"Hello from the International Space Station," Caitlyn began, her voice warm and professional and directed at the camera. "Commander Kiramman and Mission Specialist Devaux here, checking in from orbit. We're at the end of our first week on station and settling into our routine."

She glanced at Jinx, the rehearsed cue for her to speak. They were positioned close together, shoulder to shoulder, as requested, and Jinx could feel the warmth of Caitlyn near her.

"Yeah, hi," Jinx said to the camera, and immediately winced internally at how awkward that sounded. "The first week has been focused on getting our bearings, literally and figuratively. Microgravity takes some adjusting to. You'd be surprised how disorienting it is when there's no up or down. But the station is incredible. The views are..." She trailed off, genuinely at a loss. "I mean. There aren't any words."

"There really aren't," Caitlyn agreed. "We're currently traveling at approximately 28,000 kilometers per hour, completing an orbit of Earth every ninety minutes. That means we see sixteen sunrises and sixteen sunsets every day. It never gets old."

They continued for another three minutes, hitting the talking points, keeping it light. Jinx talked briefly about her experiment setup and Caitlyn mentioned the station maintenance schedule and they both answered the question "what surprised you most?".

At one point, Jinx made a comment about the food and Caitlyn laughed. Jinx caught herself smiling in response and then caught the camera capturing both of them smiling and felt her face heat.

"Well, that's our update from orbit," Caitlyn concluded. "We're healthy, we're working hard, and we'll check in again soon. Back to you, Earth."

She reached over and stopped the recording.

They were still positioned shoulder to shoulder. The camera was off. 

The performance was over. 

And for a moment neither of them moved, both floating. Then Caitlyn pushed off and floated toward the camera to review the footage and the moment was over and Jinx left and went back to work.

That evening, after dinner, Jinx was in the cupola again. Her personal time, her sacred thirty minutes with the windows.

They were passing over the nightside of Earth. Below, continents were visible only by their city lights, networks of orange and white glowing against the absolute black of unlit terrain. The Mediterranean was identifiable by the dense clusters of light along its coasts. Italy was a boot-shaped constellation of illumination. The Nile was a thin bright line cutting through the darkness of North Africa.

Jinx was floating with her face close to the window, watching the lights drift below, when a glow appeared at the edges of her vision. Faint at first, barely distinguishable from the airglow, but growing and glowing green.

The aurora.

She'd seen photos and watched footage from previous ISS crews. She'd read the science behind it. But seeing it from above was something entirely beyond preparation.

It started as a green ribbon along the curve of the Earth, following the line of higher latitudes. As they moved northward in their orbital track, the ribbon widened and brightened, becoming a curtain, then a series of curtains, then a cathedral of light rising from the atmosphere. Green at the base, transitioning to yellow and then a deep, luminous red at the highest reaches. 

"Oh," Jinx breathed. Her hands were pressed to the glass. Her body was still. Every part of her brain that usually raced was quiet.

She heard the sound of someone (someone? There were only two of them) entering behind her. She didn't turn. 

Caitlyn floated into the dome and went still beside her. Closer than the exercise module, closer than during the video.

"My god," Caitlyn whispered.

The aurora was directly below them now. They were passing over it, seeing it from above, and the scale of it was staggering. Hundreds of kilometers of luminous atmosphere, a river of green light wrapping around the pole, pulsing with energy.

"I knew it would be beautiful," Jinx said. Her voice was barely audible. "But I didn't know it would be like this."

"Nothing prepares you," Caitlyn agreed. "Nothing can."

They floated together and watched. The aurora shifted beneath them, its patterns changing as their orbital path carried them across and eventually away from the display. The green faded slowly, the curtains thinning, the light dimming as they moved toward lower latitudes.

Neither of them spoke during those minutes. There was nothing to say that wouldn't diminish what they were seeing. The silence between them, for once, wasn't tense or cold or professional. 

When the last trace of green disappeared behind them and the Earth below returned to its pattern of lights, Jinx became aware again of how close Caitlyn was.

"T-thanks," Jinx stuttered. And then didn't know why she said it or what she was thanking Caitlyn for. For not ruining the moment with words? For being here? For existing beside her while the sky lit up?

Caitlyn turned her head slightly. In the dim light, her face was partially visible, her eyes catching faint reflections from the window. She looked at Jinx and for a second she was just Caitlyn, looking at Jinx surrounded by the stars.

"Goodnight, Jinx," she replied.

Jinx.

"Goodnight," Jinx whispered.

Caitlyn pulled herself out and away. Her absence left the space colder and emptier, and Jinx remained at the window for another ten minutes, watching the Earth turn below and thinking about how her own name sounded in Caitlyn's voice and how that shouldn't matter as much as it did.

Jinx filed her weekly report to Houston, noting the fan repair and the successful completion of component groups A through C of the test chamber installation. She noted no health concerns and no interpersonal issues.

That last part was maybe not entirely truthful.

She floated in her crew quarters after submitting the report, her laptop balanced on its mount, her body drifting gently against the sleeping bag's tether. Through the station, she could hear Caitlyn filing her own report, the soft sound of typing carrying through the atmosphere.

She still had months to go.

Jinx pulled up her personal email. Through super advanced and complicated antennas, satellite positioning and more, communication with a select few with the provided, confidential communications equipment was possible. For Jinx, Vi was authorized. She saw she had a message waiting from Vi, sent yesterday: "How's space? Miss you already. Tell me everything."

"Hey Vi. Space is incredible. The station is loud but beautiful. I can see the whole world from up here and it's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. Work is going well. My experiments are on track. Caitlyn is..."

She stared at the cursor blinking after Caitlyn is...

Caitlyn is professional. Caitlyn is competent. Caitlyn is giving me exactly the distance I demanded. Caitlyn called me Jinx tonight after weeks of only Dr. Devaux and… and it felt like the sun coming out after a rain shower. Caitlyn saw the aurora with me.

Jinx deleted "Caitlyn is" and finished the email with "Everything is good. I love you. More soon."

She hit send and closed her laptop and floated in the dark and listened to the station live around her. 

Chapter Text

The name glowed on Caitlyn's dashboard screen, pulsing with each ring. 

Caitlyn's hands had tightened on the wheel and she was moving now, merging onto the highway, the evening traffic thinning as she left the suburban sprawl around her parents' estate behind. The city was ahead of her, she still had forty or so minutes of driving.

But now Maddie Nolen was calling.

Caitlyn hadn't spoken to Maddie in over a year. She couldn’t remember the exact date, but the last time they'd been in the same room together, it was quick and very uncomfortable and had ended with Caitlyn walking out with the clear statement that they should stop contacting each other. Maddie had said something like, "Sure, Cait, whatever you need" which didn’t really fill Caitlyn with much confidence then.

Surprisingly though, to Caitlyn's relief, she'd actually stayed away. No texts. No calls. No accidental run-ins at places she knew Caitlyn frequented. She had been living in blessed silence.

Which is why the call now, after all that time, felt so wrong and felt like the world had to be ending for Maddie to break the radio silence.

Caitlyn pressed accept.

"Maddie?"

"Cait." The voice was familiar in the way that old injuries are familiar. You forget about them until you move wrong and then the pain is right there, exactly where you remember it and you think to yourself, how could I have ever forgotten this? Maddie's voice was lower than most women's, slightly husky, always carrying suggestion—at least around Caitlyn. "Hey. Hi. I'm sorry for calling."

"What's wrong?" Caitlyn, directly to the point.

"I, um." A pause. "I'm at the hospital."

Caitlyn's foot pressed harder on the accelerator involuntarily. "What happened?"

"Car accident. Some idiot ran a red and I was on the passenger side and." Maddie's voice caught and she made a small sound, one that sounded like a cry. "They say I'm okay but they won't discharge me without someone here. I called my mom first but she's not answering and I called three other people and nobody picked up and I just—I didn't know who else."

Caitlyn was on the highway now, moving at full speed, the taillights of other cars streaming past in the growing dark.

"Which hospital?"

"Memorial."

That was twenty minutes from Caitlyn's apartment. More from her current position.

Maddie continued. "Caitlyn, you don't have to come. I know I shouldn't be calling you. I just… I genuinely didn't have anyone else."

The thing about Maddie was that she always knew exactly what to say to make leaving her feel monstrous. I had no one else, I love you, you’re perfect—all that and more was a sentence designed to activate every protective instinct Caitlyn possessed, and it worked, because even after everything, even after all that time of purposeful no contact, Caitlyn couldn't hear her say she had no one in a situation like this and drive the other direction.

"I'm on my way," Caitlyn said. "Thirty minutes."

"Thank you. Cait, seriously, thank you."

Caitlyn hung up. 

In the back of her mind, a small voice that sounded remarkably like her new therapist said: who is this now? Is this still a performance? Why are you doing this?

Because it's the right thing to do, Caitlyn answered herself. Because she's hurt and she's alone and I'm a decent person and decent people don't leave someone stranded in a hospital. I’m better than my mother.

Because she sounded scared, added another part of her mind.

Because I'm an idiot, added a third.

Caitlyn pulled into the visitor lot at 9:47 PM, found a space near the emergency department entrance, and sat.

She was tired. The therapy session earlier had cracked open thoughts she'd been keeping sealed for years. The visit to her parents had drained what remained. Her body was heavy in the driver's seat and her mind was running on god knows what at this point.

She wanted to be in her bed, in the dark, processing. She wanted silence and solitude.

She wanted Vi.

She did, right?

Instead here she was, in a hospital parking lot, about to walk inside for a woman she'd spent years methodically cutting out of her life.

Caitlyn looked at herself in the rearview mirror. She smoothed her hair back from her face, checked that her outfit was right, and got out of the car.

The emergency department entrance had automatic doors that slid open, the ER waiting room spread before her.

It seemed to be a busy night. Most of the chairs were occupied. A man with his hand wrapped in gauze sat near the vending machines, his face pale and tight with pain. A woman with a toddler on her lap was rocking back and forth, the child crying in a wail that had clearly been going on for a while. An elderly couple held hands in two adjacent chairs, both of them staring at the door. A teenager with headphones in was slumped in a corner chair with his foot elevated and wrapped in what looked like a makeshift ice pack.

Caitlyn bypassed the waiting area and went directly to the reception desk. The woman behind the glass partition was middle-aged, tired herself, typing something.

"Hi. I'm here for Maddie Nolen. She was brought in earlier."

The receptionist's fingers paused on the keyboard. She looked up at Caitlyn through the glass. "Relationship to the patient?"

"I'm her emergency contact." The lie came out smooth and automatic and Caitlyn didn’t like the way it felt, here, lying for her.

The receptionist typed the name and read something on her screen. "Room twelve through those double doors," she pointed to the left, "then take your first left. It'll be on the right side of the corridor."

"Thank you."

"You'll need to check in with the nursing station before you go in. Second desk on your left after the doors."

"Understood."

Caitlyn pushed through the double doors into the treatment area. The atmosphere shifted immediately. There was the beep of cardiac monitors, the squeak of shoes, a phone ringing somewhere, the distant sound of someone in pain, a groan from further down the corridor.

She stopped at the nursing station. A man in scrubs was reviewing charts on a computer screen.

"Hi. I'm here to see Maddie Nolen, room twelve. Reception said to check in here first."

He looked up. "Are you the discharge companion?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Great. We've been waiting on someone. Let me pull her chart." He typed. Scrolled. "Okay. She's been cleared medically. Vitals stable, lab work normal on the last draw. She'll need someone to review and sign the discharge paperwork, and there's an outstanding billing matter that needs to be resolved before we can release her."

"Billing matter?"

"The patient doesn't have active insurance coverage. The office is still open for another hour if you'd like to discuss payment options with them."

"I… see. I'll handle it."

"Room twelve is just down there." He pointed.

Caitlyn thanked him and walked down the corridor. Room twelve had a closed curtain. A whiteboard mounted on the wall beside it had "NOLEN, M." written in blue marker, along with her admitting time and the initials of her attending physician.

She'd been here since 4:43 PM. Over five hours in this room, calling people, one after another after another, until she got to Caitlyn. The thought sat uneasily in Caitlyn's chest. Whatever Maddie was, whatever she'd done, five hours alone in a hospital room calling people who wouldn't answer was bleak, she had to admit.

Caitlyn pulled the curtain aside.

Maddie was sitting up in the hospital bed, wearing a standard paper gown that tied at the back. The bed was elevated to a semi-reclined position and Maddie was propped against the raised mattress with a thin hospital pillow behind her shoulders. An IV port was still taped to the back of her left hand, though nothing was currently connected to it. A blood pressure cuff was velcroed around her right arm, the monitor beside the bed showing her vitals in steady green numbers.

For lack of better words, she looked… fine.

That was the first thing Caitlyn registered. There were no visible injuries. No bandages on her face or body. No bruising that Caitlyn could see on the skin that was exposed. No cast, no sling, no brace, no stitches. Her orange hair was slightly shorter than Caitlyn remembered, messy from hours on a hospital pillow but not matted with blood or anything. Her hands, resting on the blanket, were steady.

Though what did Caitlyn know about how people looked out of a car accident? 

"Cait." Maddie's face lit up. That smile. "You came. God, I was starting to think nobody would."

"You said you were in a car accident." Caitlyn remained at the curtain's edge, her hand still holding the fabric. She hadn't stepped fully in. "You said someone ran a red."

"They did. Driver's side impact. I was the passenger so most of the damage was on his side."

"His side?"

"The guy I was with. He's probably somewhere in this hospital too. We got separated." Maddie waved a hand vaguely, the IV port catching the light.

Caitlyn looked at the monitors. She took note of the vital signs, steady and normal. She also saw the IV port with nothing connected. Lastly, she registered Maddie sitting upright and alert and conversational.

"What are your injuries?" Caitlyn asked.

"Chest bruising from the seatbelt. They did a CT scan to check for internal bleeding and it came back clear, thank god." Maddie pressed a hand to her sternum demonstratively. "But it hurts when I breathe deep and they were worried about a concussion because I hit my head on the window. They've been monitoring me for that."

"For five hours?"

"They said the concussion protocol requires observation before discharge. You know how hospitals are. Everything takes forever."

Caitlyn studied her. Car accident, passenger side, seatbelt injury, head impact, observation protocol. It was probably true.

"And they won't let you leave alone because of the concussion risk," Caitlyn filled in.

"Exactly. Protocol, they say. They need someone to take me home and watch me for signs of whatever. Neurological deterioration or something. The nurse rattled off a list of things to monitor but I'm honestly fine, Cait. I feel fine. I just need someone to sign the paper and take me out of here."

"And the bill."

Maddie's expression shifted. Just a flicker before she rearranged her face back into its usual upbeatness. "Yeah. The bill. I, um. My insurance lapsed last month. I was between jobs and I couldn't keep up with the premium payments and I was going to get back on it once I started the new position but that doesn't start until next month and obviously I didn't plan on being in a car accident in the meantime."

"Obviously."

"I know how this looks."

"How does it look, Maddie?"

"Like I'm asking you for money. Which I am and I hate it. I hate that I have to ask anyone for help with this, let alone you, after everything. But the bill is not small and I-I can't handle it right now. But if I don't handle it, it goes to collections and then my credit is shot and then the new apartment I'm trying to get falls through because they run credit checks and..." Maddie's voice trailed off. She pulled her hands into her lap and twisted her fingers together. "I'll pay you back the second I'm working again."

Caitlyn watched Maddie's face, looking for any tells. The slight over-widening of the eyes that meant sincerity. The way Maddie's fingers twisted, a gesture she'd deployed as long as Caitlyn had known her, always in moments where she wanted to appear small and in need.

Did it matter? Even if everything Maddie was saying was true, did it change the end result? Maddie needed help and Caitlyn was here and the money, honestly, would not register in her accounts.

"How much?" Caitlyn asked.

Maddie told her the number.

It was significant. Several thousand dollars to put it lightly. It was the kind of sum that would devastate most people without decent insurance at least but for Caitlyn Kiramman, it was practically meaningless. 

And Maddie knew this. 

That was the thing. Maddie had always known how much money Caitlyn had access to and exactly how much guilt Caitlyn carried about having it. She knew that one of the ways Caitlyn managed the guilt of privilege was by helping people in need. Maddie knew exactly which buttons to press.

"I'll handle it," Caitlyn confirmed what they both already knew. "I need to speak with the billing department."

"They're still open. The nurse told me they're on the main floor, just past the elevators."

"Alright. Stay here."

Caitlyn let the curtain fall closed behind her and walked back down the corridor. Past the nursing station, past the other curtained bays, through the double doors and into the main hospital. She followed signs to the billing office on the first floor, a small room with two desks and a woman behind a computer who looked up when Caitlyn entered.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to settle an outstanding bill for a patient. Maddie Nolen, admitted this afternoon through the ER I believe."

"Let me pull that up." The woman typed. "Nolen, Madeline. Yes, I see the outstanding balance here. Are you the responsible party?"

"I'll be covering the cost, yes."

The billing process was straightforward. Caitlyn provided her card information, signed the authorization, and received a receipt. The woman behind the desk didn't blink or comment on the amount handed over without a second thought.

On her way back to the ER, walking through the hospital's main corridor with its motivational posters and hand sanitizer dispensers, Caitlyn stopped at the nursing station before re-entering the treatment area.

A different nurse was at the desk now, a woman with kind eyes, Caitlyn observed.

"Excuse me," Caitlyn introduced. "I'm here to discharge Maddie Nolen from room twelve. I've settled the billing. Can you tell me about her current status?"

The nurse looked up, pulled up the chart. "Ms. Nolen has been medically cleared for discharge with a companion. Are you the discharge companion?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. I'll get the paperwork ready. It'll just be a few minutes."

"Of course. Can I ask about the nature of her admission? I want to make sure I know what to monitor once I take her home. I’ve never taken care of anyone in a car accident before."

The nurse scrolled through the chart and undoubtedly, her expression shifted. 

"Ms. Nolen's admission wasn't coded as a motor vehicle accident," the nurse replied carefully. "It was coded as a substance-related incident. The attending noted possible opioid interaction. She was treated with naloxone upon arrival and has been monitored for recurrence since admission."

When she finished speaking, Caitlyn could hear the clock on the wall behind the nursing station, its second hand ticking. She could feel her heartbeat, which had not accelerated or changed in any way. She was very still.

"A substance-related incident," Caitlyn repeated. Just to confirm that she'd heard correctly, though she knew she had.

"Naloxone is administered as an emergency reversal for opioid overdose," the nurse explained gently. "The patient responded well and has shown no signs of recurrence during the observation period. Vitals have been stable for several hours. She's safe to discharge."

"I apologize, just to confirm, there was no car accident?"

"The discharge instructions will include follow-up recommendations," the nurse answered instead. "Including substance abuse resources and information on naloxone access. I'll include those in the paperwork."

"Thank you." Caitlyn's voice was even.

"I'll have the forms ready at the desk in about ten minutes."

Caitlyn nodded and walked back toward room twelve. She walked and with as much effort as she could muster then, maintained that neutral expression.

She pulled the curtain aside.

Maddie was looking at her phone, scrolling, her expression bored. She glanced up.

"All sorted?"

"There was no car accident," Caitlyn said instead.

Maddie's scrolling stopped. Her thumb hovered over the phone screen. 

"What?"

"There was no car accident. No one ran a red light. There was no other driver. You were admitted for a drug overdose. You were treated with naloxone." Caitlyn stated. "You called me and told me you were in a car crash because you knew I would come for that."

The curtained area they were in was small and enclosed. Outside, the hospital continued its operation. But inside this curtain, in this square of space, there was nothing but Caitlyn standing and Maddie sitting and the lie between them.

Maddie's face cycled through expressions. The surprise first, that Caitlyn had figured it out. Then brief sharp anger at being caught. Then something that was maybe remorse.

"It wasn't really an overdose," Maddie started. "I took something recreationally that happened to be cut with something stronger than I expected. It was a bad reaction, not an intentional—"

"I don't care."

"Caitlyn, it was scary. I was scared. I woke up in an ambulance with people over me sticking needles in my arm and I didn't know what was happening and when they told me I could leave if someone came to get me, I panicked. I called you because you're the only person I know who would actually come and who could help with the money and I knew if I told you the real reason you might not."

"You're right. I might not have."

"So I made a decision. A bad one. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry."

"I am, Cait."

"You're sorry you got caught. If I hadn't asked the nurse, you would have let me believe the car accident story forever. You would have let me drive you home tonight believing I was helping an accident victim and you would never have corrected it."

Maddie looked at her for a long moment. Then the remorse slipped, the mask being removed.

"Fine," Maddie said. Her voice dropped its apologetic register. "Fine. Yes. I lied. I lied because I needed you here and the lie worked because here you are. And the bill is paid and I'm alive and frankly, Caitlyn, does it actually matter whether it was a car or pills? The outcome is the same. I needed help and you helped."

"It matters that you lied to me."

"Everyone lies."

"I don't."

Maddie's mouth curved. "Sure you don't."

Fuck.

"Can we leave?" Maddie asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I've been in this room for over hours and I'd really like to not be here anymore."

"...Get dressed. I'll sign the discharge papers."

Caitlyn pulled the curtain closed and went back to the nursing station. She signed where indicated on the discharge forms. She accepted the printed instructions including the substance abuse resource list and the naloxone information pamphlet. She thanked the nurse, who gave her a look of quiet sympathy.

Ten minutes later, Maddie appeared in the corridor wearing the clothes she must have arrived in: jeans that sat low on her and a thin sweater that hung loosely on her frame. She was thinner than Caitlyn remembered. The sweater draped over sharp collarbones and shoulders that were more angular than they should be. Caitlyn now noticed her face was thinner too, the cheekbones more prominent, the skin beneath her eyes darker.

Caitlyn felt the familiar pull. The urge to fix, to help, to take this broken person and help until they were whole again.

She tried to shut it down. 

"Let's go," Caitlyn directed.

The drive from the hospital to Caitlyn's apartment felt significantly longer than it actually was because Maddie could not, would not, stop talking. The plan was just for tonight to let her stay over, because Caitlyn’s was closer and it was late.

It wasn’t too surprising to Caitlyn. When they'd first known each other, years ago, Caitlyn had found it charming. Maddie was quick and witty and her running commentary on the world could be funny.

But now, in this car, on this night, after everything, it was just noise. It was a wall of words that just stood to prevent all the words Caitlyn might say what she actually wanted to say.

"My new apartment is actually nice," Maddie was saying, her head resting against the window, her voice light and conversational as if the last year between them hadn't happened. "It's a one-bedroom, ground floor, decent neighborhood. There's a gallery within walking distance that does rotating exhibitions. I've been talking to the owner about showing some work."

"Mm." Caitlyn's eyes were on the road.

"I've been painting again. Did I mention that? I went back to it a few months ago. Mostly abstract stuff. Big canvases, lots of texture." Maddie shifted in her seat, angling her body slightly toward Caitlyn. "I forgot how much I loved it. It's like, when I'm painting, the world goes quiet, you know? Everything else just falls away."

Caitlyn said nothing.

"How's the astronaut thing?" Maddie asked, the topic change executed with particular smoothness. "Still doing that?"

"Still doing that."

"You’re trying to go up, right? Is there a date?"

"It hasn't been assigned yet."

"But you're close?"

"I'm eligible."

Maddie nodded. "That's exciting. I always thought that was so cool about you. Like, the astronaut thing. Most people just have regular jobs. You're literally training to leave the planet."

Caitlyn didn't respond. She merged onto the street that would take them to her neighborhood. Seven more minutes?

"You're quiet tonight," Maddie noted, as if she didn't know why. 

"It's been a long day."

"I'm sorry I made it longer."

"Good."

Maddie was quiet for almost thirty seconds. A remarkable feat.

"I missed you, you know," she said then. "After you cut me off I thought about calling you so many times."

"You shouldn't have called tonight either."

"Probably not." A pause. "But I'm glad I did."

"Maddie."

"What?"

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"This. Whatever this is that you're doing. Stop it."

Maddie turned her head on the headrest to look at Caitlyn. Caitlyn could feel the gaze but didn't return it, kept her eyes on the road, on the traffic lights, on the road markings.

"I'm just talking," Maddie defended.

Another silence. Five seconds. Ten.

"You were always too smart for me," Maddie then said, but nothing else. And then she turned her face to the window and didn't speak again until they reached the apartment.

Upon arrival, Caitlyn parked and they took the elevator up in silence. The hallway to Caitlyn's door was quiet, her neighbors most likely asleep at this hour. She unlocked the door and pushed it open and stood aside for Maddie to enter.

Maddie walked in and stopped in the living room, looking around.

"Hasn't changed much," Maddie commented. Her fingers trailed along the back of the couch as she moved through the space. 

Caitlyn set her keys down by the door. "The guest room is down the hall on the right. Towels in the bathroom cabinet." She said it even though she didn’t need to, to maintain some sense of formality and distance between them. Even though Maddie knew the layout, even though she was familiar, as she so kindly pointed out.

Maddie wasn't listening. She was looking at the bookshelf, at the photos arranged on one of the shelves. Caitlyn's stomach tightened because she knew what was there: pictures of her and Vi. There were photos of them together at the beach, at a restaurant, and one from Caitlyn’s birthday.

"New girl," Maddie commented casually. "Redhead? Pink? Interesting choice."

"Put that down."

"She's cute. Very athletic." Maddie tilted the frame, examining the photo. "Different from your usual type."

"I don't have a type. Maddie, put it down."

Maddie set the frame back positioning it exactly where it had been. "Touchy. She must be special."

"Guest room. Right side of the hall. Goodnight."

Maddie turned. She looked at Caitlyn from across the living room and there was something in her eyes that Caitlyn hated that she recognized, something predatory dressed in the clothes of affection. 

"Goodnight, Cait. Thank you for tonight. I really mean it."

"Goodnight."

Maddie walked down the hall. Caitlyn heard the guest room door open and close.

She stood in her living room for a moment, hands at her sides, breathing. Then she went to her own bedroom, closed the door, and leaned against it.

The day. This entire fucking day. Therapy, parents, and Maddie somehow all together into one. Three separate areas of combat and she'd survived them all but barely.

She needed a shower. She needed to wash this day off her skin and out of her hair.

She peeled off her clothes, dropped them in her hamper, and walked into her suite bathroom. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it and stepped under the stream and just stood there.

The water hit her shoulders, her back, her face. She closed her eyes and breathed in the steam and let the heat work at the tension knotted between her shoulder blades and everywhere else. 

She thought about her mother's question: Where do you see yourself in five years?

She thought about Maddie in her guest room, here because Caitlyn still couldn't say no even when a person had demonstrated repeatedly that they could not be trusted.

She thought about Vi, asleep at her home probably, unaware that her girlfriend had just paid a hospital bill for an ex-something-or-other who had overdosed and lied about it. Another omission, growing. But she would tell Vi tomorrow. 

She turned off the water after about fifteen minutes. She wrapped herself in a towel. Her large, soft bath towel, covering her from chest to about mid-thigh. She wiped the mirror with her hand and looked at her own face and tried not to think hard about what she saw back.

She opened the bathroom door and stepped into her bedroom.

What the fuck?

Maddie was sitting on her bed.

Caitlyn stopped. The air left her lungs in a short, sharp exhale.

Maddie was sitting on the edge of Caitlyn's bed, her legs crossed, her posture deliberately casual. She'd changed. Or rather, she'd removed clothing. She was wearing the thin sweater she'd arrived in, and her underwear. Just that. Her legs were bare, her feet bare. The sweater had ridden up or been intentionally pulled up to show a strip of her stomach.

She looked up at Caitlyn, slightly sleepy, slightly wanting.

"The guest room mattress is terrible," Maddie explained.

"Get out." 

"Cait."

"I said get out of my bedroom."

"Why?" Maddie uncrossed her legs. She leaned back slightly, her palms on the mattress behind her, the posture opening her body, deliberately inviting. "We're both adults. You've had a long day. I've had a long day. We used to be good at helping each other unwind."

"That was years ago and you need to leave this room right now."

Maddie stood from the bed. She was shorter than Caitlyn by several inches but she moved toward her with confidence that ignored the difference.

"You're tense," Maddie murmured. Her hand came up and touched Caitlyn's shoulder, bare above the towel's edge. "You're always so tense. You carry everything right here." Her fingers pressed slightly against the muscle.

Caitlyn grabbed Maddie's wrist and removed her hand. Her grip was firm, her fingers closing around tightly.

"Don’t touch me." Caitlyn's voice was very low. "I have a girlfriend. I am not interested. You are going back to the guest room right now or you're leaving my apartment entirely."

"The redhead?" Maddie's eyebrow rose. She didn't pull her wrist from Caitlyn's grip. Instead she moved closer, testing, pressing into the boundary. "You don't look very happy with the redhead, Cait. You look exhausted. You look lonely."

"You don't know anything about my relationship."

"I know what you look like when you're satisfied and I know what you look like when you're not. And you, right now, you are not satisfied."

"Leave." Caitlyn released Maddie's wrist with a push, trying to create distance. "Now."

Maddie didn't leave. Instead she stepped forward again, closing the gap Caitlyn had created. Her hands came up to the edge of Caitlyn's towel, her fingers finding the tucked corner at Caitlyn's chest where the fabric secured itself.

"Maddie, I said no." Caitlyn grabbed both her wrists this time, pushing them away from her body. "What the hell is wrong with you? I said no."

"You’re always hesitant at first." Maddie's voice was still far too soft. "You always say no and then you change your mind because you want it and you just need to admit it to yourself."

"That is not what's happening here."

"Then why did you bring me back here? You could have called me a car. You could have left me at the hospital. But you brought me here, to your apartment. You want me here."

"I brought you here because I'm a decent person who didn’t want to leave you stranded. That is ALL this is."

"Cait." Maddie leaned in. She was pulling against Caitlyn's grip on her wrists, leaning her body forward, her face angling toward Caitlyn's, aiming for her mouth.

Caitlyn shoved her back hard. Both hands released Maddie's wrists and pushed at her shoulders, creating more distance this time, enough that Maddie stumbled backward two steps.

But the towel, which had been secured only by the tucked corner that Maddie's fingers had loosened, came free.

It fell. Fabric slid off Caitlyn's body, pooling on the floor around her feet. And Caitlyn was standing there, exposed, her hands still extended from the push, her body unprotected.

One second of shock. One second where Caitlyn's brain registered what had happened and her hands dropped to cover herself what was happening was so so wrong.

In the moment of Caitlyn's shock, in the fraction of time where Caitlyn's hands were occupied trying to cover her body and her focus was split between exposure and escape, Maddie closed the distance and her weight hit Caitlyn and Caitlyn fell.

They went down onto the bed. Caitlyn's back hit the mattress and Maddie was above her, using her position and Caitlyn's momentary disorientation, and Caitlyn's heart was hammering so hard she could hear nothing else and her skin was cold everywhere the air touched it and this wasn't happening, this wasn't actually happening.

"Cait." Maddie murmured as she leaned in, her lips connecting with Caitlyn’s neck. The second Maddie’s mouth made connection, Caitlyn flinched, then she froze. 

Maddie continued to kiss around Caitlyn’s neck, going down to her collarbone, going down down down. She had both her hands pinning Caitlyn’s arms down at her sides on the mattress.

Caitlyn could hear her heart beating.

Maddie moved up, moving one of her legs to situate herself on top of Caitlyn’s thigh.

Caitlyn stared straight up at the ceiling, utterly incapable of looking anywhere else though she didn’t even try. Her eyes glazed over, she only felt her heart beating, fast enough to outrun a cheetah, and her thoughts raced all over the place.

Maddie. 

Vi.

"You okay? You've been somewhere else lately."

"Like, really really… someone took the whole sky and just, poof! Put it in your face."

"Because I have been trying, Caitlyn, for weeks. I have been trying so hard to be enough for whatever you're going through and it's not working and I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I'm your second priority. I'm tired of talking to you and seeing your eyes go somewhere else. I'm tired of kissing you and feeling like you're performing and you don’t actually want to be there."

"I thought I had a decent figure, at least."

"We're together. We're just also going to work on this. Both of us. Yeah?"

"I… for some reason I wish you were more like them."

BZZT. BZZT. 

The phone rang.

Somewhere in the room, Caitlyn's phone where she'd left it before her shower, buzzing and ringing with an incoming call. The sound cut through the room and Maddie startled. Her grip shifted, her attention splitting for one second between Caitlyn and the unexpected noise.

That one second was enough.

Caitlyn surged upward. Her hands found Maddie's shoulders and she pushed with everything she had, every ounce of force her arms could produce, and Maddie went backward.

Maddie hit the floor, the impact hard and sudden, her head connecting with the floor.

Caitlyn rolled off the bed on the opposite side, her body hitting the floor, her hands scrabbling for anything, any clothing, anything to put between her skin and the air. Her fingers found fabric, something from the hamper she'd dropped clothes into earlier. She pulled it on, buttoning with hands that were shaking so badly she missed two. She found her underwear, pulled them on. Found pants, pulled them up.

Maddie was on the floor on the other side of the bed. Sitting up now, her hand on the back of her head where she'd been hit. Her expression was dazed, her eyes unfocused from the impact.

Caitlyn stood at the far side of her own bedroom with her back to the wall and her clothes buttoned wrong and her entire body shaking from adrenaline and her eyes burning with tears and she was fast, she was breathing too fast, she knew she was.

"Get out," Caitlyn demanded.

Her voice didn't sound like her own. 

Maddie looked up at her. "Cait, come on. That was—"

"Get out of my apartment." Louder now. "Get out. Right now. Get your things and get out."

"You're overreacting."

"I am NOT overreacting!" The words ripped from her throat. "I said no! Multiple times! I said no and you—"

"I read the signals wrong," Maddie answered flatly. "You brought me home. You were in a towel. It seemed like you were open to—"

"OUT!" Caitlyn's hand shot toward the door. Her whole arm rigid. "Get out. Get whatever your things are and get out of my apartment and do not call me again. Do not text me. Do not come here. We’re done. Whatever we were, whatever remained, it’s finished. I’m blocking your number the second you walk out that door."

Maddie stared at her. Then she shrugged. She walked toward the bedroom door with a lack of hurry. At the threshold, she stopped. 

"You've never known what you wanted, Caitlyn," Maddie called. "That's always been your problem. You want things and then you punish yourself for wanting them and then you blame other people."

Caitlyn said nothing but stared. Maddie held the look for another second then she walked out. Caitlyn heard the guest room open, brief sounds, then footsteps toward the front door before it opened and closed.

Gone.

Caitlyn stood in her bedroom with her back against the wall and her shirt buttoned wrong and her pants barely on and her hair still wet from the shower and she stood there and she shook. Her whole body trembling, uncontrollable.

She slid down the wall, her body folding until she was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. She pressed her face into her knees.

She didn't know how long she sat there. The shaking subsided gradually, the tears slowing, her breathing evening back out into something approaching normal.

When she lifted her head, her eyes were swollen and her face was wet and her apartment was quiet.

What had happened?

Her phone rang.

Caitlyn pulled herself up from the floor, her legs unsteady but functional, and crossed to the nightstand. Her phone was there, the notification light blinking.

She picked it up. 

(1) Missed call from Mel Medarda.

Caitlyn stared at the name. Mel. NASA’s crew dynamics specialist. She had only worked in passing with her before.

For her to be calling now, this late, that raised more than enough questions on its own. 

But she didn’t care. Caitlyn pressed the phone against her chest and closed her eyes.

Thank god for Mel. 

She would call Mel back in the morning. She would return the missed call and discuss whatever it was so urgent. And Mel would never know that her late-night phone call, whether on purpose or not, had been the thing that saved Caitlyn.

Caitlyn changed her clothes. She put on clean pajamas from her dresser. 

She did not get in that bed.

She went to the living room and turned on every light. She sat on the couch with her phone in her hand and her feet pulled up beneath her and she did not sleep. She sat in the bright, fully-illuminated room and waited for the sun to come up and didn't close her eyes once.

At 7 AM, she blocked Maddie's number.

At 7:15 AM, she texted Vi: "I love you. Can I see you today?"

At 7:30 AM, she called Mel back.

Chapter Text

Weeks into the mission, Jinx had developed what she could only describe as a sixth sense for Caitlyn's location on the station at any given time.

She didn’t even try. It was involuntary, a byproduct of the station's tight environment and the fact that there were only the two of them aboard. The ISS carried sound with an echo that made privacy seem impossible most of the time. Jinx could identify Caitlyn's movements by the sound of her typing, by the sound of her voice during communications with Houston.

She could make a pretty good guess at any given moment whether Caitlyn was in Node 1 or Node 3 or the Japanese module or her crew quarters. She could tell if Caitlyn was working or exercising or eating or sleeping. She could tell, sometimes, by the silence from Caitlyn's direction, whether Caitlyn was awake or asleep.

This was not a skill Jinx had asked for or wanted. It was a consequence of proximity and isolation.

Jinx was in Kibo (the largest module/section aboard the ISS), running her third test sequence on the ion drive chamber. The first two had gone well, the data clean and promising, the thrust measurements falling within her predicted range. Today's test was pushing into new territory of a sustained fire scenario, longer than anything she'd run before, testing the thermal management system she'd designed specifically for extended operation.

She was monitoring the chamber's temperature readings when Caitlyn's voice came over the station-wide comm.

"Dr. Devaux, when you have a moment, please join me at the comm terminal in Node 2. Houston has a briefing for both of us."

"Copy. Give me three minutes to secure the test chamber."

Jinx powered down the chamber to standby mode, verified the cooling system was maintaining post-fire temperatures within acceptable limits, and documented her stopping point in the experiment log. Then she pushed off from the workspace and floated through the connecting modules.

Caitlyn was already at the communication terminal, headset on, her tablet in hand. She glanced at Jinx as she arrived and floated into position beside her.

"Go ahead, Houston," Caitlyn directed into the comm.

"Good morning, crew. We've got a heads-up for you regarding your orbital environment over the next eighteen hours." The voice was their mission controller. "Tracking has identified a debris field in your orbital vicinity. It's a natural meteoroid stream, remnants of a cometary body. The main concentration will pass through your orbital altitude window between approximately 1400 GMT today and 0800 GMT tomorrow."

Jinx straightened slightly. A meteoroid stream?

"Risk assessment?" Caitlyn asked immediately.

"Low to negligible for the station proper. The shields on the station's exterior are rated for impacts up to approximately one centimeter in diameter, and the predicted particle size distribution of this stream is overwhelmingly sub-centimeter. We're talking dust grains to small pebbles, essentially. The probability of a shield-penetrating impact is calculated at less than one in fifty thousand for the duration of the pass."

"One in fifty thousand," Jinx repeated.

"Correct. However, out of an abundance of caution, we'd like you to take some standard precautions. Close and verify seal on all inter-module hatches during the peak concentration window, which we're estimating at 1800 to 2200 GMT. Keep your emergency respirators accessible but not deployed. And avoid any EVA activity during the passage window."They were even considering EVA? EVA stood for extravehicular activity and refers to work done outside of a spacecraft or actually on another celestial body.

"Understood," Caitlyn confirmed. "Anything else?"

"One more thing." Their mission controller’s voice took on a slightly joyous quality even. "The density of this stream means you'll likely see quite a show through the windows during the nightside passes. Meteoroids hitting the upper atmosphere below you will produce visible flashes. Previous crews who've observed similar events describe it as watching a fireworks display from above. Might be worth having a camera ready."

Jinx felt something spark in her chest. A meteor shower! 

"Copy, Houston. We'll keep cameras ready. Anything else for us?"

"That's all for now. We'll update you if the tracking data changes significantly. Have a good day, crew."

The comm went quiet. Caitlyn removed her headset and Jinx did the same.

They looked at each other briefly, just a second to acknowledge that deep down, they were both excited about this. All they had to do now was wait.

The afternoon passed with the standard work blocks. Jinx went back and ran her sustained fire test, which was successful, and then moved to her secondary experiment, the crystalline formation examinations.

At 1730 GMT, Caitlyn's voice came over the intercom. "Beginning hatch seal verification per Houston's instructions. Starting with the Node 1 to Node 3 hatch."

"Copy," Jinx acknowledged. "I'll get the Kibo hatch after I finish this array swap."

They moved through the station, sealing each inter-module hatch and verifying the integrity of each seal. The process took around thirty minutes and left the station divided into isolated segments, each one a self-contained pressure vessel. If a meteoroid did penetrate the hull, the sealed hatches would prevent total depressurization and give them time to respond.

Emergency respirators were positioned at accessible points in each occupied module. Jinx clipped hers to a handrail near her crew quarters entrance. The small device could provide fifteen minutes of breathing air in the event of rapid depressurization, enough time to reach an emergency oxygen supply or evacuate to another module.

At 1800 GMT, the peak began. Houston confirmed via comm that the station was entering the densest part of the debris stream.

"Tracking shows the highest flux between now and approximately 2200 your time," They were informed. "You may notice occasional vibrations through the station structure as smaller particles impact the shielding. This is normal and expected. If you hear anything unusual or see warning indicators, follow standard depressurization responses. Otherwise, enjoy the show."

"Copy, Houston. We'll report any anomalies."

Jinx finished securing her workspace and made her way toward the cupola, the windowed dome. It was 1830 GMT. They were about to enter the nightside of their orbit, which meant the atmosphere below would be dark and any meteoroid impacts would be visible as bright flashes of light.

She pulled herself through the connecting passage and into the observation dome.

Caitlyn was already there.

Of course she was.

She was floating near the bottom window as she often did, her face angled downward toward the Earth below. She had a camera in her hand that was part of the station's photography kit, and she was adjusting settings with quiet focus.

Jinx entered without comment and positioned herself at one of the side windows, angling her view to capture both the Earth below and the black of space around them. 

"Houston said we should be entering the most concentrated area now," Caitlyn mentioned without looking up from the camera.

"Yeah. I'm hoping to see some good fireballs."

"Fireballs?"

"When a larger particle enters the atmosphere at high velocity, the energy release produces a visible flash that can last several seconds. From this altitude and angle, they should appear as brief bright streaks or expanding points of light against the dark surface, hence the name."

"I understand, Dr. Devaux."

"Then why'd you ask?"

Caitlyn glanced at her with the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth. "I wanted to hear your explanation."

Jinx looked away quickly, directing her attention back out the window. Her face was warm. That was probably the station's thermal regulation system being slightly off. Definitely the thermal regulation system.

They waited… and then it began.

The first flash was just a brief point of white light that appeared against the dark surface of the Indian Ocean and vanished in less than a second. If Jinx hadn't been watching carefully, she might have missed it.

"There," Caitlyn said, pointing. She'd seen it too.

The second came fifteen seconds later brighter and with a visible duration. A streak of orange-white that drew a short line across the atmosphere below them before extinguishing. Then a third, further north, a blue-white flash that expanded briefly into a tiny circle of light before disappearing.

And then they started coming faster.

Within five minutes, the dark hemisphere below them was alive with flashes. Ten, twenty, thirty per minute. Points of light blossoming and dying across the atmosphere. Some were tiny, barely visible pinpricks. Others were bright enough to illuminate cloud formations beneath them for entire seconds. A few lasted long enough to draw visible trails, bright lines scored across the upper atmosphere.

"Oh my god," Jinx breathed.

It was like watching the sky burn from the wrong side. Every spark of light below them was a piece of an ancient comet, a fragment of ice and rock billions of years old, meeting its end in the friction of Earth's atmosphere. Each flash was a death and a birth, a transformation, matter becoming energy, darkness becoming light for one brilliant instant.

"The camera," Caitlyn murmured, and Jinx heard the rapid click of the shutter as Caitlyn documented the display. But between shots, Caitlyn lowered the camera and just watched, her face turned toward the window, the reflected flashes playing across her features.

A particularly bright fireball entered the atmosphere almost directly below them. It lasted nearly three full seconds, a blazing white point that expanded into a glowing sphere of superheated air, then faded to orange, then red, then gone. The light from it was bright enough to cast shadows inside for its duration.

"That one was big," Jinx commented. "Maybe centimeter-scale before entry."

"Beautiful," Caitlyn replied.

Another few minutes passed and the shower continued, relentless and gorgeous. Jinx found herself counting, her analytical brain unable to resist quantifying even while the rest of her was simply in awe of the spectacle. 

The orbital track carried them toward the day-night terminator. As they approached the lit hemisphere, the flashes became harder to see against the brightening atmosphere, and eventually they were in sunlight and the show was, for this orbit, over. It would return in forty-five minutes when they crossed back into darkness.

Jinx was still at the window. Her forehead was nearly touching the glass. She felt, in this moment, a profound quietness in her mind that she rarely experienced. The same quietness the aurora had produced. 

Caitlyn hadn't left yet either. She was reviewing photos on the camera's display, scrolling through the captures, her face lit by the small screen.

Jinx watched her for a moment. 

"H-hey," she said. Her voice came out strange. Did she always sound like this?

Caitlyn looked up from the camera. "Yes?"

"I wanted to, um." Jinx gripped the handrail beside her window. "About the press conference. I wanted to say that I."

She stopped. That wasn't right. 

She tried again. "What I said to you. Uh, after, y’know, in the hallway. The stuff about you making it, uh, and, uh, that was."

She stopped again. Caitlyn was looking at her with her head tilted slightly, her expression open and confused and patient and that made this harder, so much harder, because if Caitlyn were cold right now Jinx could bounce her words off that coldness. But Caitlyn was looking at her with a gentleness that was almost curious, like she was willing to wait forever for Jinx to find her way.

"Fuck, okay." Jinx rubbed her face with both hands, which required letting go of the handrail, which sent her drifting slightly. She grabbed it again. "What I'm trying to say is, uh, you didn't deserve some of that. I know you were trying to help and I made it into something it wasn't, uh..."

The words were tangling. Every sentence she tried to say led somewhere she wasn't ready to go, to feelings she couldn't name.

Caitlyn set the camera down slowly. She was watching Jinx with full attention now, her body still, those damn blue eyes focused all on her, waiting.

"I'm not good at this," Jinx laughed. "I'm really bad at this. But I think you should know that I—"

A sound cut through the station.

An alarm tone that Jinx recognized instantly from countless hours of drill training. Her body reacted before her conscious mind processed, spine straightening, hands finding secure grips, eyes moving to the nearest status panel.

The caution and warning system was active. A yellow indicator light was flashing on the panel near the dome entrance, accompanied by the intermittent alarm tone. 

Caitlyn moved instantly. The soft-eyed woman listening to Jinx stumble through an apology was gone and Commander Kiramman was there instead, her body snapping alert, her hands already reaching for the comm panel.

"Houston, Dragon. We have a caution alarm on station. Identifying source." Her voice was crisp and clear and completely different.

Jinx was already pulling up the station's diagnostic display on the nearest terminal. Her fingers moved over the interface, navigating through system menus, searching for the flagged parameter.

"Got it," Jinx called out. "Environmental Control and Life Support. The CO2 removal system is showing reduced output. Assembly two, which is in the, fuck, it's in the exposed external rack."

"Cause?"

"I need a second." Jinx pulled deeper into the diagnostic data. The picture assembled itself in her mind. "The valve is partially obstructed. Something's blocking airflow into the assembly. If I had to guess, given the timing, a micrometeoroid impact displaced debris or damaged a protective cover and the particulate matter is restricting flow."

"How critical?"

"CO2 scrubbing is running at sixty-two percent capacity right now. That'll climb to dangerous concentration levels in approximately eight to ten hours at current crew metabolism rates. We need the full system operational."

"Can we fix it from inside?"

"No. The assembly is external. It needs hands on it."

They looked at each other across the room. The alarm tone was still pulsing, yellow light flashing, the station's systems informing them that something was wrong with the machine keeping them alive.

"I need to go outside," Jinx stated calmly.

Caitlyn's expression didn't change but something in her eyes tightened. "Houston, Dragon. We've identified the caution source as a partial occlusion of the CO2 removal assembly, likely caused by meteoroid debris impact. We're assessing for EVA necessity."

"Copy, Dragon. Stand by while we verify from our end."

The next three minutes were tense to put it lightly. Jinx continued running diagnostics, pulling every available data point on the CO2 system's performance, verifying her assessment. Caitlyn communicated with Houston, relaying Jinx's findings, receiving ground-based analysis.

"Dragon, Houston. We concur with your assessment. The opening appears partially blocked. Ground-based commands have been unable to clear it. We're recommending an emergency EVA to inspect and clear the obstruction manually."

"Copy, Houston. We'll begin EVA prep immediately." Caitlyn switched to the station-wide channel. "Dr. Devaux, suit up."

"Already on my way."

Jinx pushed off toward the airlock module where the EVA suits were stored. Her heart was racing but her hands were steady. This was what she was trained for. This was what the Neutral Buoyancy Lab sessions had prepared her for. Working outside the station, in a suit, in the void, with nothing between her and death except space.

The EMU (Extravehicular Mobility Unit) was a spacesuit that astronauts wore when outside a station could be described as its own spacecraft. Two hundred and seventy pounds of life support, thermal protection, and mobility systems that would keep her alive in the vacuum. Donning it was a process that normally took over an hour with assistance. For an emergency EVA with only one other crew member to assist, the timeline compressed but the checklist did not shrink. 

Caitlyn appeared in the airlock module. She'd transitioned seamlessly to action, already pulling the EVA checklist on her tablet, already positioning herself to assist.

"Lower torso assembly first," Caitlyn directed, anchoring herself to a foot loop near the suit storage. "I'll hold it stable while you step in."

They worked together. The tension between them, the distance, any formality—none of it existed in this moment. Here was only the process of getting Jinx suited and sealed and safe. Caitlyn's hands were stable and competent as she assisted with connections, verified seals, and checked indicators.

"Upper torso now. Arms up."

Jinx raised her arms and Caitlyn guided the hard upper torso over her head and locked it into the lower assembly's waist ring. 

"Waist ring sealed. Verify on your wrist display."

Jinx checked. "Green."

"Gloves."

Left glove, locked into the wrist ring. Right glove, same. Both verified green on the suit's internal monitoring system.

"Helmet."

Caitlyn lifted the helmet. For one second, before she brought it down over Jinx's head, they were face to face. Caitlyn's eyes met Jinx's.

"Be careful out there," was all Caitlyn said. Her voice was commander-level, but her eyes said something else.

"Copy, Commander."

The helmet came down and locked and the world narrowed to the dimensions of the visor. The suit pressurized around Jinx's body, inflating slightly, the atmosphere inside becoming her personal biosphere.

"Suit pressure nominal," Jinx reported. "O2 flow confirmed. Comm check."

"Reading you clearly," Caitlyn confirmed through the helmet speakers. "Houston, Dragon. Mission Specialist Devaux is suited and sealed. Commencing airlock depressurization in five minutes per checklist."

"Copy, Dragon. We have readings on the suit. All parameters are nominal. Proceed when ready."

The pre-breathe protocol was normally four hours (breathing pure oxygen to purge nitrogen from the blood, preventing decompression sickness during the pressure reduction of EVA). For an emergency, there was an accelerated protocol that combined suit purge with a reduced pre-breathe, cutting the time significantly. They ran through it now, Jinx breathing the pure oxygen supply while Caitlyn monitored her vitals from outside the suit.

"Nitrogen levels acceptable," Caitlyn reported after the shortened protocol. "You're cleared for depressurization."

Jinx positioned herself in the airlock. The inner hatch sealed behind her, separating her from the station's atmosphere. The pump began its work, pulling air from the small chamber, reducing pressure toward vacuum.

She watched the pressure gauge descend until it hit zero.

Vacuum.

She was separated from death by the suit and nothing else. A thin layer of fabric and engineering between her and the most hostile environment imaginable.

"Airlock depressurized," Jinx reported. "Opening outer hatch."

She released the outer hatch mechanism. It swung outward, away from the station, and space was there.

The Earth was below, vast and blue and indifferent to her and her problems. The sun was behind the station, casting long shadows across the structure. Stars were visible in the direction away from the sun and everywhere around the station, in her peripheral vision, the occasional flash of a meteor burning in the atmosphere below. The shower was still happening. She was outside, in it, separated from the stream of debris by nothing except probability and the station's shielding.

"I'm outside," Jinx reported. "Visual from here. Moving toward the CO2 assembly."

"Copy. Tether status?"

Jinx clipped her primary tether to the handhold beside the airlock hatch. The tether was fifty-five feet of braided steel cable, her lifeline, the thing that kept her connected to the station. In the event she lost her grip, in the event her body drifted free, the tether would catch her. Without it, an untethered astronaut who pushed off from the station would drift away into space with no way to return.

"Primary tether secured and beginning to traverse."

She moved along the station's exterior, hand over hand on the handrails that lined the structure. Each movement was deliberate, controlled, one hand always gripping before the other released. The suit was bulky and limited her mobility, her fingers barely able to close around the rails through the thick gloves. But she'd done this hundreds of times in the pool. She knew.

The long structural beam connecting the station's main body to the solar arrays on the starboard side stretched out before her. The CO2 removal assembly was located approximately thirty feet from the airlock, mounted on an external equipment platform.

"Visual on the assembly," Jinx reported. "Approaching. I can see the target from here and it looks like there's damage to the protective screen. Something impacted near the opening and the screen material has been partially displaced inward, partially blocking the airflow path."

"Copy. Can you clear it manually?"

"I think so. It looks like the impact bent a section inward. If I can pull the bent portion back to its original position and secure it, that should restore full flow. I'll need the portable hand tool from my waist tether."

She reached the assembly. Up close, the damage was visible and relatively minor, the kind of thing that on Earth would take a maintenance worker five minutes with a pair of pliers. In space, in a suit, with limited dexterity and zero gravity and the risk of losing a tool or damaging a secondary system, it would take longer.

Jinx secured her feet in a portable foot restraint attached and freed both hands to work. She extracted the tool from her waist and began carefully manipulating the bent mesh screen.

"Starting the repair. The mesh is aluminum, pretty thin gauge. It's bent but not torn. I should be able to reform it to its original shape."

"Copy. Take your time. Do it right."

Jinx worked. Her gloved fingers, massive and clumsy, gripped the mesh edge and applied gentle pressure. Too much force and she'd tear it. Too little and it wouldn't move. She found the balance point, applied consistent pressure, and felt the metal begin to yield.

"Twenty percent restored. Continuing."

Another minute of careful work. She could hear, through her suit's sensors, the slight change in the operational sound as airflow increased.

"Sixty percent. Almost there."

"Houston is showing improved throughput on their end," Caitlyn confirmed. "CO2 scrubbing efficiency climbing. You're making progress."

"Copy." Jinx continued the work, finding a rhythm. Press, hold, release. Check alignment. Press again. The mesh was cooperating, bending back toward its designed shape.

"Ninety percent. One more adjustment and I think we're good."

She made the final pull. The mesh snapped back into position with a satisfying firmness.

"Repair complete. The opening is clear. How's the readout?"

"Houston shows full throughput restored. CO2 scrubbing at ninety-eight percent and climbing. Excellent work, Dr. Devaux."

Jinx allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Problem solved. She began extracting her feet from the restraint, preparing to traverse back to the airlock.

And then she saw it.

Further along, past the CO2 assembly, near the junction where the station connected to a joint, something was wrong. One of the thermal radiator panels, large white surfaces that dissipated excess heat from the station's systems into space, had a visible anomaly. A section of its surface was buckled, the smooth white plane disrupted by an impact crater roughly the size of a golf ball. And at the edge of the crater, the panel's coolant line was visibly deformed.

Jinx's engineering brain processed this in seconds. A deformed coolant line would reduce flow efficiency. Reduced flow efficiency would mean reduced heat dissipation. Reduced heat dissipation would mean systems overheating over time. It wasn't an immediate emergency, but unchecked it would absolutely become one. Eventual failure of the thermal regulation in that loop was probable if the deformation wasn't addressed.

"Commander," Jinx said into her comm. "I've got eyes on a secondary issue."

"Report."

"Thermal radiator panel on the joint area, approximately fifty feet from my current position along the truss. There's visible impact damage. Looks like a meteoroid strike on the panel surface. The ammonia coolant line adjacent to the impact site appears deformed. Not ruptured from my position, but bent and will restrict flow."

A pause on the comm. "Is it leaking?"

"Negative. But the deformation will cause problems over time."

"Understood. Document it visually and we'll schedule a repair EVA for a later date."

"I can reach it from here. It would take me about ten minutes to traverse and maybe another fifteen to assess and reshape the line if it's workable."

"Negative, Dr. Devaux. Your current tether length won't reach that position safely."

"I have fifty-five feet of tether. The target is approximately fifty feet away. That's within range."

"It's within maximum range with zero margin. You'd be working at the limit of your tether with no slack. That's not within safety protocol for EVA operations."

"The protocol accounts for nominal conditions. We're already in an emergency EVA. If we leave this and the coolant line fails while we're scheduling a future repair, we could lose thermal regulation in that loop. That affects the Kibo module cooling. That affects my experiments and station habitability."

"None of those consequences are immediate. The repair can wait."

"It can wait if nothing else hits that panel. We're in a meteoroid stream, Caitlyn. For the next several hours, there's an elevated probability of additional impacts. Another strike on that already-weakened area could rupture the line entirely."

"The probability is—"

"The probability is nonzero and the consequence of a rupture is severe and I'm right here and I can fix it now."

"Dr. Devaux." The commander voice. "I am directing you to document the damage and return to the airlock. We will schedule a repair EVA under controlled conditions with proper tether routing. That is an order."

Jinx gripped the handrail. Her gloved fingers tightened around the metal. She was looking at the damaged radiator panel fifty feet away, at the deformed coolant line that she could fix in maybe fifteen minutes if she just moved toward it, if she just extended to the limit of her tether and worked at the edge of safety.

If she didn't fix it and something else hit that area and the line ruptured and ammonia vented and the thermal loop failed and the station overheated and systems started shutting down, that would be on her. She could have prevented it, here and now.

Not to mention, Caitlyn would be inside a station with failing thermal regulation. 

"I'm going to the radiator panel," Jinx declared.

"Dr. Devaux, I said no."

"I hear you. I'm going anyway."

"Jinx!"

The use of her name stopped her for half a second. Then she released the foot restraint and began moving.

"Jinx, stop. That is a direct order from your mission commander. Stop moving and return to the airlock."

"Caitlyn, if that line ruptures while we're debating this, we have a real emergency. I'm going to fix it now and then I'm coming back inside and then you can yell at me all you want."

"You are at your tether limit in fifteen feet! You'll have no safety margin!"

"I'll be careful."

"That is not adequate reassurance!"

Jinx kept moving. Hand over hand. The tether unspooling behind her, the cable running out, the slack decreasing with each meter she traversed. She could feel it beginning to tighten.

"Tether status," Caitlyn demanded.

Jinx checked. "Forty-eight feet extended. Seven remaining."

"Come back now."

"I'm almost there."

Fifty feet. Fifty-two. The tether was taut now, no slack at all, a straight line running from her suit harness back along to the airlock attachment point. She was at the edge of her reach, her body extended as far as the system would allow, her fingertips just reaching the handhold nearest to the damaged radiator panel.

"I'm here," Jinx reported. "Securing foot restraint now."

"Your tether has zero margin. If you lose your grip—"

"I won't lose my grip."

"If your tether attachment point fails—"

"It won't fail. It's rated for twice my mass at full acceleration."

Caitlyn's breathing was audible on the comm. 

Jinx locked her feet into the nearest portable restraint (which was, she had to admit, positioned slightly beyond comfortable reach but technically workable) and freed her hands.

The damage was as she'd assessed from a distance. The coolant line was deformed, pinched at one point by the radiator panel's buckled surface pressing against it. The pinch was reducing the line's internal diameter by approximately thirty percent which was enough to significantly restrict it over time.

"I can see the restriction clearly. The panel surface is pressing against the line at the impact site. If I can lever the panel surface back slightly, it should relieve the pressure on the line and restore fullly."

"How long?"

"Five minutes."

"Do it in four."

Jinx took her tool out and went to work. The buckled section was small, maybe six inches across, and the force required to reshape it was significant for gloved hands but manageable with the tool as a lever.

She worked, her focus narrowed to the point of contact between tool and metal. The entire universe reduced to just this  damaged panel, a bent line, and her fixing it.

"Line is clearing. Pressure on the tube reducing."

"Copy. Thermal readings show slight improvement in that loop already."

Three more minutes of work. The panel surface flattened. The coolant line relaxed into its normal cylindrical shape. Jinx ran her gloved finger along the tube, feeling for remaining deformation through the material.

"Repair complete. The line appears restored to nominal geometry. No visible damage to the tube wall itself."

"Houston confirms improved flow in the affected loop. Good work." Caitlyn's voice was professional. The anger would come later, Jinx knew.

"Returning to airlock," Jinx announced.

The traverse back was straightforward. She moved hand over hand, retracing her path, the tether accumulating slack as she closed the distance. The station's exterior passed beneath her hands.

The airlock was ahead. The open hatch, the lit interior, the safety of pressurized atmosphere waiting on the other side.

She entered and closed the outer hatch. The pump began its work in reverse, flooding the airlock with atmosphere, the pressure gauge climbing from zero back toward normal.

"Airlock repressurizing," Jinx confirmed. "All EVA objectives complete."

"Copy."

The post-EVA process was lengthy, meticulous, and entirely non-negotiable. Suit depressurization checks. Biometric data review. Suit removal, which required assistance too and took nearly thirty minutes with only one person helping. Caitlyn was that person for Jinx.

They didn't speak past anything necessary during the process.

"Helmet release."

"Copy."

"Gloves disconnecting."

"Copy."

"Upper torso lifting clear."

"Copy."

Each piece of the suit came off and was stored and inspected and the human underneath was slowly revealed. Jinx, in her liquid cooling garment, sweating, her hair damp against her head, her face flushed from exertion and adrenaline.

When the last piece was stored and the EVA officially concluded, Jinx floated in the airlock in her undergarment and breathed the station's air.

She looked at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn was floating near the airlock's inner hatch, her hands gripping a rail, her body still. Her expression was controlled but her jaw was tight and her eyes were hard and Jinx could see the storm behind the composure.

"So," Jinx started.

"My quarters in five minutes. We need to talk." Caitlyn turned and pushed off, floating out of the airlock module without looking back.

Jinx changed out of the cooling garment into her standard station clothing. She took three minutes to use the hygiene wipes on her face and neck, ran her fingers through her flattened hair, and then made her way toward where Caitlyn had gone.

Caitlyn was in Node 2, near the communications terminal, but the comm was off. 

Jinx entered and grabbed a handrail to anchor herself.

"You disobeyed a direct order," Caitlyn began.

"I made a judgment call that—"

"You disobeyed a direct order during an EVA. Do you understand the severity of that? In any military operation, in any chain of command, in any operational structure on this planet or off it, that is grounds for immediate mission termination."

"The repair needed—"

"I did not ask about the repair!" Caitlyn's voice rose. "I am not disputing the quality of your work or the validity of the concern! Yes, the coolant line was a problem and you fixed it competently! That is not the issue!"

"Then what's the issue?"

"The ISSUE is that you were outside this station, in a vacuum, at maximum tether extension with zero margin, during an active meteoroid stream, against my explicit, clearly stated, direct order to return! The issue is that if something had gone wrong, if your tether had snagged, if a meteoroid had struck near your position, if your foot restraint had failed, you would have been beyond my ability to help!"

"Nothing went wrong."

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER!" Caitlyn's eyes were bright. Her whole body was tense, gripping the handrail with a force that seemed to dent it. "You don't get to use the outcome to justify the risk! That is survivor bias and it is exactly how people die in space! They take a risk and it works and they think that means the risk was acceptable and then the NEXT time they take a bigger one and it doesn't work and they're dead and there's nothing anyone can do!"

"I'm the engineer, Caitlyn!" Jinx's own voice was rising now, matching Caitlyn's volume. "My job, my entire purpose on this station, is to identify problems and fix them! I saw a problem that could have endangered the station and I fixed it while I was there and had the opportunity! That's what brought me up here to do!"

"You were brought up here to conduct experiments and maintain systems WITHIN PROTOCOL!"

"Protocol that would have left a damaged coolant line exposed to additional impacts for days while we waited for a scheduled EVA window! Days during which one more hit would have ruptured it entirely!"

"And if that had happened, we would have dealt with it then with proper preparation! With proper tether routing! With proper safety margins! Not you alone, at maximum extension, making unilateral decisions about acceptable risk while I told you to STOP!"

"That protocol would have put you at risk!" The words ripped out of Jinx before she could think about them. "If that line had failed while I was sitting inside doing nothing, you would have been in danger! The thermal system serves Kibo but it also serves the modules you sleep in! If it had failed and we'd lost thermal regulation and systems started overheating, that's YOUR life at risk, Caitlyn, and I am not going to sit around and let that happen because of a goddamn PROTOCOL!"

The station was very quiet around them after that. Just the hum of systems. The distant sound of fans. Their own breathing, ragged and too fast.

They were facing each other across the small module, both gripping handrails, both floating. Caitlyn's chest was heaving. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were burning.

"My job is to keep you alive," Jinx said, quieter now. "That's what I'm here for. My experiments, the science, all of that matters, but at the end of the day, when something goes wrong on this station, my hands are the ones responsible to fix it. My brain is what keeps the systems running. And I will not apologize for choosing to protect this station and you with every tool at my disposal, even if that means going a little past a comfortable tether margin."

"And my job," Caitlyn replied, her voice shaking, "is to keep you alive. That's what the commander does. That is the entire point of my existence on this station. To make the decisions that keep my crew safe. And when my crew ignores me and puts herself in danger against my explicit instruction, I cannot do my job."

They stared at each other floating, panting. The anger was still there in both of them but it was thinning, the heat dissipating into the station's atmosphere and leaving something else behind.

Caitlyn's face changed. She moved.

She released her handrail and pushed off across the module and her arms went around Jinx.

The impact of her body against Jinx's in sent them both moving, the momentum of Caitlyn's push translating into a slow rotation that would have carried them into the wall if Jinx hadn't reacted. Her hand found the nearest handrail and gripped hard, stopping their drift, anchoring them both in place while Caitlyn's arms tightened around her and held.

Caitlyn was hugging her?

Jinx didn't fight it. She couldn't. Her free arm, the one not gripping the handrail keeping them stationary, came up slowly and settled on Caitlyn's back. An uncertain touch. Her palm was against the fabric of Caitlyn's shirt, feeling the warmth of her body underneath, the slight tremor of her breathing.

Caitlyn spoke, muffled against Jinx's shoulder, "I need you to listen to me when I tell you to come back. I can't do my job if you won't listen. I can't keep you safe if you won't let me."

Jinx's hand pressed slightly firmer against Caitlyn's back. Her own breathing was evening out. The anger was gone entirely now. Caitlyn was holding her and she was warm and close and real and Jinx could feel her heartbeat where their chests were pressed together.

"I'm sorry," Jinx replied and surprised herself by how much she meant it. 

Caitlyn pulled back slightly. Her eyes were red, close to crying. The vulnerability in them was staggering and Jinx felt privileged and terrified to be seeing it.

"I need you to promise me," Caitlyn started. "I need you to promise that when I tell you to come back, you come back. I promised Vi I would bring you home safe."

I promised Vi.

"I promised your sister and my job that I would take care of you up here and bring you back in one piece and I will not break that promise. You understand?"

Jinx barely heard the rest of what Caitlyn was saying after that. Something about duty and responsibility and the importance of communication and trust between a commander and her crew. 

She was stuck, thinking about Vi in all this.

I promised Vi I would bring you home safe.

Of course. Of course that was the reason. Of course Caitlyn's fear, Caitlyn's urgency, Caitlyn's arms around her, all of it traced back to Vi. To a promise made to Jinx's sister. To just obligation.

The warmth in Jinx's chest cooled rapidly. 

Of course.

Caitlyn cared about Jinx's safety because of Vi. Caitlyn's fear during the EVA was about Vi. The hug was about Vi. The vulnerability was about the promise Caitlyn had made to Jinx's sister before launch. About duty, about obligation, about keeping her word to someone she actually cared about.

Caitlyn was still talking. Her voice was earnest and slightly scratched from the earlier yelling but she was still close, her hands still resting on Jinx's shoulders.

Jinx nodded in the right places. "Yeah. Okay. I hear you."

"Do you?"

"I hear you, Caitlyn. I promise I'll be more careful. I'll communicate before making unilateral calls."

Caitlyn searched her face for a moment. Then she nodded. She pushed back gently to create spacing between them.

"Thank you," Caitlyn acknowledged. "For both of the repairs. Your work out there was excellent."

"Thanks."

"And for the record," Caitlyn added, more quietly, "what you were trying to say earlier… before the alarm." She paused. "I'd like to hear the rest. Whenever you're ready."

Jinx looked at her. 

I promised Vi.

"Yeah," Jinx looked away. "Maybe later."

She pushed off the handrail and floated toward her crew quarters without looking back.

Behind her, she heard Caitlyn exhale a long, slow breath.

Jinx reached her crew quarters and pulled the privacy curtain. She floated in the dark, aimlessly.

I promised Vi I would bring you home safe.

Right.

Of course.

Chapter Text

"How was your week?"

Seraphine's office was becoming familiar. There was a tissue box on the small table between them, the light frequently came through the window and caught the dust particles, and Caitlyn had been here enough times now that her body no longer tensed when she sat in the chair. She no longer checked her posture before settling, no longer arranged her hands deliberately in her lap. Today she just sat.

This was called progress, probably.

"Good," Caitlyn answered. "Better than the last few. Vi and I had dinner together three times this week. We went to a farmer's market on Saturday, and we talked about her work and about mine. It felt… easier. I definitely was more present."

Seraphine nodded, that gentle attentive motion she made that communicated both acknowledgment and encouragement without a word. "It sounds like the communication self-improvement you've been doing has been helping, then."

"I would say so. I've noticed I’ve been more intentional about being in the room when I'm in the room. I try to avoid distractions and have gotten better at noticing when my mind starts to drift and pulling it back."

"And how does Vi seem in response to these changes?"

"She’s happier, more relaxed. She told me yesterday that I seemed more like myself which, I think, was a compliment." Caitlyn paused. "I think she refers to the me from earlier in our relationship, before I started 'withdrawing', to say."

"That's encouraging." Seraphine shifted slightly in her chair, tucking her foot more comfortably beneath her. "You mentioned last session that you wanted to work on the physical side of your relationship as well. How has that been?"

Caitlyn's hands, which had been resting openly on the armrests, moved to her lap. 

"It's been difficult," Caitlyn admitted.

"Can you tell me more about what that looks like?"

"Last night," she started. "Vi and I were at her apartment. We had a nice dinner, even opened a bottle of wine. We were on the couch and things were… progressing naturally. She was kissing me and I was kissing her back and it was good, it felt good, and I was present for it. I was right there in the moment with her."

"And then?"

"And then her hand went under my shirt and I," Caitlyn swallowed. "I… I had to pull away."

Seraphine's expression didn't change. 

"I pulled away," Caitlyn repeated. "I pulled away because I was crying and I couldn't explain why. It was just immediate and overwhelming and I couldn't control it."

"How did Vi respond?"

"She held me with no questions. We cuddled and she said it was okay and that we didn't have to do anything and we could just lie there together, which is what we did. We fell asleep on the couch and this morning she made me coffee and we didn't talk about it."

"How did you feel about her response?"

"Grateful and guilty." Caitlyn pressed her palms together. "She deserves an explanation and I don't have one to give her. I’m not even sure I can articulate it to myself."

Seraphine was quiet for a moment, allowing a pause before asking, "Caitlyn, I want to ask you something and I want you to know that you can decline to answer or redirect at any point. Do you know why that physical response happened?"

Caitlyn looked at the window. She thought about the question. 

"Before therapy," she answered slowly, "before all of this, the physical side of my relationship with Vi was already starting to feel… less. I was just going through the motions, Vi said something like that. My body was cooperating but my mind was somewhere else. And that was… was before the Maddie thing."

She stopped. Her jaw tightened.

"After Maddie." The name was difficult to say, even though Seraphine didn’t even know everything yet. "After what happened. The physical, um. The physical aspect of everything became different. I could manage day to day touch with Vi. You know, hugging, kissing, all that casual contact. That was—fine. But whenever things started to move toward anything more intimate, my body started responding in ways I couldn't predict or control."

"Caitlyn," Seraphine offered gently. "What you're describing sounds like a trauma response. It’s a physiological reaction to a triggering stimulus that your nervous system associates with a past harmful experience."

Caitlyn said nothing and stared at the wall.

"You mentioned previously that you didn't want to discuss what happened with Maddie in detail. That boundary is absolutely yours to hold. But I want to name what I'm observing with what I do know, which is that whatever occurred during that encounter appears to have created an association in your body between physical vulnerability and danger. And that association is activating when you're in intimate situations, even safe ones with a trusted partner."

"I know what it is," Caitlyn stated. "I know what happened. I know the word for it."

"You don't have to say anything you're not ready to say."

"I know." Caitlyn unclenched her jaw with conscious effort. "But I think I need to, eventually. It's affecting my relationship and my body and my ability to be present with someone I care about and if I don't deal with it, it's not going to go away."

"There's no timeline on this, Caitlyn. We go at whatever pace feels safe for you."

Safe. 

"...I thought I was safe then. I was in my own apartment, in my own room. And I had known, or at least thought I knew, the person who was with me. But I… it wasn't safe."

"She was on top of me," Caitlyn continued speaking without thinking about it. The words came out in a rush, like a dam just broke. "I said no and she didn't stop. My towel came off and she pushed me down and I froze. I'm trained for combat and I froze because I couldn't process that it was real."

Her hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against her thighs.

"My phone rang," Caitlyn added. "Someone called me at exactly the right moment, and the sound startled both of us so I was able to push her off. If that call hadn't come—" She stopped. "I don't know what would have happened."

"But it did come," Seraphine pointed out softly. "You are here. You got her off you and you got her out."

"Yeah… I got her out."

"What you experienced was a violation of your consent and your bodily autonomy. Regardless of the history between you, regardless of whatever relationship existed previously, what you described is assault."

"Okay," Caitlyn sighed.

"Okay?"

"I'm might need some time with that."

"Take all the time you need."

They sat together for another moment. Caitlyn's breathing relaxed and her hands stopped trembling.

"So what do I do?" Caitlyn asked. "About Vi."

"First, know that what your body is doing is protective. It's trying to keep you safe based on incomplete information. It doesn't distinguish between past danger and present safety when the triggering stimulus is similar enough. With time and work, we can help your nervous system learn to distinguish between those contexts."

"How long?"

"That varies significantly from person to person. It depends on many factors."

"Give me a range."

Seraphine smiled gently. "I know you want a timeline. That's very consistent with who you are. But healing from trauma doesn't operate on any linear schedule and I would be doing you a disservice to suggest otherwise."

Caitlyn exhaled. "Fine."

"What I can tell you is that I am here to help you, at your pace, and that many people who have experienced what you experienced do heal and do regain full comfort with physical intimacy. It is possible. It just takes patience."

Patience. Caitlyn had patience for flight training, for orbital mechanics, for the process that took years of becoming an astronaut. She had patience for professional goals and technical mastery.

She was less certain she had patience for this.

"Our time is almost up," Seraphine noted. "Before we close, is there anything else you want to bring up?"

Caitlyn considered. "I think I need to tell Vi something about what happened. I… I couldn’t really before. I don't know how much to say. But I understand she deserves to understand why I'm struggling physically and the reason isn't her."

"That sounds like a healthy instinct. We can discuss how to approach that conversation next session if you'd like."

"I'd like that."

"Good. Same time next week?"

"Same time."

Caitlyn stood. At the door, she paused and looked back. "Seraphine?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Seraphine's expression was warm. "That was all you, Caitlyn."

After her meeting, Caitlyn had another appointment to make, technically speaking.

Jayce Talis had an office that looked like someone had crossed a tech startup with a museum of modern art. Glass walls, exposed concrete, sleek furniture that probably cost more than most people's cars, and on every surface some piece of prototype technology or engineering curiosity. A 3D-printed model of a fusion reactor sat on his desk like a paperweight. A holographic display unit was running some kind of materials science simulation in the corner. The view from how high up they were showed the skyline stretching toward the horizon.

Hex Technologies, or HexTech as everyone called it, was officially primarily Jayce's startup. It began as a materials science and advanced engineering firm that had grown from a two-person garage operation to a publicly traded company with government contracts in under a decade. Jayce was brilliant, driven, and very charismatic. It helped that (somehow) he had the right connections, too.

He was also Caitlyn's oldest friend. Their families moved in similar circles, and where the Kiramman social sphere had produced mostly people Caitlyn tolerated at best, Jayce had been the exception. He was the older brother she'd never had. Protective when it mattered, hands off when it didn't, and always there for her.

"Caitlyn Kiramman." Jayce stood from his desk when she entered, crossing the office to wrap her in a hug that lifted her slightly off the ground despite her being nearly as tall as him. "It's been too long."

"It's been less than a month." She smiled.

"Too long." He released her, grinning. He was wearing expensive clothing that looked like it had been put on in the dark. A button-down that should have been tucked in but wasn't, sleeves rolled haphazardly to the elbow. He had the build of someone who'd been a college athlete.

"Lunch?" he offered. "I have the good sushi place on speed dial."

"I was thinking the Thai place."

"Even better. Give me two minutes." He grabbed his jacket and they headed for the elevator.

The Thai restaurant was a small family-owned place with good food and private booths that made conversation easy. Caitlyn and Jayce had been coming here since she first moved for NASA training, and the staff knew them by name.

"How's work?" Caitlyn asked once they were settled with drinks.

"Insane." Jayce ran a hand through his hair, already disheveled. "We're in final development on the new thermal shielding material. If it tests well, we're looking at a contract with SpaceX for next generation heat shields. Which would be massive."

"That's absolutely incredible, Jayce."

"It's terrifying! The margins are so tight. One failed test and we lose the contract and six months of time and resources and so much goddamn money goes down the drain." He shrugged and beneath it, he was deeply anxious. "But anyway. How are you? How's my favorite astronaut?"

"Well… I can tell you that I'm eligible for a mission assignment. Still waiting though."

"Still waiting? Hasn’t it been months?"

"These things take time, Jayce. You should get that crew rotations depend on mission parameters, availability, scheduling, all that. I can't force it."

"I know, I know. I just think it's ridiculous that the most qualified person I know is sitting in a pool waiting for someone to notice her."

"That's not quite how it works."

"It's how it should work." Jayce took a long drink. "And how's everything else? How's Vi?"

Caitlyn traced the rim of her glass with one finger. "We're working on things. It's better than it was."

Jayce studied her. Where other people accepted Caitlyn's fine at face value, Jayce would look at her for longer and then ask the real question.

Today the real question was: "Are you happy?"

"I'm working on being happy."

"So not a yes."

"Not a no either."

"Caitlyn."

"I'm in therapy, Jayce. I'm doing the work. Vi and I are communicating better. Things are improving." She met his eyes. "I'm not where I want to be yet but I can say I'm moving in the right direction."

Jayce nodded slowly. He didn't push further, which she appreciated. Their food arrived and the conversation shifted to lighter territory, including a documentary they'd both watched, a distant acquaintance who'd recently gotten engaged, and Jayce's disastrous attempt at learning to surf during a business trip to California.

Somewhere between their food and waiting on drink refills, the conversation drifted back to Vi.

"Hey, do you remember Vi has a sister?" Jayce asked casually. 

Caitlyn's fork paused mid-air and she felt her throat tighten involuntarily. "Yes, I remember her."

"I read a paper of hers on adaptive magnetic field correction last month. It's remarkable work. The algorithm she developed for decoherence compensation is something my materials team is actually interested in adapting for our thermal shielding project."

"She's brilliant," Caitlyn affirmed. 

Jayce looked at her with interest. "You know her well?"

"I've met her a few times. Vi introduced us. I’ve also seen her at professional events."

"What's she like? Is she like Vi?"

Caitlyn considered the question. What was Jinx like? Difficult. Defensive. Sharp and cut if you got too close. Young for her accomplishments.

"She's intense," Caitlyn settled on. "Incredibly intelligent but guarded about it. She doesn't let people close easily." A pause. "When she does engage, she's one of the most… alive people I've ever encountered."

Jayce's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's quite a description."

"It's pretty accurate."

"I've never heard you describe anyone that way."

Caitlyn looked up from her food. Jayce was watching her with that expression, the one that said he'd noticed something. She could see the question forming behind his eyes and she didn't want to face it.

"She's unusual," Caitlyn deflected. "Most people in our field are brilliant in predictable ways. She's brilliant in unpredictable ways. It's professionally intriguing."

"Intriguing," Jayce repeated, and she could hear the skepticism in his tone.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was going to say." Jayce leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, grinning in an infuriating brother way. "When you talked about her being one of the most alive people you've ever encountered, your whole expression changed."

"Jayce."

"I'm just observing."

"Start observing less."

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands. "Subject changed. But Caitlyn?"

"What?"

"Whatever is making you light up like that? Maybe pay attention to it."

Caitlyn stabbed a piece of tofu with unnecessary force. "The food is excellent today."

"Smooth redirect."

"I learned from the best. You're terrible at changing subjects."

"Puh-lease. You know I'm ranked in Forbes Top 500 Most Charismatic Men, right?"

"Oh yeah? And how does Mel feel about that?"

"Mel- I- pff, Caitlyn!"

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow but dropped it. Jayce's boyish crush on her colleague wasn't a secret to her at all. She thought it was sweet, actually. But the fact it had been years now and Jayce was still terrified to make any moves was definitely worth teasing.

"Wait, hey!" Jayce jokingly slapped his hand down on the table. "Don't try and distract me with Mel. I was trying to be sincere, Cait. I just want what's best for you."

"...Thank you."

"...But while we're at it, y'know, have you, uhh, seen Mel recently? How's she doing?"

After her rendezvous with Jayce, she had game night. Game night at Vi's apartment was a standing invitation. Weekly or at least biweekly, Vi's living room transformed into a competitive wasteland of board games, card games, and increasingly heated debates about rules that nobody had actually read. The regular group consisted of Vi, Caitlyn, Ekko (Vi's childhood friend who Caitlyn had always liked for his sharp mind and easy humor), and Loris (another friend from Vi's gym who was quiet but devastatingly strategic at any game).

Caitlyn arrived at seven with a bottle of wine and a bag of fancy crackers that nobody but her would eat.

Vi opened the door and pulled her into an immediate kiss. "Hey there gorgeous."

"Hey." Caitlyn smiled against Vi's mouth and kissed her back and noticed, with relief, that tonight the contact felt easy.

The apartment was already set up. The coffee table had been cleared and Loris was laying out the components of some complex strategy game that appeared to require a PhD to understand.

"Caitlyn!" Ekko called from the kitchen. "You're on my team tonight."

"We're not doing teams, Ekko," Vi corrected. "It's free-for-all."

"I'm freely forming an alliance."

Caitlyn settled onto the couch beside Vi, her body tucked comfortably against her girlfriend's side. Vi's arm went around her shoulders, automatic.

The game was complicated and Caitlyn found it satisfying. There was resource management, diplomacy between players, and knowing when to strike and when not to. The evening was fun and loud, competitive, full of accusations of cheating and alliances that formed and dissolved within seconds.

Caitlyn was good at these games. Strategy was her language, or so she liked tho think, and the combination of planning and adaptive tactics played to every one of her strengths. By the midpoint of the game, she controlled most of the territory and had accumulated enough resources to fund a military expansion that would probably end things within three turns.

"She's going to crush us," Loris observed flatly, studying the board with resignation.

"She always crushes us," Ekko confirmed. "It's like playing chess against a computer."

"Maybe if you stopped making alliances that collapse the second they're tested, you'd have a chance," Caitlyn suggested sweetly.

"Okay, wow." Ekko placed a hand over his heart. "That hurt."

Vi laughed and squeezed Caitlyn's shoulder and Caitlyn felt warm and happy and part of something and she thought: this is good. 

They took a break between rounds. Ekko disappeared toward the bathroom, Loris went to the kitchen for more drinks, and Vi and Caitlyn remained on the couch together. Vi had pulled out her phone and was scrolling absently through Instagram, her thumb swiping lazily.

Caitlyn was half-watching over Vi's shoulder. Some gym post from someone Vi followed, a sunset photo, a meme about protein intake, a reel about a dog learning tricks.

And then.

"Wait," Caitlyn interrupted. "Go back."

Vi looked at her. "Hm?"

"Can you scroll back up?"

Vi scrolled back. The post filled the screen.

It was Jinx.

The photo was taken at a club, that much was immediately clear from the lighting alone. Caitlyn knew this club. She'd been inside it, had walked through it searching for blue hair, had felt the bass in her bones and the heat of too many bodies. It was Shimmer.

Jinx was in the center of the frame. She was grinning at the camera with her tongue stuck out, her blue braids loose around her shoulders catching the purple light. She was wearing something dark and minimal (Caitlyn's brain tried very hard not to focus on that). Glitter reflected on her cheekbones, catching the club's lights. She looked happy and uninhibited. Young and free and incandescent in the way she became when she wasn’t guarded, when she wasn’t around Caitlyn.

Then Caitlyn registered there was a woman beside her. Tall, taller than Jinx by several inches. Blonde hair that fell past her shoulders in a golden cascade that seemed to reflect every light. She had her arm around Jinx's shoulders, both of them hunched slightly toward the camera, posed together with the vibe of people who were comfortable in each other's space. The blonde was grinning too, her face pretty and bright, her features delicate.

Caitlyn recognized her.

It was the same blonde woman dancing with Jinx that night, when Caitlyn saw them close, bodies moving together. Her hand had touched Jinx's hip. Caitlyn crossed the floor to put herself between them and said "she's with me".

Caitlyn's body went very still beside Vi on the couch.

"Can you open the comments?" Caitlyn asked, trying to sound as normal as possible, though she wasn’t even sure why that would be a struggle.

Vi gave her a slightly confused look. "On Jinx's post? Why?"

"I'm just curious."

"Uh, okay." Vi tapped through to the comments section.

The post had a moderate number of likes and a handful of comments. Jinx's caption was simple: "throwback" with a sparkle emoji.

Caitlyn scanned the comments. Most were accounts she didn't recognize saying stuff like, "omg queens" and, "JINX you look incredible" and "where is this??".

And then:

lux.crownguard: we look great!! I didnt know u had this photo

• replying to lux.crownguard: getjinxed: found it while doin some spring cleaning ;P

Caitlyn stared at the screen.

lux.crownguard. The profile picture, small beside the username, showed the blonde woman. Bright smile, golden hair, blue eyes. Her name was Lux.

So, they were in some moderate form of contact. Jinx and this woman, this beautiful tall blonde woman who Caitlyn had physically separated from Jinx months ago, they were still talking. Still friendly enough to comment casually on each other's posts. Still in each other's orbits.

Something cold moved through Caitlyn's stomach. Heavy and sharp and completely, entirely irrational. She had no right to feel any sort of way about this. She had absolutely no right. She was sitting on a couch with her girlfriend, who she loved, who was warm and present and whose arm was around her shoulders right now. She had no claim on Jinx. She had never had a claim. She had no reason to care who Jinx posted photos with or who commented on her feed or who put their arm around her.

And yet her blood was running cold in her veins and her jaw was tight and her hands wanted to clench and she was looking at that comment thread and she was feeling something quite strong indeed.

"Caitlyn?" Vi was looking at her. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Fine." Caitlyn looked away from the phone and smiled at Vi. "Sorry, I was just looking at the photo. Jinx looks happy."

"Yeah, she does." Vi locked her phone, the image disappearing. "She's been going out more lately. She spent too long just working and not having a life."

"Who's the blonde?" The question came out before Caitlyn could stop it. 

"Oh, Lux? She's been hanging around Jinx for a bit now, I think. They met at a club or something. She's nice." Vi shrugged. "I don't know much about her honestly. Jinx doesn't tell me a lot about her personal life. But she seems nice."

"Are they… together?"

Why did she ask that? Why did those words leave her mouth? What was she doing?

Vi laughed. "Together? No idea. I haven’t known Jinx to do labels. She barely does communication. She probably wouldn't tell me even if they were." Vi tilted her head, looking at Caitlyn with mild curiosity. "Why? Do you know her or something?"

"No." Caitlyn shook her head. "No, I was just wondering. She looked familiar for a second but I don't think I know her."

"Hm." Vi seemed to accept this. "Maybe she just has one of those faces."

"Maybe."

Ekko returned from the bathroom. "Alright, next round! I'm going to destroy all of you this time! I've figured it out!"

"You said that last round and then you went bankrupt!" Loris called back from the kitchen.

"That was a STRATEGIC bankruptcy! I was testing a theory!"

"Well your theory was fucking stupid then!"

"Hey! All scientific progress requires failed experiments!"

So the game resumed. Caitlyn moved pieces and managed resources and made strategic decisions like she was supposed to be doing. She laughed at appropriate moments and contributed to the banter and leaned into Vi's side when Vi pulled her closer.

But underneath it, her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was still on a small phone screen showing a blue-haired woman and a golden-haired woman posed together.

Lux Crownguard. Pretty name. Pretty face. Pretty everything.

They looked good together in that photo. They looked like they fit. Caitlyn hated that she thought that. Why did it matter who Jinx was with, in any sense? 

"You don't have that right," Jinx continued, and her voice was changing now, the anger still present in the set of her jaw and the tension of her shoulders but something else creeping in underneath, something that was making her voice thinner, tighter, less stable. "You and I don't have that relationship."

Caitlyn's territory expanded on the game board. She won the round decisively and everyone groaned and accused her of being inhuman and she smirked and said "better luck next time" and inside her chest something was very quietly breaking.

The evening ended around eleven. Ekko and Loris left, Vi walked them out and then returned to the couch where Caitlyn was helping clean up, stacking game components back into the box.

"You're quiet tonight," Vi observed, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Everything okay?"

"Really, I’m just tired." Caitlyn placed the last piece in the box and closed the lid. "It's been a day."

"Come here." Vi opened her arms.

Caitlyn went and let herself be held. She pressed her face down into Vi's shoulder and breathed in her familiar scent and felt strong arms envelop her and thought about this familiar warmth and tried very, very hard to stop thinking about a photo she'd seen earlier.

"I love you," Vi murmured against her hair.

"I love you too," Caitlyn said back.

Both statements were true, at least enough.

Caitlyn drove home at midnight. She would have stayed over, but both of them had a lot to do the next morning, and it was just easier for Caitlyn’s routine to start in her apartment with all her stuff with her. The city was quiet, the roads mostly empty, the streetlights making pools of orange around. She drove with music off and her mind full of things she couldn't sort.

At a rather long red light, irresponsibly, she pulled out her phone. She didn't follow Jinx so she typed in the search bar.

getjinxed.

A public account. A row of photos, sporadically posted. Machinery, cityscapes, a photo of what appeared to be a robot, a sunset.

The most recent one: Jinx and Lux at Shimmer.

Caitlyn looked at it again. She saw the glitter on Jinx's cheeks, the tongue stuck out, the arm around her shoulders that belonged to someone else, but most importantly, the happiness on Jinx's face that Caitlyn had never, in all their interactions, been the conscious cause of.

The light turned green. Caitlyn put her phone down and drove home and went to bed and stared at the ceiling of her dark apartment and thought about a woman she didn’t know who was apparently making Jinx smile in ways Caitlyn wanted to see more of.

And she thought about the word Seraphine had used before, trauma response.

And she thought about what Jayce told her, that something was making her light up.

And she thought about the fact that seeing Jinx happy with someone else had produced an equal if not stronger emotional response in her than pulling away from physical intimacy with her own girlfriend had.

And she thought:

Oh no.

Chapter Text

As much as Jinx wanted—no, that wasn’t the right word; she didn’t want—to think about the fact that Caitlyn had hugged her (???), her mind was racing with what Caitlyn had said instead. She had revealed to Jinx, who was for some reason driven crazy by Caitlyn’s purely professional behaviors, that her motivation and the cause for her care was all rooted in Vi.

It made sense, logically. Caitlyn and Vi had dated for a while, longer than Jinx cared to think about, longer than Jinx would have liked at all. Only because she couldn’t tolerate Caitlyn from day one, that is. Inevitably, the two would have formed a strong connection and in their case, it apparently was strong enough to stay as friends after breaking up. Jinx thought that was slightly unusual, but not the strangest ever. What struck her really was that it was Caitlyn in one half of this. Vi elected to stay friends with Caitlyn, for whatever reason she could not and would not understand.

But she supposed she was beginning to understand it, actually, despite herself. Caitlyn was, when you stripped away the title and the posture and the accent and the wealth (so, all Jinx used to see her as), a reliable person. She was a person who showed up, physically and emotionally

Jinx realized she was a person who made you coffee every morning in the exact way you liked it without being asked.

She was also a person who came to your side in the middle of the night when she heard you struggling and stayed.

And she was so much more.

Jinx floated in her crew quarters and stared at the curve of the wall and thought about all of this and thought about Vi and thought about the sentence that had been playing on repeat in her head for two days now.

I promised Vi I would bring you home safe.

Of course Caitlyn cared and was invested perhaps to a degree beyond professional because Vi asked her to be. Whatever existed between Caitlyn and Vi after the breakup was deep enough and strong enough to still make and uphold promises to. Caitlyn wasn't doing any of this for Jinx specifically. She was doing it for Vi. To honor Vi. 

Maybe it was more than just honoring a promise, Jinx wondered. Maybe Caitlyn was trying to demonstrate something to Vi through Jinx? Maybe the whole thing, the kindness, the coffee, the patience, the defense, all of it was an extended campaign to prove to Vi that she was good, that she was worthy, that she'd changed or grown or become someone Vi might want back (though, Jinx didn’t know all the details on why or how they broke up). 

Because why else would someone put up with Jinx? Why else would anyone absorb that much aggression and keep coming back? People didn't do that for colleagues. People did that when there was something at stake, someone they were trying to reach.

The answer, naturally, had to be Vi.

It had always been Vi.

Jinx turned in her sleeping bag, the motion sending her drifting slightly. 

She should be resting because tomorrow she had a full day of test sequences and data analysis and the work was very very important, but also personally fascinating. She was living in space and this was her dream and she should be so, fucking happy.

Yet something in her chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped out whatever used to be there and left the cavity empty and echoing.

She pressed her hand against her sternum, against the spot where the feeling roughly sat, and tried to identify it. It definitely wasn't anger. She could at least say that much. Whatever anger she held toward Caitlyn (for whatever reasons) had burned itself out somewhere in the last weeks, consumed by proximity and the accumulated evidence of Caitlyn being, despite everything Jinx had believed about her… not a bad person. Not at all.

It wasn't resentment she was feeling either. Jinx had been resentful for years, had built her identity around it, but the base of that resentment had been truly undermined by months of watching Caitlyn work with the same dedication Jinx had. You couldn't resent someone for having everything handed to them when you watched them earn things every single day with their own hands.

No, what she felt was something closer to… sadness? A deep, low sadness that existed beneath everything else in her, constant and impossible to turn off.

So, the natural conclusion led to her being sad.

What could Jinx be sad about?

About Caitlyn wanting Vi back? That shouldn't make her sad. That should make her angry at worst, how she used to be, and happy at best, because Vi deserved someone good and Caitlyn… could be worse, to say. Hypothetically, Vi and Caitlyn getting back together would mean Vi was happy. Jinx wanted Vi to be happy. She loved Vi more than anyone.

So why did thinking about it make her chest feel like this?

Jinx tossed and turned again.

Jinx remembered a time when Vi described Caitlyn after the breakup, trying to explain to Jinx how they were still friends. 

"She's one of the best people I know, yes even still." Vi had said with genuine warmth in her voice and a small smile, but a twinge of longing in her eye. "We're better as friends now, but we still love each other. Once your heart is set on someone, it’s hard for that to just vanish completely, Jinx."

So it was clear Vi would take her back, obviously. If Caitlyn showed up after this mission having spent six months being wonderful to Vi's sister, having kept her promise, having demonstrated all that reliability and devotion, Vi would absolutely take her back. Why wouldn't she? Caitlyn was tall and beautiful and accomplished and kind and even when they were "fighting", she still made coffee and dinner for Jinx and her smile was like the sunrise and she defended your honor on television and she held you in zero gravity when you scared her, all because you wanted to save her life..

Would it really be a stretch to say anyone on Earth would want Caitlyn Kiramman? Jinx was a renowned scientist, a researcher, an actual astronaut for crying out loud. She could be objective and look at the facts here, not representing her own personal feelings of course.

Vi had wanted her once. It was plausible and possible she would want her again. So it seemed, to Jinx, it was only a matter of time after they landed.

Jinx closed her eyes and the hollowness of this all expanded until it pressed against the cages of her ribs.

The next morning, Jinx emerged from her quarters to find coffee already made, ready and waiting and Caitlyn in the kitchen, eating something and reviewing her tablet.

"Good morning, Jinx," Caitlyn greeted.

So it was no longer Dr. Devaux? Whatever had shifted before/during/after Jinx’s spacewalk had stuck, apparently. Caitlyn was using her name now, again, and her voice when she said it was definitely different from the professional distance of weeks before. 

All in all, that should have felt like a victory. Getting Caitlyn to drop the formality, getting her to see Jinx as a person (again?), that was something Jinx had wanted desperately during those cold early weeks on station when every "Dr. Devaux" landed.

But now it just made the hollow feeling worse, because the softness in Caitlyn's voice when she said "Jinx" was probably the same softness she had when she said, or was going to use to say "Vi.". 

"Morning," Jinx replied. She grabbed her coffee pouch from where Caitlyn had already prepared it and drank it without meeting Caitlyn's eyes.

"I was looking at your test data from yesterday," Caitlyn mentioned, her voice casually conversational. "The efficiency numbers in the sustained fire are remarkable. You're exceeding your own projections."

"Yeah." Jinx squeezed coffee through the straw. "The thermal management is holding better than expected in actual microgravity versus ground simulation. There’s less interference than the models predicted."

"That's significant, isn't it? If the real-world performance consistently exceeds the modeled performance, it means your transit calculations to Mars fare better than assumed."

"Probably."

Caitlyn looked at her and Jinx could feel her burning gaze even without returning it, could feel the slight confusion in it, the question forming already. A week ago, this kind of conversation about Jinx's work would have produced far more animation, engagement, and the fire that Jinx usually had when discussing her experiments. She would have launched into an explanation of the implications, would have waved her hands and talked too fast and probably spilled coffee on something.

Today she was giving one-word answers and staring off into the distance, and Caitlyn noticed.

"Is everything alright?" Caitlyn asked.

"Yup. Just tired."

"You've seemed tired for a few days now. Is there a problem with your sleeping arrangements?"

"Nope."

"Because if the noise level is bothering you, we can request modified ear protection from the next resupply. Some crews have reported that the ambient sound level affects REM cycles more than initially—"

"Caitlyn." Jinx interrupted, looking up. She met her eyes briefly, just for a flash before her gaze skittered away again. "I'm fine. I promise."

Caitlyn returned her look but her expression was open, and concerned. She looked like she wanted to say something else; wanted to push past Jinx's deflection. But something in Jinx's tone or posture or the must have communicated that pushing right now would backfire, because Caitlyn just nodded.

"Alright," she relented. "If anything changes or you want to talk, I… I'm here."

"Thanks."

"I should get to work," Jinx added quickly. "I want to run the next test sequence before the noon data dump to Houston."

"Of course. Let me know if you need anything."

Jinx pushed off toward the Japanese module of the station and didn't look back. Her coffee was warm in her hand and perfectly made and she hated how much she liked it and she hated that she hated it and the whole thing was just a spiral she couldn't get out of.

Three days passed in this pattern. Caitlyn reaching out and Jinx retreating. Caitlyn offering warmth and Jinx accepting it with the minimum possible engagement.

Caitlyn tried to make conversation during mealtimes. 

"How did the plasma test go today?" 

"Fine." 

"Did you notice the solar storm data Houston sent? Beautiful imagery." 

"Yeah, I saw." 

"There's a sunset pass over the Mediterranean in forty minutes if you want to catch it from the cupola." "Maybe. I might be busy."

Caitlyn asked about her experiments. Caitlyn said "Goodnight, Jinx" at the end of each day and Jinx replied "Night" and floated away.

She was aware, on some level, that she was doing the thing she'd resented Caitlyn for—the fake professional distance interactions. All it was was surface-level pleasantry without any substance. She was doing to Caitlyn exactly what Caitlyn had done to her after the press conference, and back then Jinx had come to hate it for some reason.

So why couldn’t she stop?

Better to never fully have it than to have it and lose it, Jinx thought. Better to maintain the gap now, than to close the gap and experience the loss later.

Jinx knew this logic had holes. First of all, she was rejecting Caitlyn’s kindness because what? She realized Caitlyn didn’t mean it, or didn’t mean it as much as it came across to Jinx? Because she thought that Caitlyn was just using her as a tool to get back with Vi? She didn't know that Caitlyn wanted Vi back for certain. But the conclusion felt true. What Jinx had always believed, had always known, was that she was the person people tolerated on the way to someone better.

Then on the fourth night of this new dynamic, Jinx couldn't sleep again.

She was floating in her quarters, the privacy curtain drawn, her laptop open to her test data but her eyes unfocused on the numbers. Through the module, she could distantly hear Caitlyn's breathing from her quarters. Caitlyn could sleep anywhere, could close her eyes and go still and drift off within minutes. The discipline of it, the ease of it, bothered Jinx. How could someone fall asleep easily when the world was this confusing?

Jinx's mind was doing running thoughts, each one leading somewhere darker than the last.

Caitlyn cared about her because of Vi, at least initially and for the majority. This was objectively true. They met only because of Vi. And despite them being broken up, Caitlyn still promised Vi.

Jinx rolled in her sleeping bag and pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw colors and shapes in the darkness.

She thought about Caitlyn and Vi together. She tried to picture it. The two of them at dinner, at a movie, in bed (she flinched away from that last image so fast her body jerked). Caitlyn was probably a thoughtful partner. She probably planned dates and remembered anniversaries and cooked perfect meals and said "I love you" all the time. She probably held Vi every day closer than she'd held Jinx back from her spacewalk, her extravehicular activity.

Vi had that for years.

Of course Vi would want it back, if the opportunity presented itself. 

On day five, Jinx was running calibrations when her schedule alert reminded her of the afternoon's mandatory psychological wellness check-in with Houston, a brief video call with a psychologist who assessed crew mental health.

Jinx positioned herself at the communication terminal at the scheduled time, arranged her expression into something normal, and waited for the connection.

The psychologist appeared on screen.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Devaux. How are you today?"

"Great." Jinx smiled. "Really good."

"How are you sleeping?"

"Like a baby."

"How is the interpersonal dynamic with your crewmate?"

"Working well. We've found a great rhythm." A lie so enormous it should have set off the station's caution alarms.

"How do you feel about the progress of your experiments?"

"Thrilled. The data is exceeding expectations." True, technically, but she couldn't make herself feel the thrill and the absence of it was terrifying.

"Any concerns you'd like to flag? Anything at all?"

"Nope. Everything's excellent."

The psychologist nodded and made notes and told her she was doing well and asked if she needed additional communication time with family and Jinx shook her head and the call ended.

Jinx floated away from the terminal and pressed both hands over her face and somewhere, she thought about how she just lied to nearly every single question. But what would the truth even sound like? There was no problem, none at all.

So she said nothing and she went back to work.

That evening, after dinner, after the daily report to Houston , after exercise, Jinx found herself in the cupola, the large windowed structure meant for viewing.

Caitlyn was not there. Jinx was grateful for this and also, in some small hidden part of herself, disappointed.

She positioned herself at the window and looked down. They were over the nightside, somewhere above Africa, and the Sahara was a vast dark expanse below. No cities, no light, just the deep black of empty land stretching in every direction.

She watched the world turn and she thought about the fire.

She almost never thought about the fire. It lived in a sealed area in her mind and she obeyed the seal. The area had been closed since she was just a kid and she'd kept it that way through sheer force of will and the assistance of several years of mandatory childhood therapy that she'd hated every second of.

But tonight, here, alone in a glass dome above the dark world, the seal opened.

She was seven. Vi was twelve. Their house was small and old. Jinx remembered the smoke alarm. She remembered being pulled from bed by her mother's hands, remembered the cold of the front lawn, the air on her bare arms.

She remembered looking at the house and seeing orange in the windows.

She remembered Vi not being there beside her.

She remembered her mother's face the exact moment her mother realized Vi was still inside, how her expression changed from fear to decision in less than a second.

Both of them went. Her mother and her father, together, holding hands for the first two steps before separating at the front door that was already smoking. They went back into the house that was eating itself alive because Vi was in there and Vi needed them and that was all that mattered.

Jinx had been screaming. She remembered that part with clarity that twenty years hadn't faded. The sound of her own voice, high and thin and breaking, "Mommy, Daddy, come back, please come back!" She remembered pulling at her mother's nightgown, at the fabric slipping through her small fingers as her mother moved away from her.

Her mother's hands were warm and she said something. Jinx couldn't remember the exact words anymore, but the shape of them remained: we'll be right back, stay here, I love you.

And then they were gone into the smoke and the orange and the heat. And Jinx was alone on the lawn in her bare feet and the outside was cold and she screamed and screamed and screamed until a neighbor came and held her.

Vi came out carried in their father's arms, coughing. He put her on the lawn beside Jinx and he said something to Vi and then he went back in for his wife.

Neither of them came back out.

Jinx and Vi sat on the lawn together and watched the house burn and waited for their parents to reappear and they didn't. They didn't come back. The firefighters arrived and the ambulances arrived and people rushed in and out but nobody brought their parents back to them.

Vi was only twelve and she held Jinx in her arms and Jinx didn't understand what was happening except that her parents had chosen to go and they hadn't come back and she'd been left behind.

The space station was oddly quiet, or perhaps Jinx had just gotten used to tuning it out. Jinx's hands were gripping the window frame, her knuckles white. 

She never thought about this. She was supposed to never think about this.

But here alone in the dark, the memory pressed in with a force she couldn't resist because it connected to everything. It was the root system beneath the surface, feeding every feeling she'd ever had about deserving things, about being chosen, about being enough.

Her parents chose Vi. That's what the seven-year-old on the lawn believed, and no amount of adult logic had ever fully dislodged that intrinsic gut feeling. They could have stayed. They could have waited, who knows how the firefighters would have handled it. But they went in. They chose the child inside the house over the child outside it. They chose Vi.

And Vi got to live because of that choice. Vi got a life, a career, friends, love, everything. Vi got everything because their parents gave everything for her.

Jinx got the memory of that front lawn, the waiting, the cold, the screaming and tears.

She knew, somewhere in the rational part of her brain that was currently being drowned out by illogical grief, that this interpretation was unfair. She knew her parents weren't choosing between their children. They were saving the one in danger. She was already safe. The decision wasn't about preference. 

But knowing didn't help. Because the seven-year-old didn't understand necessity, only understood that she was left alone and her parents walked toward someone else and they never walked back to her.

And from that seed, everything else grew.

Vi's career took off because some coach happened to see her at a gym. Just happened to be there, happened to notice, happened to invest. Vi didn't have to write a hundred applications or face a thousand rejections. Someone saw her and decided she was worth betting on, easy. From Jinx’s perspective, a straight line from discovery to success that Jinx never got.

Jinx fought for every inch. Every scholarship application. Every published paper defended against skeptics who thought she was too young, too unconventional, too much wrong. Nobody discovered Jinx. Nobody saw her and decided to invest. She built herself from nothing, and even now, even with her work exceeding projections on the International Space Station, people still questioned whether she deserved to be here.

Vi had kind friends who showed up for game nights that Jinx never went to. Jinx had Ekko. She loved Ekko, he was her best friend, her person, but he was one person. The rest of the world kept Jinx at arm's length, or maybe Jinx kept them at length.

Vi had Caitlyn. She had years of Caitlyn's attention and devotion. Years of being the person Caitlyn came home to, looked at, reached for. And even after the breakup, Vi still had her. Still had the friendship, the loyalty, the promise that Caitlyn would protect what Vi loved (most?).

Jinx had six months of proximity to a person who was caring for her because someone else asked her to. Six months of borrowed warmth, secondhand attention. It was all just borrowed light.

Nothing has ever been mine.

The thought was so loud in her head that she could almost hear it echo. She'd thought it before in different contexts, different moments of loss or envy.

Her parents weren't hers to keep. Her childhood wasn't hers, taken by fire. Her research was hers, technically, but every time she presented it someone found a way to dismantle it, to roll their eyes.

And Caitlyn. Whatever this feeling was, whatever this hollow ache that pulsed when Caitlyn was near, whatever this hunger to be the reason Caitlyn smiled or worried or cared, it wasn't hers either. It was Vi's. Caitlyn's heart or at least her loyalty pointed at Vi like a compass pointing north and Jinx was just... in the vicinity. 

It always belonged to someone else.

Jinx pulled her forehead off the glass. She touched her cheek with her fingertips and found tears there and she didn't know when they'd started.

She wiped her face roughly with both hands. 

This was stupid. She was being stupid. She was in space, on the most incredible opportunity of her life, doing work that changed the world, and she was floating around crying about her childhood and her sister's ex-girlfriend.

She was better than this.

(She wasn't better than this. Who could be?)

In the morning, Jinx made a decision.

She was done with whatever this week had been. The wallowing (she refused the word, but it was accurate), the withdrawal, the inability to function at full capacity because of feelings she couldn't even properly name. It was ridiculous and unprofessional and it was wasting the greatest opportunity of her life.

She was going to be normal. She was going to be fine. She was going to be a good, civil, friendly crewmate and she was going to finish her experiments and produce extraordinary results and when they got back to Earth and Caitlyn went back to Vi, Jinx would at least have her career and her papers and the knowledge that she'd used these six months for what they were meant for.

The first step, she decided, was finishing the apology. The hanging thread from before the alarm. It needed to be closed. It was the right thing to do, clear the air. Be someone Caitlyn could report favorably about to Vi.

For Vi's sake. All of this, she told herself, was for Vi.

She found Caitlyn mid-morning, reviewing maintenance logs on her tablet, floating with a cup of tea tethered to the surface beside her.

"Hey," Jinx said from the module entrance.

Caitlyn looked up and her face shifted, the beginning of a smile. "Hey. Good morning."

"So I wanted to say the thing," Jinx started, floating into the module and anchoring herself to a handrail about three feet from where Caitlyn floated. She looked at the wall behind Caitlyn's head. "The thing I was trying to say before the alarm, y’know."

Caitlyn set her tablet down. Jinx could feel the shift in her attention, the full amount of it landing.

"About the press conference," Jinx continued. She'd rehearsed this. "I was wrong about what I said to you after. The stuff about you making it about yourself, about it being a power play, about your motives. That was wrong and it was unfair. You were defending me because you believed what you were saying and I turned it into an attack because I didn't know how to accept it."

She paused.

"So... I'm sorry. That's what I was trying to say before the alarm."

The words were correct. Every word was true and she meant them. She did. The apology was genuine in content.

But the delivery was flat. That night, before the alarm, she'd been feeling the apology, and had been aching with it. Now she was only reciting it.

Caitlyn was quiet for a moment. Jinx could feel her processing, evaluating, reading the situation with that analytical mind that never stopped observing.

"Thank you for saying that," Caitlyn replied. "It means a lot to hear."

"Yeah." Jinx nodded, still looking at the wall. "Yeah, of course. I should have said it sooner."

"Jinx."

She made herself look over at Caitlyn's voice. It was painful, looking at Caitlyn when Caitlyn was looking at her back at her like this: warm, open, grateful, and also clearly, visibly confused. Her head was tilted slightly

"Are you sure you're okay?" Caitlyn asked. "You've been different this past week and I can't figure out why. If I've done something to upset you, I'd much rather know directly so we can address it."

"No, you haven't done anything. I'm good, really." The words came too fast, too smooth, stacked on top of each other. "Don't worry about it honestly. Thank you though. For, y'know. Everything. Back then you were right that I should have listened. I'll do better."

Caitlyn's expression didn't ease. In fact the concern only deepened, the slight furrow between her brows, pressing together her lips.

"Jinx, you don't seem—"

"I gotta go, test sequence scheduled for 0900, wanna get ahead of it." Jinx pushed off the handhold and was moving before Caitlyn could finish. "Talk later, yeah?"

She was through the module hatch before a response could come and she floated fast through the connecting passage with her heart beating too hard now and the apology delivered and nothing resolved.

Behind her, silence. Caitlyn letting her go because Caitlyn always let her go when she ran, always respected the retreat even when it clearly pained her to do so.

By this pattern, the days continued to pass. The schedule provided a structure somewhat comfortable in nature and Jinx leaned into it with everything she had. Experiments, exercise, meals, reports, sleep. 

Her data was extraordinary. The ion drive was performing beyond projections, the measurements consistently exceeding her most optimistic models. The crystalline formation tests were producing structures that had never been observed before. The plasma containment experiments were yielding clean, publishable results. By every metric that mattered to Houston, to NASA, to her career, Jinx was delivering.

She should have been ecstatic. These results would reshape the field. Her name would be on papers that would be cited for decades, papers that would permanently establish her as one of the best engineers of her generation.

But the passion that had always driven her, the obsessive fire that made her work sixteen hour days without complaint, that made her lose track of time and meals and sleep because the work was so consuming, was muted and she didn’t know why.

She noticed emails from Vi accumulating in her communications inbox.

Jinx saw Vi's name in her inbox and felt her chest constrict. Vi's name made her think about Caitlyn. About Caitlyn and Vi. About the two of them existing in a story together that Jinx was only a side character in, a supporting role in someone else's story, the difficult little sister who was being managed and maintained until the main characters could reunite.

She didn't open the emails.

It wasn't fair to Vi. She knew that. Vi hadn't done anything wrong. Vi was being a good sister. Vi had never done anything wrong.

But every time Jinx moved to open a message, she imagined Vi typing it at her kitchen table, or on her couch, in the apartment where Caitlyn used to stay over, where Caitlyn's presence probably still lingered in the spaces between furniture. And she thought about Vi and Caitlyn together and the hollow feeling surged and she closed the inbox and went back to work.

She would answer eventually. She would write something cheerful and normal and full of excitement about the mission and Vi would never know anything was wrong.

Just not today. 

...And maybe not tomorrow either.

Chapter Text

"When are you going to ask Violet to marry you?"

Caitlyn nearly dropped the mug she was holding. She was standing in her kitchen at 9 AM on a Monday morning, a day she fortunately had time off work, still in her workout clothes, sweat drying on her neck from her run, and her mother had apparently decided that this was an appropriate time and manner to deliver this question, all over the phone, without any warning or correlation to the previous conversation.

They'd been discussing the weather, for god's sake. The weather in the city versus the weather at the estate. And then, somehow, the weather = when are you going to ask Violet to marry you?

"Mother." Caitlyn set the mug down on the counter. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's coming from a reasonable place of maternal interest in my only daughter's future." Cassandra answered. "You've been together for quite some time now. Two years, is it?"

"Officially, a bit more than that."

"Two years is sufficient for knowing whether someone is right for you. Your father proposed to me at eighteen months."

"Different era, Mother."

"The timeline of certainty doesn't change with the decade, Caitlyn. Either you know or you don't."

Caitlyn leaned against her kitchen counter and pressed her free hand against her eyes. It was too early for this. She hadn't had enough coffee for this. She'd just walked in from her run when the phone rang and she'd answered without checking the caller ID, which was a mistake she would not make again.

"I'm not planning a proposal," Caitlyn answered.

"Why not?"

"Because we haven't discussed it."

"Then discuss it. Initiate the conversation, Caitlyn. Take the lead."

"It's not that simple."

"It is precisely that simple. Presumably, you love her and she loves you. You're compatible. She's sturdy, dependable, comes from humble stock which is refreshing in its own way. She's attractive. You could do significantly worse."

"Thank you for that ringing endorsement, Mother."

"I'm being practical." The faintest edge of impatience in Cassandra's tone. "Or is the issue that Vi would be the one to propose? Is that the dynamic you've established? Because I should tell you, the Kiramman family has existed on a long line of, shall we say, matriarchal initiative. The women in this family have always been the ones to take decisive action. I understand for you, in a same-sex relationship, that in theory might encourage Vi to propose. But it would be preferable for you to be the one."

"Nobody is proposing to anybody." Caitlyn squeezed her eyes shut. "We're happy with where things are."

"Happiness is not a fixed state, Caitlyn. It requires cultivation and forward movement. Stagnation in a relationship is the precursor to dissolution."

"W-what? We're not stagnating." Right?

"Mm." The classic Cassandra Kiramman response. The one that communicated volumes of disagreement in a single syllable. "Well, when you're ready to discuss this properly, I'm available. In the meantime, I'm calling about the Foundation dinner on Saturday."

"What about the Foundation dinner?" Caitlyn asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your attendance is expected."

"Expected by whom?"

"By me. By the Foundation board. By the various council members and donors who will be present and who would benefit from seeing the Kiramman family represented in full." A pause that was loaded with implication. "Including your father, who will be there, and myself, who is hosting."

The Foundation. Cassandra's Foundation. The Kiramman Policy Initiative, which funded research and lobbying around legislative reform and was, effectively, Cassandra's political vehicle. These dinners happened several times a year and Caitlyn attended as required, which was to say, just as often as was necessary to maintain her mother's satisfaction without sacrificing her own sanity.

"I'll check my schedule," Caitlyn decided.

"Your schedule is clear. I had it verified with your office."

"You called my work?"

"It's accessible information."

Caitlyn closed her eyes again and breathed harshly through her nose. "Fine. I'll be there."

"Wonderful. And please bring Violet."

"Vi doesn't enjoy these events."

"Nobody enjoys them, darling. That's not the point. The point is presence and presentation. The council members will be there, several donors from the aerospace committee will be there, and it would be good for you to be seen with a partner. Stability is reassuring to people who fund careers."

This was Cassandra's genius, the ability to frame every request as being for Caitlyn's benefit, to make compliance look like self-interest rather than obedience. 

"So you understand," Cassandra added, her voice lightening with what might have been humor or might have been provocation, "bring that soon-to-be fiancée of yours. I'd like to speak with her this time."

"Mother. We discussed this literally thirty seconds ago."

"I heard what you said."

"She’s not going to be my soon-to-be—"

"I'll see you Saturday. Don't be late. Wear the navy dress, it photographs well."

The line went dead.

Caitlyn set her phone on the counter and stared at it in silence. Then she finished her coffee. Then she stood in her kitchen and thought about the word "fiancée" and how hearing it applied to Vi had produced in her chest not the flutter of excitement or anticipation but a tightening.

She texted Vi: "My mother is hosting a political dinner Saturday and has requested our attendance. Are you free?"

Vi replied in four minutes: "For you ofc. Do I need to wear something fancy?"

Caitlyn: Unfortunately yes.

Vi: Ugh. Okay.

Caitlyn smiled at the text. Vi was warm and uncomplicated and said yes without resentment when Caitlyn asked her to do things she didn't enjoy. She showed up, she made things lighter, better. Caitlyn would always appreciate that.

The venue of the dinner was high ceilings with subtle crown molding, walls paneled in dark wood, floors polished to a mirror shine. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over round tables dressed in white linen and gold accents. A string quartet played something classical and inoffensive in the corner. Wait staff in black circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres that were beautiful and tiny and unsatisfying.

Caitlyn arrived in the navy dress her mother had specified. It was a good dress, she'd admit. Fitted, sophisticated, ending just below the knee. Her hair was down, styled in the loose waves that her mother approved of, and she'd applied makeup with more care than usual.

Vi arrived separately, pulling up to the valet in her car that looked aggressively out of place among the obnoxiously rich vehicles in the parking line. She stepped out in a charcoal gray suit that Caitlyn had helped her pick out for exactly this type of occasion. The suit fit her perfectly, tailored to accommodate her broad shoulders and athletic build, and when she walked toward the entrance where Caitlyn was waiting, several heads turned.

Caitlyn knew by now that Vi cleaned up really well. The suit made her look powerful and refined while her messy pink-tinged hair and the slightly crooked way she'd knotted her tie kept her looking like herself.

"Hey gorgeous." Vi grinned and leaned in to kiss Caitlyn's cheek. "You look incredible."

"You look very handsome," Caitlyn returned, reaching and straightening Vi's tie with an automatic gesture, tugging it slightly more centered. "Ready?"

"Absolutely not. Let's go."

Inside, the room was already filled with older men in expensive suits, women in cocktail dresses and (dis)tasteful jewelry, and the occasional younger face. Conversations hummed at a practiced volume, loud enough to indicate engagement but restrained enough to suggest class. It was like a game of chess.

Caitlyn navigated the room with Vi at her side, her hand resting lightly in the crook of Vi's elbow, and so began the ritual of these evenings. Shake hands, smile, make brief conversation, move on. She knew many of these people by name and reputation if not by personal connection. Several recognized her immediately as Cassandra's daughter and made the appropriate noises of greeting.

"Caitlyn! Lovely to see you, dear. Your mother must be so proud."

"Caitlyn Kiramman, is that you? You look so much like your mother."

"How's the space program? Flying to Mars yet?"

She answered each with ease. She smiled. She deflected. She redirected attention to Vi when appropriate and watched Vi shake hands and smile and crack jokes.

Vi was good at this, actually. Better than Caitlyn expected. She couldn't do the political small talk but she could charm people that these stiff, formal types found refreshing. Several of the older men laughed genuinely at something Vi said.

Cassandra found them twenty minutes in. She was wearing ivory, the color making her look regal and distinct from the darker tones the other women usually chose. Her dark hair (Caitlyn's shade exactly) was swept up in an elegant twist and her posture was, as always, perfect enough to make Caitlyn's own spine straighten in response.

"Darling." Air kisses. "You wore the navy. Excellent choice."

"You told me to."

"I merely suggested." Cassandra turned to Vi. "Violet. How wonderful you could make it."

"Thanks for having me, Mrs. Kiramman. This is quite the event."

"The Foundation does its best. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"The food is incredible," Vi answered, which was diplomatic and true and exactly the right thing.

"Do try the crab cakes. They're from Marcus's new catering company. Absolute revelation." Cassandra placed a hand on Caitlyn's arm. "Come say hello to Council Member Hoskel when you have a moment. He's been asking about you."

"I'll find him," Caitlyn promised.

Cassandra drifted away toward another cluster of guests and Vi turned to Caitlyn with her eyebrows raised.

"Council Member Hoskel?"

"He sits on the committee. My mother thinks he's useful for my career."

"Is he?"

"Possibly. He's also incredibly boring."

Vi laughed and squeezed Caitlyn's hand and they moved further into the room.

The evening proceeded as these evenings did. Caitlyn made rounds, spoke with people of varying importance, endured comments about how young she looked for an astronaut and questions about when NASA was going to send people to Mars already. Vi stayed close, occasionally peeling off to get drinks or to rescue Caitlyn from a conversation that had gone on too long.

They were a good team. They always had been at events. Vi's physicality and directness balanced Caitlyn's formal reserve. Together they projected an image of competence and warmth that people generally responded well to.

At 8:30, the formal portion of the evening began. The attendees took their seats at the round tables and the evening's speakers took the small stage at the front of the room. Cassandra gave opening remarks. Then Council Member Hoskel took the stage. Then a woman named Shoola who ran one of the Foundation's partner organizations. Then an elderly man named Bolbok.

Caitlyn sat at their assigned table front and center and kept her expression attentive and interested but thought about absolutely nothing related to what was being said.

Bolbok was in the middle of a sentence about infrastructure funding allocation when Caitlyn thought, unbidden and vivid: Jinx would call this guy a fossil.

Complete with the imagined sound of Jinx's voice delivering the assessment. 

Caitlyn pressed her lips together to suppress a smile.

Bolbok continued. Something about quarterly reviews and performance metrics. Caitlyn thought, she would probably fall asleep. Actually, no. She would have snuck away to dismantle the sound system and rebuild it with better speakers out of spite because the audio quality in this room is terrible.

The smile was harder to suppress this time. Caitlyn lifted her water glass to her lips to hide it.

Shoola returned to the stage for a second segment, this time discussing community engagement metrics and the importance of grassroots outreach. Caitlyn listened and nodded and her mind continued its unauthorized commentary.

If Jinx were here, she would have found the one engineer at this party (there had to be at least one, given the science committee connections) and cornered them into a technical argument within five minutes. She would be wearing something that gave Cassandra a heart attack. She would have opinions about the string quartet's tempo. She would be bored and restless and making exactly no effort to hide it and she would be the most interesting person in the room.

Caitlyn bit the inside of her cheek.

An older man at the next table leaned toward his wife and said something that made her laugh politely. Caitlyn's brain: Jinx would have louder opinions about the crab cakes than this entire room combined. Probably something about how molecular gastronomy was pretentious and regular food tasted better.

This was a problem. This had become a problem. 

The final speaker wrapped up. The formal portion ended and the room shifted back into mingling mode. Vi appeared beside Caitlyn immediately.

"I'm dying," Vi whispered against Caitlyn's ear. "I'm actually dying. That last guy spoke for forty minutes about zoning laws."

Caitlyn laughed, startled out of her head by Vi. "It was only twenty minutes."

"Felt like fifty years."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just promise me we can leave soon."

"Give me fifteen more minutes to say the necessary goodbyes and then we're free."

"Fifteen minutes."

Caitlyn made her rounds. Said goodbye to Hoskel, who really was incredibly boring. Hugged her father, who whispered "escape while you can" against her hair. Found Cassandra, who was holding court with three donors and who accepted Caitlyn's goodbye with a nod and murmured, "we'll talk this week." Uh-oh.

In the parking lot, the night air was cool and welcome after the overheated interior of the club. Caitlyn filled her lungs with it and felt the tension of the evening begin to release from her shoulders.

Vi was already at her car, leaning against the driver's side door, her suit jacket slung over one arm, her tie loosened. She was grinning.

"So," Vi said. "I believe you owe me for that experience."

"I believe I do."

"What do you think about Jericho's?"

Jericho's was a fast food place Vi had been going to since she was a teenager. Small, slightly run-down, open twenty-four hours, and serving the kind of burgers and fries that definitely did not care about nutrition. It was Vi's comfort spot. She went there after fights (boxing, not personal), after bad days, after good days. She'd taken Caitlyn there on one of their first dates, and Caitlyn had sat in a plastic booth in a designer blouse and eaten a greasy melting double cheeseburger with her hands and laughed so hard that diet soda had come out of her nose.

"I would love nothing more," Caitlyn smiled, and meant it.

Vi's face lit up. "Get in."

Caitlyn climbed into the passenger seat. The interior was familiar, smelling faintly of gym bags and the air freshener Vi kept on the mirror. Vi started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot far too quickly.

The windows went down. The night air rushed in, warm and fast, catching Caitlyn's hair and sending it whipping around her face. The radio was playing something with loud bass and Vi was drumming on the steering wheel and the city was dark and lit and alive around them.

Caitlyn leaned her head back against the headrest and let the wind hit her face and she felt, in this moment, freer than she had in weeks. Months, maybe. The formal rigidity of the evening fell away with each street they put between themselves and the dinner. The dress that had felt like armor all night now just felt like fabric. Her shoulders dropped. Her jaw unclenched. She breathed.

Vi glanced over at her. The streetlights caught Vi's profile in passing flashes, illuminating her grin, the strong line of her jaw, the way her hair was being destroyed by the wind but she clearly didn't care and still looked dashing.

"There she is," Vi chuckled.

"Hm?"

"You. I missed her tonight."

"She was there… just buried under twelve layers of political obligation."

"Twelve? I counted at least twenty."

Caitlyn laughed. The sound was easy and real and it felt good in her chest in a way that laughter hadn't felt in a while. This was them. This was the version of them that worked best, in ways. Windows down, night driving, joking, easy. This was how they'd started, years ago, before the relationship became something that required therapy and ultimatums and careful maintenance.

They'd met like this, actually. By coincidence, at a party, they arrived separately and left together and they'd driven through the city with the windows down and Vi had taken her to Jericho's then, though it wasn’t a date.

The memory was vivid and warm and also, somehow, sad. Because the lightness she'd felt that first night was the same lightness she felt right now, and she was trying to figure out what that meant.

Jericho's appeared on the right. The sign was half-lit, the parking lot nearly empty, the interior visible through large windows. Vi pulled in and parked and they got out and walked in together, a woman in a tailored suit and a woman in a cocktail dress, entering a fast food establishment at almost eleven-something on a Saturday night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The kid behind the counter did a double take at their outfits and then shrugged and took their order. Vi ordered her usual (double bacon cheeseburger, large fries, chocolate shake) and Caitlyn ordered hers (chicken sandwich, regular fries, water, because she'd had glasses of champagne at the event and needed to rehydrate).

They sat in a booth by the window. The plastic seats were cracked and the table had a wobble that Vi fixed by shoving a folded napkin under one leg. The lighting was aggressive and unflattering and made Caitlyn's expensive makeup look slightly garish. None of this mattered.

"To surviving another Kiramman Foundation event," Vi cheered, raising her chocolate shake.

Caitlyn touched her water cup to Vi's shake. "To survival."

They ate. 

They talked. 

About the event (Vi's impressions of the various council members were devastating and hilarious), about the food (Vi maintained that Jericho's fries were the best in the city and Caitlyn maintained that this was objectively incorrect but admitted they were very good), and about nothing important. 

Caitlyn felt the deeper tightness in her chest that had been present for weeks ease. Here, in this plastic booth, in this terrible lighting, eating mediocre fast food with Vi in a gala dress, she felt more herself than she had in months.

"So," Caitlyn began, still laughing at the last thing Vi said. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh?"

"My mom called me earlier this week, to tell me about the event, right?"

"Right." Vi took a bite of her burger.

Caitlyn huffed lightly. "She kept pressuring me about marriage."

"Yeah?"

"She wanted to know when I was going to propose to you."

Vi was quiet for a moment. Her expression shifted from light humor to more focused. She wiped her hands on a napkin.

"What did you tell her?" Vi asked.

"I told her we hadn't discussed it."

"Mm." Vi folded the napkin. "Well, when would you want to?"

The question was asked gently, openly, without any forced pressure. Vi's eyes were steady on Caitlyn's face, her expression warm and curious and completely, totally sincere.

Caitlyn felt the world slow down around her.

When would you want to get married? 

"I don't know," Caitlyn answered, furrowing her eyebrows. "I hadn't really thought about a timeline."

"But you thought about it."

Caitlyn looked at her fries. 

"Caitlyn?"

"I told her no plans on marriage. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

Something shifted in Vi's expression. Subtle but visible, the warmth cooling by a degree, the openness tightening. She picked up a fry and put it back down without eating it.

"Okay," Vi replied. "Can I be honest with you about something?"

"Always."

"Tonight has probably been the best night we've had together in a really long time, honestly, even with those long ass speeches. You've been laughing and relaxed. I've been trying to figure out what's different about tonight versus all the other nights. And I think the answer is that tonight we've basically just been friends."

"The drive over here," Vi continued, her voice steady, her eyes on Caitlyn. "The ‘escape’ from the gala, coming to Jericho's, us joking around. This is how we used to be when we were just Vi and Caitlyn who hung out and had fun together. And tonight, doing this again, you're happier than I've seen you in so long."

Caitlyn opened her mouth and Vi held up her hand gently.

"Let me finish."

"Okay."

"Caitlyn, do you just want to be friends?"

The lights buzzed above them. Outside, a car passed on the road, headlights sweeping briefly across the parking lot. The kid behind the counter was scrolling on their phone.

"Because," Vi continued, and her voice was so gentle, so impossibly kind, "I remember a conversation we had about a year ago about marriage. And in that conversation, you said you wanted it. You said you saw a future with me, you said someday you wanted to do the whole thing, the proposal and the wedding and the life together. And you meant it, Cait. I could see that you meant it. And now your mother asks the same question and your answer is no plans and you can't even look at me when you say it?"

Caitlyn was looking at her hands. At the table. At anywhere that wasn't Vi.

"Something changed," Vi murmured. "Between then and now. I've been waiting for you to tell me what it is but you haven't and I don't think you're going to because I’m not even sure you know what it is. So I'm going to make it easier for you by asking directly, Cait, do you still want a future with me?"

The booth. The lights. The faint smell of fryer oil and junk food. Vi's face across from her, open and brave and so heartbreakingly ready to hear whatever the truth was. Vi, who had been patient through months of Caitlyn's withdrawal. 

Vi, who deserved someone whose whole heart was in the room with her.

Caitlyn thought about the night. She thought about sitting in a chair listening to speeches and thinking about what Jinx would say. About an evening spent in the company of her girlfriend while her mind was thinking about someone else.

She thought, again about words that Seraphine had offered her.

She thought about Vi, about loving Vi, genuinely, truly, the real and significant love that existed between them. That love was real and had always been real but it wasn’t not enough. You could love someone fully and still be falling for someone else.

Caitlyn looked up. Vi was watching her. Already knowing, probably. Already having read the answer in Caitlyn's silence and in the tears that Caitlyn hadn't realized had fallen from the edges of her eyes until right now, until this second.

"Yes," Caitlyn whispered. "I think I do just want to be friends."

It was terrible and it was true and Vi's eyes watered but she nodded. 

"Okay," Vi responded. "Okay, Cait."

"I'm sorry." The tears were falling faster now. Two, three, tracking down Caitlyn's face. "I'm so sorry. You're wonderful and you deserve someone who is there and I'm not. I haven't been. And you've been so patient and so good and I keep trying to be what you need and I can't."

"Hey." Vi reached across the table and took both of Caitlyn's hands in hers. "Don't apologize for being honest. This is what I asked for. I'd rather have this than months of you forcing yourself, and us trying to make something dead work."

"I love you," Caitlyn cried, the tears making her voice break. "I do, I never stopped."

"I know." Vi's thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of Caitlyn's hands. "I love you too. That's not going away."

They sat in the booth at Jericho's and held hands across the table and Caitlyn cried and Vi's eyes were wet but she didn't cry, not yet, not here, and between them was the end of an era.

"Is there something else?" Vi asked after a while, gently.

Caitlyn's hands tightened in Vi's grip. The answer was complicated. There was someone else in the sense that another person occupied her thoughts and did produce feelings that her relationship with Vi no longer did. There was someone else in the sense that she couldn't stop thinking about a woman she barely knew who would probably be horrified to learn she was the subject of this internal crisis.

"It's complicated," Caitlyn said. Let alone the fact it was Vi’s sister.

"You don't have to say anything yet."

"I know. But you deserve to know that it's not about anything you did wrong. You were perfect. You are perfect. The thing that's pulling me away has nothing to do with any failure on your part."

Vi studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled, sad and knowing and so incredibly generous that Caitlyn's heart ached.

"Whatever it is," Vi said, "I hope you can tell me, when you know. As your best friend, of course."

Despite it all, they giggled, painfully, quietly.

They finished their food in tearful stillness. The shakes melted. The fries went cold. Neither of them moved to leave for a long time.

Eventually, Vi drove Caitlyn home. The windows were still down but the air felt different now. The radio was off. They didn't speak much.

At Caitlyn's building, Vi pulled up to the curb. Not a parking spot. She wasn’t going in with her tonight. They sat for a moment.

"I don't want to lose you," Caitlyn revealed honestly.

"You won't." Vi turned to look at her. Her face was calm. Sad around the eyes, but calm. "We'll always be good."

"Can I still call you?"

"If you stop calling me I'll show up at your door and make you explain yourself." Vi's mouth curved, a ghost of her usual grin.

Caitlyn leaned across the center console and hugged her awkwardly. Vi's arms came around her, strong and sure and familiar, and they held each other.

When Caitlyn pulled back, her face was wet again, and Vi reached over and wiped a tear from her cheek with her thumb and whispered, "Go get some sleep. You look like hell."

Caitlyn laughed. "Goodnight, Vi."

"Goodnight, Caitlyn."

She got out and walked to her building door. She turned and waved. Vi waved back through the open window, then pulled away from the curb and drove off into the night, the taillights shrinking until they turned a corner and were gone.

Caitlyn went inside. Took the elevator up. Entered her apartment. Stood in the entrance hall in her navy dress with her makeup running and her hair destroyed and her chest simultaneously heavy with loss and light with terrible relief.

She pressed her back against the front door and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor.

She was single. After years of a relationship that was good and loving and not enough. After being given everything she should have wanted and learning, horribly, that what she actually wanted was somewhere else entirely.

In the silence of her apartment, alone on the floor, Caitlyn allowed herself to think the thought she'd been pushing away for months.

Jinx.

Jinx. With her blue hair and her sharp tongue and her stupidly intelligent brain. With her hostility and her vulnerability and her laugh. With her fictional cat and her confessions that she didn't remember making.

Jinx, who Caitlyn had driven across a city for more than once. 

Jinx, who was Vi's sister.

That was going to be a problem.

She didn’t know what it was. But she knew what it wasn't.

Chapter Text

"Do you want to go on a spacewalk?"

Jinx looked up from her laptop. She was floating near her test chamber but she hadn't actually done anything productive for over an hour now. The dataset on her screen was the same one she'd opened earlier that morning. It was approaching noon now and all she’d done was two hours of staring at numbers without thinking about a single one. Her cursor was blinking at the end of a half-typed notation she'd started and forgotten about. She couldn't remember what she'd been trying to write.

This was becoming normal, she realized, with scientific certainty. There was a pattern, which led to the assumption of correlation. This inability to care about work that used to consume her so completely that she forgot to eat and sleep. The ion drive data was sitting in her system, incredibly extraordinary and life changing and just waiting for analysis, and Jinx looked at it every morning and felt nothing.

Caitlyn was in the module entrance, one hand on the hatch frame, her body angled inward. She was in a standard compression shirt and utility pants, her hair up in a ponytail, and she was watching Jinx with an expression that Jinx had become familiar with over the past weeks.

"A spacewalk?" Jinx repeated. Her words sounded distant in her own ears, like she was hearing it through water. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Houston flagged a minor issue on the external thermal panel array. A sensor is registering intermittent readings. They want eyes on it, possible recalibration or a connection that needs tightening. Nothing critical, just routine maintenance."

"Oh." Jinx looked back at her laptop. "Yeah, sure."

"You don't have to if you'd rather continue your work today."

"No, it's fine. I'll do it." Jinx closed the laptop. "This is my job, right?"

"It is your job. But I want to make sure the timing works for you."

"The timing is fine." Everything was fine. That was what she said now, about everything, because it was, it had to be. "When?"

"Whenever you're ready. The window is open for the next several hours. No rush."

"Give me thirty minutes to change and prep."

"Take your time," Caitlyn replied. She lingered in the hatch for a moment, her gaze resting on Jinx's face with that expression again, the one that was searching. Then she pushed off and disappeared.

Jinx floated alone. The test chamber hummed at standby beside her, patient and waiting, full of potential energy that matched nothing in Jinx's current state. She looked at the equipment she'd designed and built and carried to space, at the hardware that represented years of her life's best thinking.

…nothing.

She changed into the thermal undergarment necessary, pulling the liquid cooling layer over her body. The fabric was tight but meant to be functional. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective surface of an equipment panel as she pulled it on, and noted what she saw. Thin, blue-haired, hollow-eyed. Data suggests a lack of sleep. Jinx looked away.

When she made her way to the airlock, Caitlyn was already there. The suit components were laid out in their sequence, organized on the storage rack from Caitlyn’s touch. The checklist was displayed on her tablet, mounted to the wall.

Caitlyn had secured herself with a foot strap near the suit storage and she turned when Jinx entered.

"Ready to suit up?"

"Let's go."

"Lower the torso assembly first. I'll hold it stable."

The process began. Caitlyn lifted the lower torso assembly from its mount, orienting it so Jinx could step (float) into it from above. Her hands were steady on the hard shell, holding it in position against the zero gravity drift, her body tense and strong. Jinx guided her legs into the openings, felt the fit of the boots engage, felt the constriction of the suit material around her lower body.

Caitlyn moved closer to verify the waist ring position. Her fingers worked at the mechanism, checking alignment, preparing for the upper torso connection. She was concentrating, her face set in professional focus, and her shoulder brushed against Jinx's hip as she reached around to the back to check the rear seal points.

In another week, in another mental state, Jinx would have registered this contact. She would have felt the warmth of Caitlyn's body, would have been hyperaware of the proximity of Caitlyn's to her, would have held her breath or flushed or hated it, making some cutting remark to create distance.

Today she stood passively and felt empty about all of it. 

"Alignment good," Caitlyn reported. "Upper torso now. Arms up."

Jinx raised her arms. The hard upper shell came over her head, heavy (even in microgravity, its mass was significant and required careful handling), and Caitlyn guided it down and aligned the waist ring with the lower connection point. Caitlyn's hands moved to the locking mechanism, securing it, verifying the seal.

"Sealed. Green indicator on my end. Confirm on yours?"

Jinx checked her wrist. "Green."

"Gloves."

The left glove. Caitlyn held the wrist ring steady while Jinx inserted her hand, wiggled her fingers into position, and rotated the locking mechanism into place. Then the right. Same process. 

"Helmet," Caitlyn instructed.

She lifted it from the mount. The helmet was a hard shell with a clear visor and the gold-tinted sun shade that could be lowered over it. Caitlyn held it at Jinx's head level, positioned for installation, and for one moment before bringing it down, she paused.

They were now directly face to face, uncommon given their height difference normally. Caitlyn's eyes met Jinx's through the space that the helmet would soon fill. The distance between them was perhaps ten inches. In Caitlyn’s eyes, Jinx saw a few things. There was concern there, which had been passively constant for days, but now there was also something else.

"Enjoy this," Caitlyn murmured.

Before Jinx could ask what that meant (enjoy routine maintenance?), the helmet came down and locked and narrowed the world down.

"Comm check," Caitlyn's voice came through the helmet speakers. 

"Loud and clear."

"Suit pressure nominal. Oxygen flow confirmed. All indicators green on my board."

"Copy. Ditto."

The pre-breathe protocol began. For a planned, non-emergency EVA (extravehicular activity, the official term), the timeline was different from the accelerated protocol they'd used during the meteoroid crisis. Jinx breathed pure oxygen from the suit's supply while the airlock pressure was gradually reduced, allowing her body to release nitrogen safely. The process took time. Jinx stood (floated) in the airlock and breathed and waited and watched the pressure gauge with blank eyes.

Caitlyn monitored from outside the suit, checking readings periodically on her tablet, maintaining the comm connection.

"Nitrogen levels are looking good," Caitlyn informed after the required period. "You're cleared for full depressurization whenever you're ready."

"Copy."

The airlock pump engaged its final cycle. The remaining air left the chamber in measured pulls, the pressure gauge dropping in steady increments until zero.

Vacuum.

The suit inflated slightly around her, the internal pressure maintaining against the nothing outside. Jinx was alone in her personal atmosphere, surrounded by the hostile void, separated from instant death by the suit alone.

"The outer hatch is yours," Caitlyn told her.

Jinx reached for the release mechanism and the hatch swung outward and the universe opened before her like a door to a cathedral.

Earth was below and to the left from her current orientation, occupying a third of her visual field, enormous and curved and alive with color. They were over daylight, the sun positioned behind the station from this angle, and the planet's surface was illuminated in vivid, overwhelming detail. She could see the ocean, deep and shifting in shade from navy in the deeps to brilliant turquoise where the light hit shallower waters. She could see the brown and green of a landmass (South America, she thought, based on the shape). She could see clouds layered and textured, casting visible shadows on the surface beneath them. 

The station's structure extended in both directions from the airlock, the long stretching port and starboard, the solar panels at their far ends angled toward the sun, their surfaces catching light and blazing against the black behind them. The station's modules were visible below her, white cylindrical shapes connected by nodes, the whole station looking both massive and fragile against the infinity surrounding it.

Beyond everything that was built, in every direction that wasn't a planet or structure or sun, there were stars. Thousands upon thousands of them, sharp and unblinking and more numerous than any sky from Earth had ever shown her, and even from the windows aboard the station. Out here, truly in space, they were overwhelming.

"I'm outside," Jinx reported. 

"Copy. Tether secured?"

She reached for the tether and clipped it to the handhold beside the hatch. 

"Secured. Beginning to traverse."

"Your target is outboard on the port side," Caitlyn directed. "Follow the handrails toward the solar panels. You'll pass through the center segment, then continue through."

"Copy. Moving out."

Jinx began to move. Hand over hand along the station's exterior, gripping a rail with one gloved hand before releasing the other, moving in the slow, deliberate choreography. 

The difference from the emergency EVA before versus now was profound. That time, she'd been moving with purpose and urgency, her mind focused on the problem, her attention narrowed. The beauty of the environment had been secondary, barely registered as work took extreme priority.

Today there was no urgency. The maintenance task that Caitlyn had described was routine, non-critical, and unhurried. Jinx could move at whatever pace she chose. 

So she looked.

She paused at the first junction point. From here, looking upward away from Earth, the sky was a field of stars so dense it was difficult to find gaps between them. No atmosphere scattered the light. No light pollution diluted the fainter sources. Every star that existed in this direction was visible to her eyes in full. They were sharp and still and ancient and Jinx could see, if she looked carefully, that they weren't all the same color. Some were warm, golden-white. Others were cool, tinted blue. A few of the brightest had a quality that was distinctly different from the rest that suggested they might be planets rather than stars.

She stayed at the point for almost a minute, just looking. Her breathing inside the helmet was the only sound besides the hiss of the suit's life support.

Something in her chest stirred just a little bit, like a dog raising their ear while asleep.

She moved on. 

The handrails guided her path, spaced at regular intervals, and she moved along them with growing ease as her body got used to the rhythm.

At the next segment, she paused again. They were approaching the day-night in their orbit, and the light was changing. The direct sunlight from behind her was beginning to angle, creating longer shadows on the station's surface, and ahead of her the sky was darker where the Earth's shadow was creeping toward them. The stars in that direction were even more visible.

"Status check," Caitlyn's voice in her ear. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Taking it slow."

"No rush at all. The window is wide open."

Jinx continued. She moved along, her hands finding rails automatically, her body floating and pulling. In between movements, during the one-handed pauses when she was transitioning from one rail to the next, she kept looking.

The station's construction was fascinating from outside. Every surface told a story. The thermal layers were carefully fitted around equipment. Cables ran and ran. Smaller components, antennas and sensors and equipment boxes, were mounted everywhere. Every piece had been designed, tested, launched, and installed by human hands. The whole thing was a monument to intelligence and effort that amazed even Jinx.

The thought of how fragile her current predicament was, being kept alive in retrospectively, a tiny suit, just an ant among the infinity, was refreshing where it should have been terrifying. Instead, somehow, it was exhilarating. 

"Approaching," Jinx reported eventually. "Almost there."

"Copy. The sensor housing should be on the face of the equipment bay. A rectangular housing, about thirty centimeters by twenty. You should see a cluster of temperature sensors."

"Okay, let me get situated." Jinx maneuvered herself around the structure, using the handrails to pull herself to the appropriate face of the equipment bay. The assembly was easy to locate. Near it, she found the sensor Caitlyn had described with cable connectors running from it.

Her gloved fingers ran over the surface, feeling for anything broken or damaged. She checked the mounting bolts by attempting to rotate them, examined the cable connectors, looked at the housing itself for any sign of impact, thermal warping, or degradation.

But everything was fine.

"Caitlyn?" Jinx questioned.

"Yes?"

"I'm at the sensor housing."

"Copy."

"There's nothing wrong with it."

"Can you be more specific?" Caitlyn asked.

"The housing is intact," Jinx reported. "Every connector is properly seated. Mounting bolts are secure. No visible damage or degradation. No ice formation, no debris, no thermal warping. Everything is perfect from external inspection. There's nothing to fix here."

"Hm."

"Are you sure you have the right coordinates? Maybe it's further along the segment?"

"Try looking behind you," Caitlyn directed.

Jinx frowned inside her helmet. Looking behind her wouldn't show her anything. Behind her was just space. 

Unless.

She turned anyway, because she needed visual confirmation.

Behind her, from this specific position at the far port end of the station, the view was completely, utterly unobstructed.

The station's bulk was all behind and below her now, back in the direction she'd traversed from. In front of her, in the direction she was now facing, there was nothing between her visor and deep space. No solar panels angling across her sightline and just the pure infinite cosmos.

And the Milky Way was there.

The galaxy's band stretched across the space in a diagonal river of light that was so bright, so dense, so impossibly vast that Jinx's breath caught in her throat.

Through the station's windows, the Milky Way was undeniably beautiful. During the aurora night, it was stunning. From out here though with only the visor between her eyes and infinity, it was something she didn't have a word for.

Jinx could see dust lanes, darker regions where interstellar dust blocked the light of the stars behind it, cutting across the brighter background in lines. She could see regions of intense brightness, dense star-forming areas where new suns were being born in clouds of hydrogen and helium, the light from thousands of stars blending into concentrated patches. She could see, at the edges of the band of light where the star density thinned, individual points separating from the mass, each one a sun with its own planets possibly, its own story.

Jinx hadn't expected colors, or at least not this many. The dominant light was white-gold but within that there were variations. Cool blue-white patches where clusters of hot stars burned through their fuel. Warm amber regions where older red giants swelled and dimmed. And something Jinx didn't expect at all: a section of the sky where the dust was thin enough and a distant nebula was bright enough to see a faint glow that was purple and pink, like a watercolor bruise on the canvas that was space. Technically speaking, she was looking at ionized gas emitting photons in the visible spectrum.

"Oh," Jinx whispered, the sound involuntary. "Oh, fuck."

"What do you see?" Caitlyn prompted, her voice warm and carrying a knowing-ness.

"It's so beautiful," Jinx breathed. "Caitlyn, it's so—I can't even. The Milky Way from here is—the colors, there's this purple section and I think it's a nebula and, and I can see structure, and—"

She stopped talking because a streak of light cut across her field of vision. Brief and bright, appearing and vanishing in under a second, a clean line of fire.

A meteor distantly, hitting the upper atmosphere somewhere in her peripheral vision, burning itself into space in just a heartbeat.

"I just saw a shooting star," Jinx said. "From out here—holy shit."

Then another appeared. Fainter, in a different direction, lasting barely half a second before it was gone.

"Two. Two shooting stars." She was gripping the rail with both hands and staring at the sky with her mouth slightly open inside her helmet. The numbness that had been over everything recently was fading, pieces of it falling away to give room to color again.

"A debris stream is still trailing through this orbital region," Caitlyn explained. "The density is much lower than during the peak passage but there are still particles entering the atmosphere periodically. You might see several more from your position."

"How did you know this would be visible from here?" Jinx asked. "From this specific spot?"

A pause. 

"I did some research," Caitlyn answered. "Where you are right now has the least structural obstruction in the zenith direction during our current orbital orientation. I thought it might provide a good vantage point."

"Riiight, for the maintenance?"

"For whatever purpose might benefit from an unobstructed, clear view."

Jinx laughed. It was small, just a huff of breath really, but it was the first sound approximating laughter she'd produced in maybe two weeks.

"Describe it to me," Caitlyn spoke then, softly. "Tell me what you're seeing."

And so Jinx did.

She talked about the Milky Way's structure. It wasn't a flat uniform band of light but a three dimensional river with depth and variation, brighter in some sections and dimmer in others, interrupted by dark strips that gave it the appearance of a road winding through dark mountains. That was the best analogy she thought of then. She talked about how the colors shifted from warm gold at the center to cooler blue-ish and white-ish at the edges. She talked about the purple-pink region and what it meant physically, even though Caitlyn probably knew, and what it looked like aesthetically (like someone had pressed a flower into the sky and left the stain of it there).

Three more shooting stars appeared while she was speaking, each one a brief bright line that existed and vanished in the span of a blink. Each one contained a piece of ancient comet, potentially billions of years old, meeting its final moment in the friction of Earth's atmosphere. Brief lives to her sight yet beautiful endings. Or beautiful beginnings, depending on how you looked at it, because the energy released in those moments would dissipate into the upper atmosphere and eventually, the atoms that made up those fragments would settle and become part of Earth itself.

Jinx talked about how stars didn't exactly twinkle from here because there was no atmosphere to distort their light. Instead these perfect, clean, unwavering points that felt more real than any star she'd ever seen from Earth's surface. 

She talked and Caitlyn listened and occasionally asked questions like, "Can you see the galactic center from your position?" and "What does the contrast look like between the bright regions and the dust lanes?", all of which Jinx answered and answered and kept talking.

"I think I can see Andromeda," Jinx said at one point, her voice dropping. Andromeda was another galaxy, the closest one to the Milky Way. "There's this fuzzy patch near where the constellation should be in this hemisphere. It's consistent with the position and it's definitely extended, not a point source."

"Oh?"

"Two point five million light years away." Jinx stared at the faint smudge of light. "The photons hitting my retina right now left that galaxy before humans existed."

"It's extraordinary, Jinx."

"Yeah." Her voice was barely a whisper now. "It really, really is."

"How do you feel?" Caitlyn asked then.

Jinx thought about it.

"I feel really small," she answered. "Everything I've been carrying around is still here but it's just so tiny compared to all of this. I've been spinning in my own head for all my life but then you look at the actual galaxy and realize that it’s all just so… small."

"Is… is that comforting?"

"Weirdly, yeah."

"Good." Caitlyn's voice was soft. 

"Hey, Caitlyn," Jinx replied.

"Yes?"

"There's nothing wrong with the sensor."

A longer pause this time. Jinx could almost hear the decision being made on the other end of the comm, the calculation of whether to maintain the fiction or let it fall.

"No," Caitlyn confirmed. "There isn't."

"There was never a problem out here."

"No."

"You made it up. You lied about there being a problem and sent me on a spacewalk for no reason."

"I identified a strategic opportunity to maximize crew wellness through experiential engagement." 

Jinx stared at the galaxy for several seconds, then she started laughing. She was gripping the handrail and laughing at the Milky Way.

Caitlyn Kiramman. Commander Kiramman. The woman who had reprimanded her for fixing a fan without logging it. The woman who had ordered her back from a radiator panel because her tether was at maximum extension. The woman who had yelled about protocol and risk management and survivor bias multiple times now. That woman had just fabricated an entire mission, without ground control approval, because she'd noticed something was off with Jinx.

"You broke the rules for me, Kiramman?" Jinx managed between waves of laughter.

She could hear the smile in Caitlyn's response. "I didn't think you of all people would have a problem with that, Jinx."

Jinx laughed harder. She was laughing in a spacesuit at the far end of the International Space Station with stars in her eyes and the galaxy above her and she was laughing because someone had broken rules for her, but not just anyone, Caitlyn Kiramman of all people. Caitlyn, who months ago, in that first session with Mel, had argued with her about the logistics and validity of breaking rules.

"You're a rule-breaker, Caitlyn Kiramman. I'm going to remember this forever. I'm going to bring this up every time you lecture me about protocol for the rest of our time up here."

"If it means you're laughing like this, I'll accept those consequences."

Jinx's laughter softened slightly at that, not stopping but shifting. The joy was still there but something else was in it now.

"Stay as long as you want out here," Caitlyn told her. "I'm monitoring your suit readings and you have plenty of oxygen remaining. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

I'm not going anywhere.

Jinx held those words for a moment, letting them sit in her chest. "Okay," she said. "Okay, yeah. I'm going to explore a bit."

"Be safe."

"I'm tethered."

"I know. Be safe anyway."

"Copy, Commander."

Jinx released her grip on the handrail and began moving. She traversed back, not toward the airlock but upward, along the station's surface. The "top" of the station relative to Earth's surface was less frequently accessed during standard EVAs. Most external equipment was mounted on the Earth-facing or lateral faces. The top surface was smoother, quieter, less cluttered with equipment.

She found handrails that took her up and over, transitioning to the top. From here, the view changed dramatically. Earth was now "below" her. The station's modules were below her too, visible as white cylindrical shapes connected at nodes. The solar panels, the arrays, spread on either side.

And above her was nothing.

Jinx moved along the surface until she found a spot near that felt right. She engaged her feet in a portable restraint that was mounted there, oriented her body so she was "sitting" with her back against a structure, and tilted her face upward. The sky from here was total stretching from horizon to horizon. 

"I'm sitting on top of the station," Jinx reported. "Near the center, looking straight up."

"I'm in the cupola," Caitlyn answered. The cupola, again, was a dome shaped structure of windows aboard the ISS meant for viewing "I should be looking at the same portion of sky you are."

"So we're looking at the same thing right now."

"Yes."

Jinx let her head rest back. The suit limited her neck's range of motion but she could angle her visor enough to take in most of the overhead sky.

"It looks different from here than through the windows," Jinx spoke after a while. "Out here, the space is something I'm in rather than the station. There's nothing separating me from it except this suit. I could almost touch it."

"Please don't try to touch the vacuum of space," Caitlyn replied, and there was humor in her voice, dry and light.

"Hey! I'm trying to be philosophical, Caitlyn."

"Your philosophical impulses are an occupational hazard."

Jinx grinned inside her helmet. "The stars don't twinkle from here. I mentioned that before but it keeps striking me. They're so still."

"What else?"

Jinx looked. With the full attention of her mind, she let her eyes adjust to the view.

"There are so many more than you think," she answered eventually. "Even after everything I've seen through the windows, being out here, there are so many more. Every gap between two visible stars is filled with fainter ones. And every gap between those is filled with even fainter ones. The whole sky is full."

"Is that overwhelming?"

"A little. In a good way." Jinx paused. "There's something about it that makes my brain shut up."

Caitlyn was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was very gentle. "I'm glad."

More time passed. Jinx wasn't tracking it. She sat on the station and watched the sky rotate slowly as they orbited, new sections coming into view while others drifted away. She watched three more meteors. She thought she identified Jupiter and told Caitlyn about it and Caitlyn confirmed its position from the navigation data.

"We're in the same solar system as it," Jinx commented. "I know that's obvious, everyone knows that, we learned it in grade school. But here… the scale of it… just…" She trailed off. "I think I keep repeating myself or running out of words."

"Some things exceed description."

"This does." Jinx breathed. 

Eventually, inevitably, the practical considerations of EVA reasserted themselves.

"Caitlyn?"

"I'm here."

"How's my oxygen looking?"

"You have approximately thirty-five minutes remaining at the current consumption rate."

"How long have I been out here?"

"Just over two and a half hours."

Jinx blinked. Two and a half hours. She'd been sitting on the outside of the space station for over two hours and it felt like maybe twenty minutes had passed. 

"I should probably start heading back," Jinx acknowledged. She didn't want to. She wanted to stay forever, wanted to live out here and watch the universe turn and never go back inside where the numbness lived.

"Take your time returning," Caitlyn said. "There's no hurry."

"Copy."

Jinx began the traverse back. She moved slowly, taking a longer route than necessary, pausing at points to look at things she'd passed without registering. She paused once more and turned to look at Earth. They were approaching the day-night line and the planet was half-lit and made the atmosphere visible at the edge as a thin, brilliant line of blue and white light. 

"The Earth from here," Jinx said into the comm. "From this angle, I can see the whole curve. The atmosphere is so thin at the edge, Caitlyn. So fragile looking. Everything alive under that and it's just this tiny layer until the void."

"I see it too," Caitlyn responded. 

"Yeah. I can see the cities lighting up as it passes like someone is switching on lamps." Jinx watched it happen in real time. "Everyone down there is just living their life right now. Billions of people and none of them know I'm up here watching them."

"Oh yeah? How does it feel?"

Jinx considered this carefully. "Free," she said, after a minute. "From up here… nothing really exists. It's just me and the stars and you in my ear."

Caitlyn didn't respond for several seconds. When she did, her voice cracked. "I'm… glad I could give you that."

Jinx didn't know what to say to that so she just responded, "Yeah," and continued her journey toward the airlock.

"Approaching airlock," Jinx reported.

"Copy. I'll meet you inside."

Jinx entered the airlock and looked out one more time at the view visible through the opening. The stars. The edge of Earth.

She closed the outer hatch. The pump engaged and the atmosphere flooded back in and the pressure gauge climbed and the air returned.

"Airlock re-pressurized," Jinx confirmed. "Inner hatch coming open."

She released the inner hatch and it swung open and Caitlyn waited there.

Floating just inside, one hand on a rail, her tablet absent. She wasn't monitoring readings or reviewing data or performing any task. She was just waiting. Her expression was carrying that small, contained smile that Jinx had begun to understand was Caitlyn's version of joy.

The suit removal began, the reverse of what they'd done hours ago. 

"Helmet," Caitlyn directed and reached for it. The twist and click of the locking mechanism releasing. The helmet lifted free and the station air hit Jinx's face.

Jinx took a breath of it, filling her lungs completely with the shared atmosphere of their tiny world.

Caitlyn was looking at her.

The gloves came off next. Then the upper torso, Caitlyn guiding it up and away. Then the lower half, Jinx stepping free of it.

When the last component was secured and Jinx was floating in her thermal undergarment, sweating slightly, her blue hair flattened and damp against her head, her face warm from hours in the suit, she looked at Caitlyn fully.

The small smile was still there. Her eyes were soft and blue.

Jinx laughed once more, quietly and surprised at herself and shaking her head slightly, her flattened hair swaying with the motion.

"Thanks," Jinx smirked. "You're not so bad, Kiramman."

Caitlyn's smile widened.

"High praise from you," Caitlyn replied.

"Don't let it go to your head."

Jinx pushed off from the airlock wall and floated past Caitlyn. As she passed, close in the tight space of the module, her shoulder came within inches of Caitlyn's. She didn't angle away from it. She just moved through the space naturally, continuing toward her crew quarters where clean clothes and a hygiene wipe down waited.

As she floated through the passage, Jinx felt the hollow space in her chest differently than she had that morning. Whatever had caused it hadn't vanished completely. You couldn't cure weeks of emotional spiral with one spacewalk, no matter how beautiful.

But it was smaller now. And she felt inspired, by whatever, on her ion drive work, thinking about what more work she needed to do, maybe she could compute something that could take people further into the stars, could take Caitlyn further.

Behind her, she heard nothing except the noise of the station. But she knew, with that sixth sense she'd developed for Caitlyn's presence, that Caitlyn was still smiling.

Chapter Text

It's past midnight, it's a Thursday night, and Caitlyn is decidedly far more drunk than she ought to be.

The bar is called The Bridge, which Caitlyn thinks is a stupid name for a bar but it has good whiskey and pool tables and it's close enough to Jayce's house that he can walk home if necessary. Caitlyn is sure he’s done that no less than five times already. It's dim inside and slightly sticky on the floor and the music is too loud for proper conversation unless you lean in, which the two have been doing all night, heads tilted toward each other across a table cluttered with empty glasses. The customers here are mostly young professionals in their late twenties and thirties, blowing off the stress of the work week a day early, all the laughter and chatter creating a wall of ambient noise that provides a strange kind of privacy. Nobody is listening to them. 

Caitlyn is on her fourth whiskey neat. She never drinks whiskey. She's a wine person, a gin and tonic person on occasion, even sometimes getting down with softer drinks. But tonight she wanted something that burned going down, so she chose whiskey.

Caitlyn didn't even know what number beer Jayce was on now. He's bigger than her, broader, weighs more thus has a better alcohol tolerance than she does, but he’s not invincible. His words are getting looser, his gestures wider, his laugh louder.

The night started with Caitlyn texting him a few hours ago. 

Caitlyn: Are you free tonight? I need to get out.

Jayce: Give me 30. I'll meet you at The Bridge.

He hadn't asked why. Caitlyn appreciated that.

Then at the bar, they started talking about work. The contract Jayce had with SpaceX moving forward rapidly and Jayce was cautiously optimistic but also anxious about a development. Caitlyn offered technical insights where she could, where her materials science knowledge was adjacent to his, overlapping in some regards, and Jayce gladly welcomed them. Then they talked about a documentary series they'd both been watching, something about deep ocean exploration.When asked the question if she’d rather explore space or the ocean, Caitlyn thought her answer was pretty self-evident.

"Okay," Jayce finally said, setting his beer down. "We've been here for three hours and you never drink whiskey and you asked me to come out on a weekday. So I think it's time you tell me why we're here."

Caitlyn looked down at her glass. "Vi and I broke up," she answered.

Whatever Jayce was expecting, or whatever response he was preparing, Caitlyn had definitely surprised him. His hand, which had been reaching for his beer again, stopped mid-motion and returned to the table. 

"When?" he asked.

"Saturday night?"

"So five days ago?"

"Yeah."

"And you waited until now to tell me?"

"I needed to sit with it first." Caitlyn took another drink. The whiskey was beginning to taste less like fire, which meant she was reaching the point of no return. She should probably stop after this one. She probably wouldn't. "And… yeah. We're done."

"Tell me what happened," Jayce prompted. "As much as you want to share."

Caitlyn told him about the mandatory dinner and then getting fast food afterward and Vi's question. Jayce listened without interrupting, his beer untouched, his attention fixed on her face.

"How do you feel about it now?" Jayce asked. 

"I feel like I did the right thing for the wrong reasons… or the wrong thing for the right reasons… I don’t know."

"What would make it the wrong thing?"

"If I threw away something good just because I’ve been so up in my head lately. Maybe a month from now I wake up and realize that what I had with Vi was the best version of love I'll ever find and I let it go, stupidly."

"And what would make it the right thing?"

"Vi deserves someone who's fully present and fully committed and if I truly haven't been either of those and staying would just… just…"

Jayce nodded slowly. He picked up his beer, took a long drink, then set it back down. "I think you already know which one it is. You said Vi asked if you just wanted to be friends and you said yes. Sounds like you were confident in knowing the right choice then."

"Knowing I made the right choice doesn't stop me from feeling terrible about it."

"Oh, those two things can totally coexist." Jayce turned his beer glass in a slow circle on the bar top, his fingers leaving prints in the condensation. "Do you think Vi’s okay?"

"She was... she was incredible about it. I don't think I could have been if the positions were reversed. Fuck." Caitlyn's voice caught slightly. "She told me we'd always be good and I believe her. But I also know that me hoping she's okay doesn't mean she actually is. Ever since I’ve known Vi, I’ve known she puts on a brave front for those she cares about."

"Have you talked since?"

"Yeah… a bit. We’ve texted briefly. She sent me a photo of a dog she saw and said it looked like me."

"Did it?"

"Jayce, I need to tell you a secret… that was the ugliest fucking dog I’ve ever seen in my life."

Jayce bellowed in laughter at that, and Caitlyn couldn’t stop herself from mimicking the same.

"You want to know what I think?" he said eventually.

"You're going to tell me regardless of whether I want to hear it."

"I think you've spent your whole life being strategic about your feelings, trying to control them. And I think you gotta learn how to just let it flow, Caitlyn, things come and go. We’re just people, you included, you know?"

"That's very insightful. How many beers have you had? Five?"

"Six, actually. I got another one while you were in the bathroom earlier." Jayce grinned briefly before his expression settled back into seriousness. "The point is, Caitlyn, uhh, what was the point? I’m sure you get it."

"You make it sound simple."

"Nothing's simple. I know there are things you haven't told me about and I'm not going to push you. But consider the possibility that these things, whatever they are, are probably passable. That the situation that seems impossible from where you're standing right now might look different in six months or a year."

"But in the meantime? In my life right now, Jayce?"

"In the meantime, let yourself grieve and keep going to therapy. You haven’t been single in a while, right?" 

Caitlyn shook her head.

Jayce picked up his beer and raised it. "You can call me when you need to drink on weeknights whenever."

"God help me."

"That's the spirit." He clinked his beer against her empty glass. "Want one more drink? Or do you want to go hit balls with sticks?"

"I hate that those are my options."

"They're excellent options."

"Fuck you."

"I thought you didn’t like men?"

"I forgot you do."

Jayce chuckled. "Pool time?"

Caitlyn sighed. When not at work, Jayce was ridiculous but he showed up at bars on Thursday nights on a whim and he didn't make her feel pathetic for being heartbroken and confused. 

"Pool," she agreed. "But I'm breaking."

"You always break!"

"Because I'm better at it."

"Psh. Blashphemy."

They migrated from their seats to the pool tables in the back corner of the establishment. The area was slightly quieter here, the lighting focused in a warm cone over the green felt. The table they claimed was well-maintained and Jayce racked the balls while Caitlyn selected a cue from the wall. She tested three before finding one with the right weight and straightness, rolling it on the table surface to check for warping. Old habits from the pool table in the Kiramman estate's game room, where she'd spent many evenings practicing alone while her parents entertained guests downstairs.

"Ready?" Jayce asked, stepping back from the completed rack, the fifteen balls arranged in their tight triangle at the foot of the table, the apex ball positioned on the foot spot.

Caitlyn chalked her cue tip. She bent into her stance, drew back, and struck.

The break was clean and sharp, the cue ball hitting with speed, the rack exploding outward with a satisfying crack! Three balls dropped, two solids and one stripe.

"Solids," Caitlyn declared then, circling the table to assess the new layout.

"You always pick solids." Jayce leaned against the wall beside the table, his posture settled into spectator mode because he knew Caitlyn's breaks usually meant she'd run several balls before his turn came around.

"I like consistency."

"What a surprise."

Caitlyn sank the 2-ball into the far corner pocket with a straight shot, then circled to find her angle on the 4-ball, which was sitting awkwardly near the center of the table and would require a shot off the rail, a mostly simple trick shot. She bent, calculated the angle, and struck. The 4-ball hit the rail, rebounded, and dropped into the side pocket.

"Show-off," Jayce commented.

"What can I say? It’s just geometry."

"I bet you'd describe orgasms as geometry."

"I am not discussing orgasms with you in a public establishment, Jayce."

"Just confirming the geometry thing."

Caitlyn lined up the 6-ball and sank it without response. She was enjoying this now. 

"Jayce," she prompted, bending to line up the 1-ball.

"Yeah?"

"Do you believe in fate?"

The question surprised her almost as much as it seemed to surprise him. She hadn't planned to ask it.

Jayce shifted against the wall and took a drink of his beer. "That's a big question," he answered.

"Humor me."

"Okay." He pushed off the wall and began walking slowly around the table, not to play but to think. "I think I believe in something adjacent to fate. I don't think there's a predetermined script that the universe is following. Call me an indeterminist. But I do think there can be patterns and affinities and... tendencies? Like, certain configurations of people and circumstances tend toward certain outcomes because of how the elements interact."

"Mm, so chemistry?"

"It IS chemistry! At a fundamental level, everything that happens between people is chemistry. Neurochemistry, biochemistry, the chemical reactions happening in your brain when you interact with another human being. Some combinations of people produce reactions that are favorable and some don't. And the ones that are favorable that produce something greater than the sum of their parts, those tend to happen repeatedly because the universe tends toward energetically favorable states. Atoms form molecules because it's energetically favorable. Stars form solar systems because it's energetically favorable. People form connections because it's favorable."

"So love is thermodynamics now?"

"Love is ABSOLUTELY thermodynamics!" Jayce's eyes lit up. He was definitely drunk. "Think about it. Two people meeting is like two atoms approaching each other. There's an activation energy required, a barrier to overcome—for people, that’s that awkward phase of introductions and small talk—but if you overcome that, you can fall into a lower stable energy state together. You can form a bond. And some bonds are weak, they’re… they’re like Van der Waals forces—"

"I’m not following all your science bullshit."

"—temporary and easily broken. But then some bonds are strong covalent bonds, where you're actually sharing electrons, and those are much harder to break. Of course some bonds are ionic and one person gives and the other just takes."

"What?"

"I know what I’m saying."

"Alright then. What kind of bond did Vi and I have?"

Jayce paused in his walk around the table.

"I think you had a strong bond," he replied. "But maybe it was more of a metallic bond? The shared electrons are delocalized, flowing freely between a whole thing of interactions and commitments and shared history. Very stable under the right conditions. But if the conditions change, if the temperature increases or the pressure shifts, metallic bonds can reorganize. The atoms don't stop being atoms but they find new configurations that are more favorable under the new conditions."

"What do you think my new conditions are?"

"I mean, you grew. Therapy definitely helps. You became a slightly different element than the one that originally bonded with Vi. And the slightly different element might need a different configuration to be stable."

Caitlyn sank the 1-ball with a shot that was harder than it needed to be, the cue ball ricocheting with unnecessary force. "You make it sound like it was determinism."

"No, see, you always have a choice. That's the difference here between chemistry and fate. In chemistry, you can choose to stay in a less favorable configuration. You can choose to maintain a bond with external energy input even when the inner system is changed. People do it all the time. You could have done that with Vi forever, probably."

"But?"

"But it would have cost you. The energy required to maintain an unfavorable bond doesn't come from nowhere. It comes from you. Eventually the cost exceeds what the bond gives back and the system all fails anyway, just with more damage done now."

Caitlyn missed her next shot. The ball hit the pocket rim and bounced back, and she missed it. She straightened up and leaned on her cue and looked at Jayce.

"Your turn," She told him.

"I know." He moved to the table and sank a stripe into the corner pocket. Jayce was a decent pool player, not as technical as Caitlyn but more intuitive, more willing to take risky shots based on feel. "Can I extend the metaphor further or have you reached your limit?"

"How much further can it possibly go?"

"Oh just you wait. I have a whole thing about catalysts."

"Of course you do."

Jayce sank another stripe. "So in chemistry, some reactions that are thermodynamically favorable still don't happen because the activation energy required is too high. The system wants to reach a lower energy state but it can't get over the hill on its own. That's where catalysts come in. A catalyst lowers the activation energy and makes the reaction possible."

"And in your analogy, what's the catalyst here?"

"Could be anything. Could be a conversation. Could be a crisis. Could be proximity that forces two people past the activation barrier they've been behind." Jayce missed his shot and stepped back. "Could also just be time. Sometimes the catalyst is just enough time passing that the conditions shift naturally and what was previously impossible becomes possible."

"That's very convenient for someone who's been waiting years now and counting to ask someone out."

"Hey! We're not talking about me!"

"We're talking a little bit about you." Caitlyn moved to the table and sank two solids in quick succession. "You realize every single thing you've said tonight applies directly to your situation with Mel, right? The activation energy barrier you can't overcome is literally just you being too afraid to talk to her."

"My situation is different!"

"How is it different? You've identified a thermodynamically favorable configuration. You know the bond would be strong. You're just stuck behind the barrier because the risk of the transition state feels too high."

"If I ask and she says no, I lose her friendship! The current configuration, while not optimal, is at least stable and attempting the transition risks ending up in a higher energy state than where I started!"

"Or it risks ending up in a much lower one. Isn't that the whole point of what you're saying?"

They were both slightly out of breath from the rapid-fire exchange, standing on opposite sides of the pool table with their cue sticks in hand and their cheeks flushed from alcohol. Jayce looked at her and then laughed, a big genuine sound that came from his chest.

"Okay," he conceded. "Okay, fair. Then I'm a coward hiding behind activation barriers. Is that what you want me to say?"

"I just wanted you to acknowledge it."

"Acknowledged! Happy?"

"Mildly satisfied."

"Good." Jayce pointed at the table with his cue. "Now shoot because I need you to miss something so I feel better about myself."

Caitlyn obliged him by missing the next ball. Jayce took his turn and sank two more stripes.

They circled the table in comfortable silence for a few shots, just the sound of the game between them. The bar was thinning out around them, the crowd beginning to disperse. It was getting late.

"Hey," Jayce said, chalking his cue between shots. "Can I ask you something?"

Caitlyn's grip on her own cue tightened. "You can ask. I might not answer."

"Is the barrier you need to overcome for an outcome you could theoretically be with? Like, setting aside complications, is this a future that could become something if circumstances allowed?"

Caitlyn thought about this. 

Jinx at a dinner table years ago, saying "Cool". 

Jinx at a bar, arguing about her thesis. 

Jinx at a conference, answering Caitlyn's purposefully hard questions. 

Jinx drunk in a parking lot saying, "You and I don't have that relationship".

Jinx who hated her, who had never voluntarily extended warmth or friendship. 

"I don't know," Caitlyn admitted. 

"But you've had reasons to think otherwise?"

"I've had reasons to believe I feel otherwise, maybe. In a way."

Jayce sank his last stripe and moved to line up the 8-ball. "You know what I think you should do?"

"Besides not compare my life to science?"

"Besides that. I think you should give yourself permission to feel this without requiring yourself to act on it immediately. You just ended a relationship. You're in therapy. You're processing. You're in the middle of imperative personal growth. The last thing you need right now is to throw yourself into something else."

"I'm not planning to… to pursue anything."

"I know. But I also know you."

Jayce missed his next shot and stepped back from the table, waiting while Caitlyn moved to take her turn.

"Okay, completely unrelated tangent," Jayce started, "but I watched this documentary the other night about quantum consciousness."

"Quantum consciousness," Caitlyn repeated flatly.

"Don't say it like that. It's a legitimate field of theoretical physics. The idea is that consciousness might be a fundamental property of the universe. If that's true, then the information that makes up who you are might persist beyond a single lifetime or reality."

"Reincarnation?"

"Ehh… more like the conservation of consciousness in the same way we talk about the conservation of energy. Energy can't be created or destroyed, it just changes form. What if the same is true for whatever makes you, you?"

Caitlyn sank the 5-ball and straightened up. "I think you should’ve been a philosopher rather than a scientist in this life, then."

"Who says I can’t be both?"

"Point taken."

Jayce took a swig of his beer. "But seriously. Do you ever think about what you'd be in another life? If the same essential you existed under completely different circumstances?"

Caitlyn circled the table, assessing her options. The whiskey was making her contemplative and Jayce's drunk philosophy was easy to get pulled into.

"I think I'd still be in some kind of service," she answered. "Military, law enforcement, something with structure and duty. I don't think I'd function without a sense of mission."

"See, that's exactly what I mean! The essential you persists across hypothetical configurations! You'd always be someone who protects." Jayce pointed at her with his beer. "I bet you'd be some kind of sheriff or enforcer in another era."

"And you?"

"Oh, I'd be an inventor." Jayce responded with absolute certainty. "I'm the guy in the workshop building things that change everything. Probably with a partner, someone smarter than me who keeps me from going too far." He grinned. "Viktor, probably. He and I would find each other in any universe."

"Viktor as your eternal work partner across all realities?"

"Our professional bond transcends spacetime." Jayce sank a stripe and continued, "What about Vi? What do you think she'd be?"

Caitlyn didn't hesitate. "A fighter in any world. A protector of people who can't protect themselves. She'd be in the thick of it always, using her hands."

"And she'd be good at it."

"She'd be extraordinary at it. She has that quality where people just follow her."

Jayce nodded. "Ooh, what about your mom?"

"A politician," Caitlyn retorted immediately. "In any universe. She’s making decisions that affect thousands of people without thinking twice. Definitely shaping the world while the rest of us deal with the fallout."

"Cold."

"Accurate."

They both laughed. Jayce missed his shot and Caitlyn moved closer the table.

Her mind wandered as she leaned over to line up the next ball. Jayce's question had gotten into her head now, this idea of essential selves persisting across lives, across worlds.

What would Jinx be?

Her cue hit the ball a fraction off center. The shot still went in barely. She straightened slowly.

What would Jinx be in another life?

Dangerous. That was the first word that came. In any life, Jinx would be dangerous. The most dangerous person in whatever room she occupied and the most brilliant. She'd be someone who makes incredible, impossible things and also tears them apart. She'd be fire and invention and destruction together. People would either love her or fear her, maybe both.

She'd still have the blue, Caitlyn thought.

She'd still need someone patient enough to stay when she pushed them away. Someone who found her fascinating, maybe simultaneously frightening too.

"You alright?" Jayce asked. "You went quiet."

"Fine." Caitlyn shrugged. "Just thinking about alternate universes."

"See? It’s a compelling topic."

"It's interesting if I keep in mind none of it is real."

"Party pooper."

She missed her next ball and the game continued.

Jayce then took his 8-ball shot. It rolled across the felt, hit the far cushion, and dropped into the corner pocket. Game over. Jayce straightened up and pointed his cue at Caitlyn with triumph.

"I won," he announced.

"You won because I let you."

"I won because of thermodynamic inevitability."

"Oh my god, this again?"

"I'm the champion of this metaphorical and literal game and my philosophical arguments have been cosmically validated."

Caitlyn leaned her cue against the table and looked at her friend. He looked back with a flushed face, a ridiculous grin, an untucked shirt, and sincere, warm, slightly blurry eyes. She felt a wave of affection for him that was almost overwhelming. He'd come here at short notice on a work night. He'd listened without judgment. He'd made her laugh and think and feel less alone. 

"Thank you," she smiled. "For all of this."

"You never have to thank me for this, Cait. This is what I'm here for."

"I'm thanking you anyway."

Jayce's expression softened from triumph. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes."

"Okay then for now, that's enough." Jayce set his cue in the wall rack and retrieved his jacket from nearby. "Another drink? Or are we calling it?"

Caitlyn checked the time on her phone. 

"One more," she decided. "Then cars."

They returned to the bar and ordered and sat down. 

"Jayce?" Caitlyn asked, after a while of quiet drinking and watching the bar's remaining patrons thin further.

"Mm?"

"Do you think people get second chances?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you meet someone and fuck up, if… I don't know, do you think it's possible to get another chance later?"

"Yeah," he answered eventually. "I think so. I think people find each other again all the time. Different contexts, different versions of themselves, different possibilities. The connection doesn't evaporate just because the first window closed."

"What if the second window hasn't opened yet?"

"Then you wait too and you do your work in the meantime. You become ready for when it does open." He took a drink. "And for the record, I don't think a window being closed is permanent. I think conditions change."

"You're very optimistic for a scientist."

"Science IS optimistic. The entire enterprise of science is predicated on the belief that the universe is comprehensible and that understanding leads to better outcomes. That's pure optimism."

"Mm."

They finished their drinks and then called their respective cars. They decided to wait outside, the streets quiet at this hour, the city reduced to a few distant traffic sounds.

"Hey," Jayce said, as headlights appeared around the corner, one of their rides approaching.

"When are you going to ask Mel out?" Caitlyn asked before he could say whatever he'd been building toward.

Jayce sputtered. "I was going to say something profound and sweet!"

"You've been profound enough tonight. Answer the question."

"I don't... it's not the right time."

"Really? You just spent a whole game telling me about favorable configurations and catalysts and thermodynamic inevitability and you're still claiming it's not the right time."

"My situation is complicated!"

"Jayce Talis. Activation energy barrier."

He stared at her. "Fine," he sighed. "Fine. I'll ask her soon."

Caitlyn laughed, the sound surprising her with its fullness after the serious talks of the latter half of the night. She looked at Jayce one more time, tall and rumpled and flustered under the streetlight, his hair a disaster and his shirt incredibly wrinkled and realized how lucky she was.

Chapter Text

Jinx was in the zone.

Her hands were moving across the ion drive test chamber's interface on pure instinct and muscle memory, her fingers tapping sequences and adjusting parameters while the rest of her brain was somewhere far above the tedious mechanical process. The numbers Jinx saw reported on her laptop screen confirmed what she'd suspected: the sustained fire efficiency was consistently and reliably exceeding expectations.

What did this mean? This meant something huge. This meant her safety calculations to transit to Mars, which were already impressive in their proposal, were actually understating. In short, Jinx was going to revolutionize the journey to Mars. This meant the timeline she'd proposed in her papers could be shortened further.

She was humming, unaware when she started, it was just something her body did when she was deep in the work state, a tuneless rhythmic sound that kept up with her moving hands. Except it wasn't actually tuneless, she realized, catching herself. It was that song Ekko had made her listen to years ago, one he said reminded him of her, something about getting carried away, about the thrill of chaos, about… shooting people and blowing up cities? She had rolled her eyes at the time but apparently the song stuck with her more than she thought.

Wanna join me?

She hummed louder. 

Come and play.

She adjusted a calibration setting.

But I might shoot you in your face.

"Jinx."

Bombs and bullets will do the trick.

"Jinx."

The experiment field was holding at 98.7% integrity. That was unheard of. Simulations on Earth had never produced above 94%. The microgravity environment was doing something to the plasma behavior that her models hadn't accounted for, something that improved coherence rather than degrading it, and if she could identify the mechanism she could incorporate it into the next generation design and push the efficiency even higher.

What we need here is a little bit of panic.

"Jinx!"

Do you ever wanna catch me?

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, logging observations in rapid shorthand that only she could decipher. Her humming had gotten louder, actual words now slipping through.

Right now I’m feeling ignored.

"JINX!"

She spun in her seat. The motion sent her rotating a bit too much in the zero gravity and she grabbed a handhold to stop herself and turned to face the sound with wide eyes and a grin.

"That's me!" She announced.

Caitlyn was floating in the entrance, one hand on the hatch frame, and the expression on her face was exasperation. The corners of her mouth were twitching. Her eyebrows were raised.

"I've been calling you," Caitlyn informed her.

"Have you? I didn't hear you."

"You were singing quite loudly."

"Was I?" Jinx's grin didn't fade. She was still riding the high of the data, still buzzing. "What's up?"

"I'm doing my afternoon status rounds, checking on experiment progress, station systems, and crew wellness." Caitlyn pulled herself slightly further into the module, her eyes moving to Jinx's screens. "How's the experiment performing?"

"Beautifully." Jinx turned back to her laptop and pulled up the most recent data. "Look at this. Containment field integrity at 98.7% through a full sixty-second sustained fire. That's almost five percent above my ground simulation ceiling. And the thrust efficiency numbers from this morning's run are twelve percent above my published projections."

Caitlyn floated closer to look at the screen.

"These are remarkable numbers," Caitlyn confirmed, scanning the data display. "This would mean your Mars calculations are actually conservative, no?"

"That's exactly what it means!" Jinx was talking with her hands now, which in zero-g meant small objects near her were beginning to drift in the air. She grabbed a floating pen absently and stuck it behind her ear. "If I can identify the specific mechanism that's improving containment in microgravity versus ground conditions, I can model it and the next iteration of the design could push even higher."

"How long until you can publish preliminary results?"

"I want at least three more runs at this power level to confirm repeatability. Then maybe two more at higher power to test the ceiling. Call it ten days to two weeks for a solid dataset." Jinx was practically vibrating with energy, her body wanting to move. "This is going to change how people think about electric propulsion for interplanetary transit."

"I believe you." Caitlyn's voice was warm. She was smiling. "Your work up here has been extraordinary. Houston's team is already talking about your data in terms I've never heard them use for a mission this early in its timeline."

"Yeah? Thanks."

"I'll let you get back to it." Caitlyn began to push off toward the exit. "Dinner in three hours?"

"I'll be there."

Caitlyn paused at the hatch. "It's… good to see you like this again."

"Like what?"

"Alive."

Jinx might’ve been mishearing things, but her brain signaled that Caitlyn said "I missed it." as she floated away.

Jinx arrived on time rather than late or not at all. She brought her laptop and was actively engaged in conversation now. The results from the afternoon were still running through her mind and she wanted to talk about it, wanted to process it out loud, and Caitlyn was the only other person around, so Caitlyn was getting the brunt of it whether she wanted it or not.

"The thing I can't figure out," Jinx said between bites of rehydrated teriyaki chicken, "is what's causing the improvement in microgravity. The plasma should behave the same regardless of gravitational environment because at these temperatures and densities, gravitational effects are negligible compared to electromagnetic forces. But the data says something is different. So either my ground simulation was flawed or there's an environmental factor I'm not accounting for."

"Could it be vibrational?" Caitlyn offered. She was eating something involving a tortilla and rehydrated vegetables. "The station's micro-vibration environment is different from any ground facility. The isolation from seismic and acoustic interference might be affecting the plasma coherence."

Jinx paused. "Repeat that?"

"Vibrational isolation. On Earth, even in the best labs, there's always some level of seismic noise. Micro-vibrations from traffic, buildings, geological activity. Up here, those sources are eliminated. The only vibrations are from the station's own systems, which operate at known frequencies."

"Oh." Jinx set her food pouch down slowly. "Oh, that's. Hm."

"Is that useful?"

"It might be extremely useful." Jinx's brain was already running, testing the hypothesis against the data. If micro-vibrations at ground-level frequencies were introducing noise into the plasma containment field, even at levels too small to detect with standard instrumentation, that could explain the performance difference. "I'd need to characterize the station's vibrational environment precisely and compare it against the lab environment and model the plasma response to low-frequency. But it could explain the discrepancy."

"I'll pull the station's vibrational data from the engineering logs if that would help."

"That would help a lot, actually. Thank you."

They ate in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes, Jinx's mind thought of the new hypothesis. This silence though, contrary to many of their previous meals, was different in no longer awkward, or draining.

"You know what I wish we had up here?" Jinx said eventually.

"What?"

"A drink. God I miss drinking."

Caitlyn's eyebrow arched slightly. "You want alcohol in space?"

"I'm not saying I want to get trashed at work. It would just be nice to have a glass of something after a good day. This feels like a celebration-worthy day and I'm celebrating with rehydrated chicken and recycled water."

"I think it's probably best that there's no alcohol on the station." Caitlyn's tone was light. Teasing, even, in that dry way she had that Jinx recognized as Caitlyn's version of humor. "Given what I know about your relationship with alcohol, it's likely a safety issue."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying. Alcohol and you in an enclosed space with expensive equipment and no gravity seems like a recipe for a very interesting incident report."

"My relationship with alcohol is perfectly fine, thank you very much."

Caitlyn looked at her with an expression that said, with great eloquence, absolutely nothing. Which somehow communicated more skepticism than actual words would have.

"What?" Jinx demanded. "What is that face? I handle my alcohol perfectly well."

"Jinx, I have personally witnessed you unable to walk in a straight line, incapable of operating a seatbelt, and physically unable to retrieve your own keys from your own pocket."

Jinx opened her mouth and then closed it.

"When?" Jinx asked. "When did you see any of that?"

Caitlyn paused. Her food pouch was halfway to her mouth and she lowered it slowly.

"Vi's birthday party," Caitlyn answered after a moment. "Years ago. When Vi and I were still together, the one at the bar, remember?"

Jinx frowned. She remembered Vi's birthday party. She remembered showing up, she remembered drinks, she remembered arguing with Caitlyn about her thesis. She remembered the night getting blurry after that, remembered waking up in her own bed the next morning with a headache and a glass of water on her nightstand that she assumed she'd put there herself. She remembered texting Vi a thank you message for getting her home and Vi not even replying, or if she did, just responded with a heart.

"What about Vi's birthday party?" Jinx asked. "Vi called me a car and I went home."

Caitlyn was quiet for a minute as her eyes widened in surprise, maybe, and then a kind of dawning on understanding.

"Jinx," Caitlyn sighed slowly. "Vi didn't call you a car."

"What?"

"Vi was passed out drunk on her own. She was in no state to call anyone anything. I drove both of you back to Vi's apartment and then you refused to stay there, you insisted you had to go home because you had to feed your cat."

Jinx stared at her. "What? I don't have a cat."

"I'm aware of that now." The smallest curve at the corner of Caitlyn's mouth. "I wasn't aware of it at the time."

"What are you talking about? You drove me home? You drove me to my apartment?"

"Yes. It took over an hour because your directions while intoxicated were absolutely catastrophic. You tried to navigate by the position of the stars."

Jinx was still staring as no memories were surfacing. Not a flicker of recognition, not a fragment of recall. The entire event that Caitlyn was describing existed in a complete and total void in Jinx's mind.

"I genuinely do not remember any of this," Jinx replied.

"I'm gathering that." Caitlyn's tone was careful. "You were extremely intoxicated."

"What happened after you got me home?"

"I helped you up the stairs to your apartment. You couldn't walk unassisted. I… got you your keys and I helped you inside."

"What?"

"You got sick and I helped you clean up and get to bed."

Jinx felt her face go hot. The heat started at her neck and climbed upward and she could feel it burning in her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The image of Caitlyn Kiramman, several years ago, when they barely knew each other, when Jinx actively disliked her, doing things like holding her hair back while she puked and helping her go to bed like a child. It was mortifying and humiliating.

"Did you hold my hair?"

"And helped you brush your teeth."

"Oh my god."

"It was fine! You were mostly cooperative, actually. Just very impaired."

"Cooperative?" Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. "What does cooperative even mean?"

"You allowed me to help without fighting me on it."

Jinx opened her eyes. Caitlyn was looking at her with an expression that was warm and amused and slightly cautious all at once.

"What about the… the cat?" Jinx questioned. 

"I really don’t know. You’ll have to ask intoxicated you."

"So the whole reason you drove me home was because I lied, or something?"

"You were very convincing about the cat."

"I can't believe it."

"Yes, neither could I."

Jinx pressed both hands over her face and groaned. The sound was muffled by her palms. She floated there with her face covered, the mortification warring with something else in her. Caitlyn had apparently done all of that for her and then never mentioned it, never held it over Jinx's head, never used it for anything in their years of "hostile" interactions.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" Jinx asked, dropping her hands.

"I thought you remembered at least some of it. You never brought it up and I didn't want to embarrass you by being the one to raise it. I assumed it was something you were aware of but preferred not to discuss."

"I remember literally nothing after about my fourth drink at that party."

"Evidently."

Jinx was quiet for a moment, thinking. She looked at Caitlyn with fresh eyes that were recalculating all those early months of negative tension between them. All those interactions where Jinx had treated Caitlyn like an enemy, like an interloper, like everything wrong with the world. And the whole time, Caitlyn had been sitting on the knowledge that she'd helped Jinx up stairs and cleaned her sick off and made sure she got to bed safely.

And she'd never once said anything.

"So wait," Caitlyn spoke, a new thought forming. "You don't remember the night at Shimmer either, then, do you?"

Jinx blinked. "What?"

"Shimmer, the club. A bit after Vi's birthday."

Jinx searched her memory. Shimmer. She'd been to Shimmer a few times. She remembered a night there, vaguely, remembered dancing, remembered being very drunk (again), remembered calling Vi. She remembered… she remembered the night getting fuzzy after that call and she remembered waking up the next morning in her own bed (again) with (again) no clear memory of how she got there.

"I went to Shimmer," Jinx answered slowly. "I called Vi. I think I assumed she called me a car eventually and it worked out."

"Vi called me."

"Vi called you?"

"She was out of town for work. She asked me to go pick you up because she was worried about you."

"And you went?"

"Indeed."

Jinx stared at her. "What happened?"

Caitlyn's expression shifted again. "I found you at the club and… you were a bit unhappy that I was there. Understandably! I drove you home and that was that."

"That's it?" Jinx asked.

"That's the relevant summary."

"Why did you go?"

"I wanted to bring you home safely."

"And I was unhappy about it?"

"You were." Caitlyn's voice was very even. "You were upset that I'd come and pulled you away, which was completely fair."

"What did I say?"

"You… you said some things that I understood were coming from a place of intoxication and frustration." Caitlyn's gaze was steady. "I don't exactly recall. You got home safely, that's what mattered."

Jinx was quiet. Her food was forgotten beside her.

Now there were two separate occasions in which Jinx was dangerously drunk and both times, Caitlyn showed up for her. Both times, Caitlyn got her home. Both times, Caitlyn never mentioned it afterward. Both times, Jinx had zero memory of any of it.

"I feel like I should have known this," Jinx groaned. The excitement from the afternoon's data had drained away. "I feel like someone should have told me."

"I assumed you knew. And I didn't want to hold it over you. It wasn't about keeping anything from you, I'm sorry."

"What was it about then?"

"You needed help and I was around. That's all."

That's all.

Caitlyn was looking at her and seemed like she wanted to say something more. Her mouth opened slightly.

"Yeah, well," Jinx interrupted. The words came out before whatever Caitlyn could say. "I owe you then for those nights even if I don't remember them."

"Jinx, you don't owe me anything."

"I think I do." Jinx's voice was flat. She turned back to her laptop, pulling it toward her, the motion working as a clear signal. "I'm going to keep working for a bit. I'll meet you for dinner."

"What? We're having dinner right now."

"Then tomorrow. The next scheduled meal. Whatever." Jinx's eyes were on her screen but she wasn't even seeing the numbers anymore. 

"Jinx." Caitlyn's voice was soft. Careful. Reaching. "I really didn't tell you this to make you feel indebted. I mentioned it because I thought you knew. I thought it was light-hearted to recall now and I referenced it without thinking and I'm sorry if it's made you uncomfortable."

"It hasn't made me uncomfortable." 

"Okay." A pause. "If you want to talk about it later, I'm here."

"I know."

Another pause. Jinx could feel Caitlyn's gaze on her, then the sound of Caitlyn getting up and pushing off and away.

Jinx stared at her laptop but all she could see was a series of blank spaces in her memory where apparently significant (to her) events had occurred without her knowledge.

Hours of Caitlyn's time spent on someone who was rude to her at every opportunity. Because Vi asked, sure. Because obligation, sure. But also because Jinx was drunk and alone and needed someone and Caitlyn showed up, Caitlyn was there.

Jinx pressed her hands to her eyes, again.

She thought about the birthday party. She thought about the version she remembered (going to the party, arguing, getting drunk, going home) versus the version that apparently actually happened (being so obliterated she couldn't walk, needing Caitlyn to help her up stairs, being so impaired she couldn't remember any of it the next day).

She thought about Shimmer. She thought about the version she'd assumed (Vi got her home, done and done) versus whatever the actual version was. What did Caitlyn mean that Jinx was unhappy?.

What had she said? What had drunk-Jinx said to Caitlyn that Caitlyn described as she "understood coming from a place of intoxication and frustration"? What kind of things did drunk-Jinx say?

And beneath all of that mortification and confusion was now a question she couldn't quite voice even just to herself.

If Caitlyn had been doing this, being this person since the very beginning of knowing Jinx, since before they were direct colleagues, before they were crewmates, before any of the recent events between them… if Caitlyn was this person, doing these things for Jinx specifically even when there was no mission and no professional obligation and no space station of just them…

Then what did that mean about the "I promised Vi" explanation?

Chapter Text

The arena smelled like sweat and beer and adrenaline and Caitlyn was having a wonderful time.

She hadn't expected to enjoy boxing as much as she did, as a spectator of course. The first time Vi brought her to a match, somewhat early in their relationship, a casual invitation to see Vi’s work and hobby, Caitlyn had expected to find it brutal and graceless. She'd been wrong.

Vi's title fight was the main event tonight, a bout for the regional championship in her weight class, the culmination of months of training and preparation. Caitlyn had been hearing about this fight for weeks through their sparse text conversations and occasional phone calls.

Caitlyn was in the third row, close enough to see the ring clearly but far enough to avoid being splashed if things got intense. She was wearing jeans and a simple black top, casual by her standards (which still meant the jeans were tailored and the top was probably more expensive than most people's entire outfit).

The arena was packed. Vi had a following in this city to no surprise of Caitlyn’s. The crowd was loud and energetic, chanting and stomping. There was a DJ somewhere blasting music, the sound thumping through the floor, and vendors walking the aisles selling overpriced beer and nachos. The whole thing had a carnival energy to it that Caitlyn found surprisingly enjoyable despite it being very opposite of her natural environment.

Caitlyn had her phone in her hand, texting Jayce updates throughout. His responses increasingly demanded that she film things because he was stuck at home with a work deadline.

Four bouts (bouts = matches/fights in boxing language) before the main event, ranging from a lightweight match that was all speed and evasion (this was Caitlyn's favorite to watch from a technical standpoint) to a heavyweight bout that developed into a full on brawl that left the arena booing. Then between these fights, there were breaks as workers attempted to clean up.

During one of these breaks, Caitlyn had gone to get a beer from the concession stand and returned to find a group of college-aged boys had taken the seats next to hers, loud and already deeply intoxicated and wearing matching t-shirts. They were harmless but noisy and Caitlyn found herself scooting slightly toward the opposite end of her seat.

The seats around her were otherwise consisting of enthusiasts, friends and family of fighters, and a handful of what appeared to be scouts or promoters. The energy was buzzing with anticipation for the main event and Caitlyn found herself absorbing it, getting lost in it.

She wondered, briefly, if Jinx had ever come to one of Vi's fights. Whether Jinx sat in crowds like this and cheered for her sister. Whether Jinx liked boxing or found it barbaric or had some third opinion that was definitely unexpected but uniquely her own. Caitlyn could almost imagine it: Jinx in a crowd like this, too small to see over the people in front of her, probably standing on her seat, probably yelling louder than anyone, probably cursing out the referee's competence.

Ah. Caitlyn caught herself mid-thought. 

They were in a good place now, her and Vi. The friendship had managed to settle into comfortability over the past weeks. They texted a few days a week and occasionally met up for a quick meal or hangout when their schedules aligned, though the main difference was work came as a subtle slight priority now, now that they weren’t dating. Vi came to Caitlyn's apartment where they watched movies and ordered takeout, but it was so much easier now without the weight of romantic expectation pressing on it. 

The breakup had freed them both, it seemed.

Caitlyn's phone buzzed.

Jayce: is it almost time? I'm DYING over here

Caitlyn: Two more minutes. They're doing the walkout introductions now.

Jayce: film EVERYTHING. I want every angle.

Caitlyn: I only have two hands and one phone, Jayce.

Jayce: then prioritize the knockout. is there going to be a knockout?

Caitlyn: I don't have prophetic abilities but Vi's been confident about finishing inside six rounds.

Jayce: tell her I said she's a badass

Caitlyn: I'll tell her after. She's a bit busy right now.

"Excuse me."

A voice from her left. Caitlyn turned.

The man was maybe her age, athletic build, blonde hair that parted in the middle and swept to the sides in a fashion that Caitlyn found deeply uninteresting. He had a face that might have been attractive if not for his expression, which Caitlyn immediately recognized as cockiness and entitlement. He was holding a beer and leaning too much into her space.

"Are you here alone, pretty?" he asked. Caitlyn noted silently that he was missing a tooth.

Caitlyn just stared at him and assessed the situation. The tone, the lean, his use of "pretty" as a noun rather than an adjective. Ah, so he was flirting with her. 

Caitlyn considered her options. She could say yes and then have to manage his continued presence for the duration of the main event. She could say no vaguely and hope he took the hint. She could ignore him entirely, though that may lead to him growing aggressive. Or she could answer very literally honestly.

"No," Caitlyn decided on. "I'm here with my ex-girlfriend."

The man's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"I'm sorry, what?" he managed.

"My ex-girlfriend," Caitlyn repeated because perhaps he hadn't heard clearly over the arena noise. "She's the main event tonight."

The man's eyes widened. He glanced toward the ring, where the announcer was currently building toward Vi's introduction, and then back at Caitlyn.

"Your ex is fighting tonight?" he repeated as though hearing it again might produce a different meaning.

"She is, and I'm being supportive. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Nah, you're good," he said eventually. "Enjoy, whatever." Under his breath, he muttered something that sounded awfully like, "Lesbians are so fucking weird, man…"

He retreated back to his seat with deflated energy. Caitlyn watched him go and felt a mild satisfaction. Then she turned back to her phone.

Caitlyn: A man just tried to flirt with me

Jayce: what did you say

Caitlyn: I told him honestly I was here with my ex-girlfriend 

Jayce: CAITLYN

Jayce: what did he do after

Caitlyn: He just went back to his seat 

Jayce: incredible. legendary 

The lights in the arena dimmed suddenly and the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The spotlights narrowed to the tunnel entrance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the main event of the evening! For the regional championship..."

Caitlyn put her phone away and sat forward in her seat and directed her full attention to the ring.

The opponent came first. A tall woman, tan skin, with a very clearly strong and buff build that Caitlyn could see even from here.

Then Vi. She came through the tunnel with her team flanking her, her robe draped over her shoulders. The crowd erupted differently from the opponent's reception. This was their fighter.

Vi raised a gloved fist in acknowledgment and the noise doubled. She was grinning, that wide infectious Vi grin that drew people toward her.

Vi climbed through the ropes. Her team removed her robe and she bounced on her toes in her corner, rolling her shoulders, shaking out her hands. The referee called both fighters to the center for instructions, the standard pre-fight speech about clean fighting and following the rules. Vi and her opponent touched gloves respectfully and returned to their corners.

The bell rang.

Round one was just feeling the other one out. Both fighters circled around, testing reactions. Vi sent out fast snapping jabs, probing the opponent's guard. The opponent was using her longer limbs to keep Vi at the end of long straight punches.

Round two, Vi increased the pressure. She was closing distance more aggressively now, getting inside the longer punches, working the body with hooks that Caitlyn could hear land even from the third row. She was like flowing water, relentless in her advance and finding every gap.

Round three, the opponent adjusted to longer jabs, more movement, trying to keep Vi at distance. It worked until Vi feinted a jab, drew the counter, slipped through it, and landed a hit that snapped the opponent's head sideways and sent a spray of sweat arcing through the air. The crowd roared. The opponent stumbled but recovered and the referee separated them and the bell rang for the round.

Rounds four and five were Vi in full control. The opponent was game, still fighting, but the skill and power difference was becoming apparent. Vi's punches were landing harshly while the opponent's punches were being deflected or avoided. The momentum was entirely one-directional. The arena knew it. The commentators knew it. The judges certainly knew it.

Caitlyn found herself holding her breath during exchanges, releasing it when Vi emerged untouched, her heart rate elevated. She understood, watching this, why people became obsessed with fighting sports. Just two people, their bodies, their training, and their will.

In the sixth round, Vi did what she said she’d do and finished the fight.

It started with a jab to the body that doubled the opponent forward slightly, dropping her guard for a fraction of a second. Vi read it instantly and threw a left hook to the body followed by an overhand strike to the temple so fast that Caitlyn's eyes could barely track the punches.

The opponent dropped.

The referee was over the fallen fighter immediately, pushing Vi to a corner, beginning the count. The opponent was conscious, was trying to rise and pushing herself up on shaking arms. The referee examined her, looked at her eyes, and held up fingers.

The opponent swayed and the referee waved his arms and it was over.

Vi threw both arms up and her team rushed through and confetti cannons went off somewhere above and Caitlyn was on her feet screaming, her hands above her head, grinning so wide her face ached. 

The championship belt was brought into the ring. Someone wrapped it around Vi's waist and Vi held it up with one hand while her team mobbed her and cameras flashed from every direction. The post-fight interview happened in the ring, a reporter shoving a microphone toward Vi who was sweating and grinning and speaking and breathless.

"This is for everyone who believed in me," Vi yelled into the microphone. "My team, my coaches, my family. This is for all of us!"

Caitlyn watched from her seat, her cheeks hurting from smiling, her hands sore from clapping, and she felt a swell of pride. This was Vi's dream, realized, and Caitlyn was here for it as exactly what she was: a friend.

Now the ring was being cleared, equipment packed. Caitlyn stayed in her seat, checking her phone, and waiting for Vi to finish the post-fight obligations.

Twenty minutes passed. Some people came by and recognized her from the crowd who were people she'd met at past events and she exchanged congratulations and small talk.

Then Vi appeared, emerging in street clothes now, her face cleaned up but still slightly swollen on the left side where a punch had hit. She had the belt over one shoulder and she was surrounded by her team but she broke away from them when she spotted Caitlyn.

"Did you see?" Vi shouted, pulling Caitlyn into a hug that was disgustingly damp.

"I saw everything, you were incredible!"

"I've been training to pull this off for months! It worked!" Vi pulled back, grinning, her eyes bright with adrenaline. "Thank you for coming, Cait."

"Of course, I promised I would."

"Listen, I’ve got to do some catch up with my team and coaches now. I’ll text you later. Thank you again.” Vi winked at her and Caitlyn waved as she walked away.

After Vi disappeared back toward her team, Caitlyn gathered her things and made her way toward the exit with the rest of the crowd. The energy in the building was still alive, people reliving the knockout as they walked, replaying it in animated conversations with their companions, a few groups already pulling up footage on their phones to watch again.

Outside, the night air was much cooler than the arena's interior and Caitlyn appreciated the respite. The parking lot was across the street and she walked toward it with her jacket over her arm and her phone in her hand, scrolling through Jayce's messages with a smile.

She sent him the videos she'd recorded. Three clips, one of the walkouts, one of combination attack Vi hit in the sixth round, and one of the moment the referee declared the winner.

Jayce responded within seconds despite Caitlyn’s recollection that he claimed to have an imperative work deadline.

Jayce: OH MY GOD

Jayce: CAITLYN

Jayce: I'm watching the knockout clip on repeat.

The drive home was twenty minutes through quiet streets. The event traffic dispersed quickly and within a few blocks Caitlyn was moving through the city with minimal company on the road. She turned the radio on, something low and instrumental filled the car, and let her mind settle into restfulness.

She felt good. The fight had been beautiful. Vi had been great in it and their interaction afterward had been easy and free.

Their friendship, to Caitlyn’s surprise and happiness, was working. The life she was building in the aftermath of their relationship was functioning. Caitlyn was alone in her car driving home to an empty apartment and she felt okay about it. Good, even.

She pulled into her parking spot beneath her building and took the elevator up. She entered her apartment and dropped her keys on a hook that rested nearby and she thought about tomorrow.

Tomorrow evening was a NASA mixer. She hadn't looked at the attendee list yet. She'd meant to, earlier in the week, but work obligations had consumed her attention and she'd flagged the email for later review and then not reviewed it.

Now was as good of a time as any. Caitlyn approached her laptop on the kitchen counter and found the email in her inbox. There was a PDF of the attendee list organized alphabetically by last name, with titles and departmental affiliations listed beside each.

She scrolled through it with professional interest. She scrolled through the C's, then the D's, then…

DEVAUX, JINX. Mission Specialist Candidate. Engineering Division, Advanced Propulsion Systems.

Caitlyn's scrolling stopped. Her heartbeat changed. She could feel it in her throat, slightly faster than it had been thirty seconds ago.

Caitlyn moved to her bedroom. The mixer was formal dress, which for women at NASA events meant cocktail attire to floor-length depending on personal preference. Caitlyn had several options that worked. She pulled three dresses from the rack and laid them on her bed and stood back and closely evaluated them all.

The navy dress. She'd worn it to that dinner her mother required and it was suitable but also fashionable for professional events.

The emerald green. Slightly more striking but a good color against her complexion. She'd worn it to a previous mixer two years ago and received compliments from colleagues.

The black. Simple, fitted, ending just above the knee. It required no accessories to look complete.

Caitlyn looked at the three options spread across her bed and was aware, with self-knowledge that therapy with Seraphine had been cultivating, that the decision she was trying to make had nothing to do with photographers or career perception or professional appropriateness. All three dresses met every requirement for the event. The decision was now about something else, or someone else.

She chose the black dress.

She hung the dress on the back of her bedroom door for tomorrow and returned the other two to the closet. Then she moved to her bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror and thought about hair.

Down, she decided. Waves. The style took time and required some prep tonight but it was the style she felt best in and it framed her face in a way that softened the angles that formal clothing tended to sharpen. She'd start the process tonight with the wash and let it air dry partially while she did her evening routine.

What would Jinx be wearing? Something that interpreted the dress code creatively, probably. Would her hair be up or in the braids? Would she acknowledge Caitlyn's presence or pretend she didn't exist? 

She dried off and applied her nighttime routine. She combed through her wet for the wave pattern she wanted tomorrow. She was meticulous about it.

In bed at 11:30, her hair wrapped loosely in a silk scarf to protect the forming wave pattern, Caitlyn lay in the dark and set her alarm for early.

The NASA mixer was a government-funded event that Caitlyn had attended before, but this time her attendance coincided with an upcoming mission assignment and she was buzzing in anticipation. 

The food was always suspiciously good. The venue was a large, fancy hotel ballroom. The dress code was always formal.

Attendance was pretty much informally mandatory for astronauts, astronaut candidates, senior engineers, program directors, and various administrators and political figures were open to attend. Though called a mixer, it was basically a networking event disguised as celebration. It was a professional obligation dressed up as social enjoyment, exactly the niche Caitlyn was excellent at.

She arrived early.

She checked in at the reception, received her table assignment, collected her name badge, and moved into the cocktail area. The room was already half-full, clusters of people in formal wear holding drinks and shaking hands, flowing conversations of greeting, small talk, professional update, and graceful exit.

Caitlyn was good at this dance. She moved through the room and shook hands with a commander from mission control and exchanged brief pleasantries with a doctor from the medical team and had a longer conversation with Viktor, one of the lead engineers on several propulsion programs. Viktor also happened to be a close work partner of Jayce’s, whom she had met before in both professional and non-professional environments.

She accepted a glass of what was probably wine from a passing server and smiled at people and said the right things and was, by all external measures, having a perfectly fine evening.

And the whole time, underneath all of it, was the knowledge that Jinx would be here tonight.

Caitlyn took a longer drink of her wine and reminded herself that she was a grown woman and technically a military officer and an astronaut and she could handle being in the same room as someone else for work purposes.

She found her round table near the center of the ballroom, eight place settings arranged. She found her name card and then she scanned the other cards around the table.

None of them mattered until, the seat opposite of hers: Dr. Jinx Devaux.

Caitlyn participated in the table conversation with the other guests who arrived next. She asked about the aerospace committee's current priorities, about propulsion challenges, maintained about half of her attention on these interactions and directed the other half toward the ballroom entrance.

Caitlyn saw the blue first. The hair was impossible to miss in any crowd but especially in a room filled with muted colors. The blue was vivid against all of it, two braids falling over her shoulders, neat and honestly beautifully well done.

Jinx was wearing a blazer over a top that Caitlyn couldn't fully see from this distance, and slim pants that tapered to boots. She had makeup on around her eyes that made them look larger, more striking as well as lipstick that caught the light when she turned her head.

Caitlyn looked away from the entrance.

In her peripheral vision, she tracked Jinx moving through the cocktail area. Jinx collected a glass of wine (red) from the bar. She stood near the check-in desk and looked at whatever table assignment card she'd been given. She turned and scanned the ballroom.

Caitlyn kept her eyes on the flower centerpiece on the table. The flowers were lovely. Very interesting flowers. She had many thoughts about them.

She did not think about a flash of blue approaching nor sound of a chair being pulled out across the table from her.

Jinx sat down.

Caitlyn allowed herself to look. It was weirder not to, actually, now that someone had joined the table.

Jinx was settling into her seat, her blazer adjusting as she moved. Up close, well as close as they were, the details Caitlyn had noted from a distance could be seen easier. The blazer was quite well-made. The top beneath it was dark and simple and sat at a neckline that showed her collarbones and hinted at the beginning of what Caitlyn knew (from the birthday night, from the memory she carried with mixed emotions) were blue cloud tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric. Her face was sharper than Caitlyn remembered it, the angles more defined, and the makeup around her eyes was dark and made the blue of her irises look almost electric.

Jinx was greeting the people immediately beside her. She hadn't looked at Caitlyn yet. Or she had and Caitlyn hadn't caught it. Or she was decidedly not looking.

Caitlyn noticed the wine in Jinx’s glass disappearing rather quickly. Her first glass was half gone within ten minutes of sitting down. Caitlyn reminded herself, firmly, that this was absolutely none of her business and Jinx was an adult and Caitlyn was not her guardian or anything to her at all.

The first course arrived soon after as salad. Their table devolved itself into conversation clusters. People spoke to the person on their immediate left or right, creating overlapping dialogues around the circle.

Across the table, Jinx was in conversation with a researcher and an engineer on her other side. Caitlyn could hear fragments, something about one of her projects.

Caitlyn found herself smiling at her salad.

Main course next. A dish involving salmon and vegetables that was well prepared. Caitlyn ate and conversed and maintained her composure and was acutely, perpetually aware of the woman across from her.

Jinx was on her second glass of wine now and her volume was increasing and her body language was loosening into something more natural. She was leaning back in her chair rather than sitting straight, one arm draped over the chair back, her blazer pushed up to her elbows revealing a forearm that Caitlyn knew (again, from a memory she shouldn't have) bore the edges of those cloud tattoos.

She was also, Caitlyn noticed, funny. When her guard was down and she was comfortable (or encouraged enough by alcohol), Jinx could hold a table's attention. She was telling some anecdote about a simulation that had gone spectacularly wrong, her punchline delivered with a straight face that made the payoff land harder.

The table laughed. Jinx looked pleased with herself and then quickly disguised that by attempting nonchalance.

Between the main course and dessert, during the brief lull where plates were being cleared and servers were refreshing drinks, Jinx glanced across the table and her eyes found Caitlyn's.

Jinx's expression was unreadable. Her eyes moved over Caitlyn's face. She raised her glass slightly and said: "Nice hair. You look out of a shampoo commercial."

Caitlyn could have responded in several ways. She could have ignored it, for whatever it meant. She could have said something hostile back. She could have been coldly polite, professionally.

She chose none of these.

"Thank you," Caitlyn replied, unconsciously smiling. "I just switched to a sulfate-free formula."

Jinx's eyebrows rose, her mouth opening in response but nothing coming out. The smirk on her face dissolved into surprise.

"I, wh—" Jinx started and blinked. "Sulfate-free?"

"The difference is remarkable, honestly. The surfactants in standard formulas strip far too aggressively. My hair type responds much better to gentler cleansing agents."

This was not a normal thing to be discussing at a NASA function. Caitlyn knew this. She was also finding it very difficult to care because the way Jinx was looking at her, Caitlyn wanted to see how the rest of this conversation went.

"That's a materials science problem, actually," Jinx replied. She leaned forward slightly on her elbows. "Surfactant interaction with keratin structures. The way sulfate molecules bond with the lipid layer of the hair shaft versus how gentler surfactants interact is a question of energy and selectivity."

Surfactant: a chemical compound that lowers the surface tension between a liquid and/or another liquid, gas, or solid.

"Exactly," Caitlyn agreed, leaning forward slightly herself, matching the energy. "The sulfate molecules are indiscriminate in their bonding behavior. They strip everything, natural oils included. A more selective surfactant can target product buildup and environmental deposits without disrupting the natural molecules balance that protects the hair."

"But that's oversimplifying the system," Jinx countered, and her voice was picking up speed now. "Because the shampoo itself is a non-Newtonian fluid, right? The way it distributes across the scalp is a function of that rheological behavior combined with the surface tension of the water you're diluting it with and the actual hair strands."

Non-Newtonian fluid: a fluid whose thickness, or viscosity, changes based on the force applied.

Rheology: a sub-field of physics concerned with the flow of materials and matter, both solid and liquid.

"I'd argue the non-Newtonian behavior is secondary to the chemistry of the surfactant system itself. The rheology determines the mechanics of the application, sure, but the actual cleaning performance is purely a function of molecular interactions at the surface level."

"No, but the rheology directly impacts contact time." Jinx's hand was in the air now, gesturing at an invisible hair strand. "Which controls how much surfactant can interact with the surface per unit area. If your shampoo is too thin it flows off before you've established adequate molecular contact. Too thick and it doesn't distribute evenly. You end up with over-stripping right next to areas that haven't been properly cleaned."

"That assumes a rather uniform application force, which isn't realistic for manual washing. The variability in human behavior during hair washing would overwhelm any optimization above a certain viscosity."

"So you're arguing that above minimum functional viscosity, chemistry dominates and physics is irrelevant?"

"In the case of practical consumer applications, the chemistry takes primary and rheology is a secondary optimization that matters less."

"Well I'm arguing that's reductive." Jinx was fully animated now, her whole body oriented toward Caitlyn across the table. "It ignores the interactions between the chemical and physical components. You can't separate the two and analyze them independently and expect your conclusions to hold for both of them together."

"Behavior that the two display combined requires that the interaction effects exceed the individual effects. I'd want to see data showing that rheological variation at the scale of consumer products produces cleaning performance differences that are statistically distinguishable from the chemical variation alone."

"Then you'd need to design an experiment that isolates rheology from chemistry which is basically impossible in a real shampoo because the two are inherently intertwined through the surfactant concentration which simultaneously determines both the cleaning power AND the viscosity." Jinx’s voice rose.

"An intertwined system doesn't mean you can't identify the dominant variable through sensitivity analysis."

"An intertwined system means your sensitivity analysis is only valid within the coupling you tested and to assume beyond that is pure speculation."

Both their voices had been rising steadily and rapid firing throughout this exchange. Well above the volume appropriate for a dinner table at a formal event. The other six occupants of the table had stopped even pretending to have their own conversations and were watching this exchange with expressions ranging with fascination, bewilderment, and entertainment.

Beyond their table, Caitlyn was vaguely aware that heads had turned from adjacent tables. The volume of their argument was probably carried into the surrounding space. This was probably noticeable and definitely inappropriate.

Caitlyn did not care. She completely thoroughly did not care because Jinx was looking at her with those bright, alive, impossibly vivid eyes and there was color in her cheeks and her hands were moving in the air between them and she was leaned so far forward across the table that if she came any further she'd be lying in the centerpiece flowers.

This was what Caitlyn had been missing, what she'd been craving without knowing how to name it. This intellectual intensity, a push and pull of disagreement. The two had more in common than either knew, or wanted to admit.

"Ladies."

A voice from above. Both of them looked up simultaneously like cartoon characters, maybe funny in any other circumstances.

One of the senior program directors stood over them, and Caitlyn recognized him. He was on a leadership team and had an opinion that carried weight for career progression. His expression was composed but his eyes were amused.

"If you could take it down about four notches," he said. "The Secretary of Defense is trying to give a toast."

Caitlyn's awareness of the room rushed back in. She straightened in her chair and looked toward the front of the ballroom and yes, there was indeed a man at a podium with a microphone, waiting, and a substantial portion of the room's attention was directed toward their table rather than toward the podium where it was supposed to be.

Her face heated.

"Apologies," Caitlyn offered to the program director with her most composed voice.

He nodded once and moved away. The Secretary began his toast and the room's attention redirected. The other six people at the table turned to face forward.

Caitlyn adjusted her napkin and reached for her glass.

Across the table, Jinx was also reaching for her wine. Their timing was synchronized again and their eyes caught over their respective glasses and Jinx's mouth twitched. The very edge of a smirk.

Caitlyn directed her attention to the Secretary's toast and maintained appropriate composure for the remainder of the evening.

She tried not to look at Jinx again.

(She looked three more times during dessert and twice during after meal networking. Each time, Jinx was engaged in conversation with someone else and her gaze was directed away from Caitlyn's direction.)

They didn't speak for the rest of the evening. When the mixer concluded and people began filtering toward the exits, Caitlyn was in conversation with Viktor. By the time she finished with Viktor and turned to collect her things from the table, Jinx's seat was empty. Her name card was still there but Jinx was gone.

Caitlyn collected her purse and her coat and made her way to the exit and said goodbye to the correct people and thanked the event organizers and did all the things expected of her.

Caitlyn drove herself home and got into bed shortly after, but her mind lingered.

The argument about hair care changed into discussion about non-Newtonian fluids and then devolved (or evolved, depending on perspective) from hair care into an actual scientific disagreement about the hierarchy of physical versus chemical effects in complex systems. 

The interaction was unexpectedly spontaneously rigorous and intellectually demanding. Also thrilling. Also the most alive Caitlyn had felt in so long at work. Also the kind of exchange that made her brain light up the same way flying did, the way very few things in her life did.

Caitlyn turned her face into her pillow.

She couldn’t wait for the mission assignment to come any sooner. She didn’t know officially yet, but there were rumors of her selection that trickled down to her ears. She hoped it would come soon, all the sooner she could escape Jinx and escape these thoughts that plagued her.

Chapter Text

The term "Hail Mary" refers to a traditional Roman Catholic prayer honoring the Virgin Mary, or, in a broader sense, any desperate, last-ditch effort made when the odds of success are extremely low.

The morning started with Jinx's engine project producing the best results of the entire mission thus far, which in retrospect felt like the universe playing a cruel joke on her because everything that came after made those results feel like they belonged to a different person, a different life entirely.

She'd been running her fourth sustained test on the ion drive chamber, watching the numbers climb on her display with (un)expected joy from someone whose life's work was proving itself right in front of her, in real time. The engine was performing beautifully with the magnetic field that held the superheated gas in place holding at nearly a whopping 98% percent integrity all throughout a full minute of continuous operation at seventy percent power, which was higher than any test on Earth had ever achieved. The engine was producing much more than her predictions or previous paper accounted for. The cooling system that kept everything from melting was barely working at all, which may sound like a problem but it actually means the opposite, for it meant the system had so much capacity left that it wasn't even being challenged yet.

Everything was better in space than it had been in any laboratory on Earth, and Jinx was grinning at her screens the same way one would smile at winning the lottery.

Her hands moved across the controls. She adjusted a setting here, verified a reading there, and the engine responded to her inputs with unquestionable obedience. This was her baby. Built from her mind, refined by her mind, realized in metal and magnetics.

She'd pushed the power up to seventy-five percent during the same test run, asking Caitlyn's approval first of course to exceed the pre-approved experiment plan through a communication device.

"That's beyond your planned parameters," Caitlyn had first said from wherever she was in the station running her own maintenance tasks.

"Just by five percent and the cooling system has enormous headroom. I could push to eighty and still be well within safe temperatures."

A pause while Caitlyn weighed the options. "Log the change in your records. I'll approve it and we'll document it for Houston later."

"Thank you, Commander."

"...Don't push beyond seventy-five without talking to me first."

"Gotcha, boss."

At seventy-five percent power, the engine started singing. The superheated gas burned brighter, the readings climbed even higher, and the efficiency (how much useful thrust you got per unit of fuel consumed) continued its above-expectation performance. Everything was holding beautifully.

At two full minutes of elevated power, Jinx cut the burn and let the chamber cool and watched every number settle back into its resting state

She was humming while she recorded the results.

"Those numbers are remarkable," Caitlyn's voice came through the communication earpiece.

"Stalking my data?"

"No,  your results are displayed on my maintenance terminal."

"The improvement seems to grow as I increase the power," Jinx confirmed, her brain already ahead of the implications. "If this trend continues all the way to maximum output, the engine might be capable of fifteen to twenty percent more push than I published in my papers. Maybe even more than that."

"That would be significant."

"It would be historic, Caitlyn. I’m getting humanity to Mars if it’s the last thing I do."

"We should discuss your plan for increasing the power levels during the afternoon planning session. I want to review the safety margins formally."

"I'll have a proposal written by lunch."

"I look forward to it."

The communication channel went quiet after that. Jinx turned back to her data and felt good about it, more than good. This was what the mission was supposed to feel like. This was the version she'd dreamed about since she was a kid wondering what the sky looked like from the other side.

All in all, the morning was going perfect. Her coffee was still warm in its pouch, tethered beside her workstation. Her experiment was performing beyond expectations. The woman she'd spent months learning to work with (and learning other things about), she had been getting along better with every day.

So, all in all, a good morning, a good day, good everything.

But what else was she good for, if not for living up to her name?

At 0847 according to the station's clock, approximately only ten minutes after she finished her test and began analyzing the results, the station shuddered beneath her.

The sensation was unlike anything she'd experienced in over a month of living aboard. A single sharp vibration traveled through every surface simultaneously, through the handrail she was holding and the equipment rack near her knee and the wall beside her. It arrived all at once because it moved through the metal structure at thousands of meters per second, faster than her brain could process direction or source.

Everything in the module that wasn't secured lifted slightly from its resting position. Her coffee pouch jerked against its velcro strip. A pen she'd left on a surface drifted free. Her laptop screen rippled as the surface flexed beneath it.

Jinx's body reacted first. Her hands found secure grips, both of them, double-anchoring herself against whatever was happening. Her eyes moved to the nearest system display panel, scanning for information.

"Caitlyn?" she called through the communication system.

Two seconds of silence. Then three. Jinx's heart rate climbed.

"I felt it." Caitlyn's voice came back. "I'm checking the system readouts now."

Five seconds passed where nothing else happened. The station's warning system remained silent. The status lights on Jinx's panel stayed green. For a moment that stretched too long, it seemed possible that whatever had struck them was minor, something absorbed by the protective shielding around the station.

Then the emergency alarm activated.

As a sound designed to be impossible to ignore, it was a continuous oscillating tone that hit a frequency the human nervous system couldn't tune out or hear without responding with immediate heightened alertness. It filled the module and it filled Jinx's skull.

Simultaneously, multiple display panels across the module changed from their normal operating colors to emergency amber and red. Jinx's eyes scanned across them, reading the alerts as fast as she could process language.

The air pressure between different parts of the station was uneven, suggesting a leak or seal problem somewhere. The power generation system was reporting a major fault. The attitude control system (the thrusters that kept the station pointed in the right direction) was showing errors. And the communication antenna was out of alignment, meaning their connection to the ground was compromised.

Four separate problems, all triggered simultaneously by a single impact event.

"Caitlyn, I'm seeing four different alerts," Jinx reported, trying to keep her voice level. "Pressure irregularity, power loss, attitude control error, and communication disruption, all at the same fucking time."

"I'm seeing the same things from my station. Houston, this is the station crew. Emergency alarm activation. Multiple system failures. Requesting immediate support."

The response was static and broken noise where a human voice should have been. The communication antenna being out of alignment meant their radio signal wasn't pointing at the satellite that relayed it to the ground. If the station's orientation had changed even slightly from the impact, which the attitude control alert suggested it had, the antenna would have drifted off target.

In short: they couldn't reach Houston. They were alone with whatever just happened to them.

"Communications are down," Caitlyn confirmed what they both already knew. "The antenna isn't pointing at the relay satellite. I'll try the backup system but until we stabilize our orientation, we'll only have intermittent contact when the antenna happens to sweep through the right angle."

Jinx was already pulling up the structural sensor data on her terminal. The station had sensors distributed across its body specifically designed to detect and locate impacts, and the data told a clear story. The force was strongest at the far end of the station's structure at a section called P6. Whatever hit them struck the far left side of the station's backbone with tremendous force.

"The impact came from the end," Jinx reported. "Far out on the left end of the main structure. Much bigger than anything from the meteoroid stream we dealt with weeks ago."

"Can you pull up the external camera feeds? I need to see what happened out there."

Jinx navigated through the station's camera system, finding the one that looked outside toward the damaged area. The sight was nothing short of devastating.

The port solar panel wing was destroyed. A massive section, maybe twenty meters of the golden panels that converted sunlight into electricity, was simply missing. They were sheared away from the station's structural beam at a jagged break point where the metal supports had been severed by a force of impact. The detached section was visible in the camera frame, tumbling slowly away from the station, catching sunlight and flashing golden as it turned. It was already several meters out and drifting further into empty space.

Below where the panels had been, the structural beam itself was visibly bent. The aluminum backbone of the station, designed to withstand the stresses of orbital operation, had been physically warped by the impact. A deflection clearly visible even on a camera feed.

"The left solar panel wing is partially destroyed," Jinx reported, finding her voice. "About twenty meters of panels are completely detached and floating away. The structural beam is bent at the impact point. That explains the power loss immediately."

"The steering thrusters are mounted on that same section," Caitlyn said. "Can you see them?"

Jinx panned the camera, searching. She found the thruster assembly and her stomach dropped further if that was even possible. The thrusters were physically tilted along with the bent structure, pointing several degrees away from where they were supposed to be.

"The thrusters are displaced," Jinx confirmed. "They're pointing the wrong way because the support beneath them is bent. Even if they fire, they won't push in the correct direction."

"What's our total power situation?"

Jinx checked. "We've lost about forty percent of our electrical generation. The left wing is mostly offline."

Forty percent power loss meant they couldn't run everything at once. Choices would have to be made about what systems stayed active and what got shut down to conserve electricity. Life support, of course, was untouchable. Communications, when they could get them working, were essential. Temperature control was also critical. Everything else had to be negotiable, whether they liked it or not.

Not to mention, the steering situation was arguably even worse than the power loss. Without the many thrusters that were now damaged, the station only had half its ability to control its orientation. The thrusters on the right could partially compensate but they couldn't fully counteract rotation in all directions. The station was going to start spinning and it would only build over time.

A spinning station meant the remaining solar panels wouldn't be able to consistently face the sun, which meant power generation would decrease further, which meant even less electricity for the thrusters that did work, which meant even less ability to fight the growing spin. Each problem made every other problem worse in a cascade that would accelerate until the station was tumbling uncontrollably.

"How long before the spinning becomes a serious problem?" Jinx asked, already running the estimate in her head.

"Depending on how well the remaining thrusters can compensate," Caitlyn answered after a moment of calculation, "maybe seventy-two hours before we start losing meaningful power from the right-side. Maybe forty-eight hours before the temperature control system starts struggling because one side of the station is getting too much sun while the other side gets too little."

Two to three days. That was their window before the station became increasingly uninhabitable around them.

"And rescue?" Jinx pressed. "How fast can someone from Earth get to us?"

"I need to reach Houston first. But even assuming immediate response, launching a rescue vehicle requires preparation time. The fastest possible timeline from the moment they decide to send help until a vehicle arrives at our altitude would be… seventeen days?"

"Seventeen?"

"At minimum."

Shit.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"What about the evacuation capsule?" Jinx asked, grabbing onto the one remaining option. "The Crew Dragon. If things get worse, we can at least leave, right?"

The Crew Dragon, again, is a reusable spacecraft capsule that carries passengers to and from Earth.

"I need to check the docking systems," Caitlyn answered. "The force of whatever impact hit us traveled through the entire station. I need to verify that the mechanism holding our capsule to the station wasn't damaged." Caitlyn was already concerned.

"Go check," Jinx told her, keeping her voice steady. "I'll keep watching everything from here."

Caitlyn was gone for fourteen minutes.

Jinx spent those fourteen minutes in a state of terror, her body trying to maintain productive activity while her mind raced through scenarios she didn't want to be imagining.

She mapped out every system on the station and categorized them into two lists: things they absolutely needed to survive and things they could shut down to save power. 

Things they needed: air purification, oxygen generation, temperature regulation, communication.

Things they could shut down: experiments, lighting, anything not directly contributing to their survival.

She calculated the rate at which the station was spinning and projected it forward to estimate when it would start causing real problems. She checked the sensors in the Russian segment of the station that were showing a slight pressure imbalance and confirmed the trend was there.

Lastly, she shut down her experiments. Every bit of electricity her experiments consumed was returned to the station's available budget for keeping them alive.

Watching her engine go dark felt like watching a light extinguish inside her own chest. She'd spent years building and preparing it for up here to prove it worked. And now she was turning it off because she needed to do all she could to keep herself alive, to keep Caitlyn alive. Her engine, designed to push humanity toward other planets, was being sacrificed so she could focus on getting back to her own planet first.

She hated it.

Then, after fourteen minutes, the communication earpiece crackled. "Jinx." Caitlyn's voice.

"Tell me."

"The docking mechanism."

"How bad?"

"Two of the twelve locking clamps that hold the Crew Dragon capsule to the station are showing fault warnings. The undocking procedure requires all twelve to release at the same time. The computer won't even attempt to begin the separation sequence with two clamps reporting problems."

"Can we force it from inside or override the computer?"

"The clamps are on the outside of the station. If they're physically stuck or bent, the only way to release them is for someone to go out there and manually disengage them."

For someone to go out there. That meant an emergency spacewalk on a station that was already beginning to rotate uncontrollably. They had to go out to the damaged structure on the same side where the suit storage and exit hatch were located. With their reduced power and broken communications, there was no chance that was happening.

"So we can't leave," Jinx stated.

"Addressing the clamp problem requires a spacewalk that carries extreme risk given our current conditions."

They were trapped. 

They were physically trapped aboard a damaged station that was slowly deteriorating around them, with no way to depart and no outside help arriving and a window of perhaps three days before the station became unlivable.

"Come back here," Jinx groaned into the comm. "We need to think through this together."

They met in the central area of the station and spent close to an hour going through every possible approach their combined knowledge could generate. It was the most consequential conversation of Jinx's life and she was keenly aware that their thinking in this room right now was the only variable standing between survival and death.

They went through the options one by one.

Spacewalk to free the evacuation capsule: extremely dangerous given the growing rotation and structural damage on the side. Even if successful, it only saved their lives by abandoning the station entirely and leaving everything else to burn up in the atmosphere eventually.

Using the capsule's own small maneuvering thrusters to help control the station's rotation while still docked: mathematically impossible. The station weighed thousands of kilograms. It would be like trying to steer a ship by blowing on it.

Waiting for rescue: seventeen days minimum from Earth. Their stability window was three days maximum.

Sealing themselves in a single section and accepting the rotation: they wouldn't die from spinning but without functional power, temperature control, and life support, a sealed section would become a coffin within days. They'd suffocate or freeze before any rescue could reach them.

Every conventional path led to the same place.

Jinx watched Caitlyn's face as they worked through the options and eliminated them one after another. She could see each elimination accumulating to a tightening around Caitlyn's eyes, a set of her jaw, the movement of her hands.

Caitlyn was frightened. She was trying to contain it, trying to be the commander, but she was frightened clearly. And seeing that fear was its own kind of confirmation for Jinx, because if Caitlyn Kiramman of all people was showing cracks in her control, then the situation was exactly as dire as Jinx's calculations indicated.

Throughout the conversation, while part of Jinx's brain was evaluating and discarding solutions with Caitlyn, a deeper part was considering another option.

Her engine produced a push. In her testing, it even showed significantly more force than her papers had predicted.

The station's core problem was that its orbit was decaying. Without periodic boosts, the station's altitude was slowly decreasing due to drag from the atmosphere that existed even at their orbital height. With the current damage preventing any normal boost, the altitude would keep dropping until the station hit enough atmosphere to begin heating up and breaking apart.

But what if you could push the station back up? What if you had an engine that could point in the right direction and run long enough to produce the speed change needed to stop the altitude from dropping?

The ion drive wasn't designed for this purpose. It was a prototype for laboratory testing only meant to run for a minute at a time under carefully controlled conditions, inside a sealed module, for the purpose of collecting data. It was never yet intended to actually propel anything of meaningful size anywhere.

But it could produce the push they needed. And the Kibo module section of the ISS had a small chamber designed for moving experiments between the inside of the station and the vacuum outside. If Jinx reconfigured her engine's exhaust path, aimed the hot gas out through that chamber's external opening into space, the gas would exit and the station would experience an equal force in the opposite direction. Basic physics that she'd known since forever: every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

The force would be tiny relative to the station's enormous mass and the acceleration would be almost imperceptible. But a tiny force applied continuously over many hours could accumulate into a meaningful speed change. Think of it like a dripping faucet filling a bathtub if you let it run long enough. 

If the force was higher than expected, which it was, and if the pushes could be timed with the station's rotation so the engine only fired when it was pointing in the correct direction, and if the engine could sustain maximum continuous operation far longer than it was ever designed for…

Then maybe. Just barely.

Everything about this idea was a bad idea. Jinx never tested the duration this would require, nor the power level, she had a limited fuel supply, and needed to somehow precisely time the right moments. All of it was extremely risky and dangerous. 

But it technically obeyed the laws of physics.

"I have something," Jinx started, cutting into whatever Caitlyn was saying. "But you're going to think I've lost my mind."

"Given where we are right now, I'm willing to hear anything that might give us a chance."

"My ion drive thruster."

"Your engine is shut down to save power. And even running, the force it generates is incredibly small compared to how heavy the station is."

"Small per second, yes. But if we run it for hours the tiny pushes will add up. And the force is higher than its designed rating, remember? All I've been documenting shows the power should grow with the force. At maximum output, the engine might produce fifteen to twenty percent more."

"You've never run it at maximum."

"Yes, but I tested seventy-five percent this morning and there was not even a sign of a problem. But the trend is clear and consistent across every power level I tested. Projecting to one hundred percent is reasonable."

"Projection and verification are very different."

"I know that. But we don't have time to verify it, do we? We have just enough time to calculate whether the projected output produces enough accumulated push over our available time window to stop the orbit from dropping. And if the answer is yes, then we have a chance. If the answer is no, then it doesn't matter anyway because bye bye to us."

"Walk me through it," Caitlyn ordered.

"The Scientific Airlock in the Kibo section is a small chamber designed for moving experiment equipment between inside and outside, right? If I reconfigure the engine so its exhaust faces the airlock's outer door and we open that door to space and seal the inner side then hot gas exits through the opening into vacuum, and the station experiences an equal push in the opposite direction."

"That airlock was not designed to handle any sustained engine exhaust."

"Agreed, and that's one of the major challenges with this plan."

"Tell me the others."

"The engine has really only ever been tested for one or two minute burns. I'd need it running continuously for many hours, possibly a full day or more. The cooling system has never been stressed for that long at maximum power and if it can't keep up, components start melting. The magnetic containment field that holds the hot gas in place has never been verified at sustained full power and if it fails, the gas escapes into the module which means anything from equipment damage to a fire to a hull breach depending on how it fails. The fuel supply was loaded for dozens of short tests rather than one long run so we might simply run out before we've pushed enough. The exhaust routing through the airlock also needs to be designed and built in hours rather than the months it would normally take. And the timing of the pushes needs to be synchronized with the station's rotation because we can only fire when the engine happens to be pointed in the correct direction, which means someone manually pulsing it on and off with precise timing every few minutes."

"What if the containment fails at maximum sustained power?"

"Best case scenario? The equipment melts and we just lose Kibo. In the worst case there's a hull breach."

"So there's a very good chance this will kill us."

"Absolutely." Jinx held her gaze. "But if we don't try something, the orbit drops and we die anyway."

"That's a significant gamble."

"Isn't it fun?"

They looked at each other without speaking, both of them considering the option.

"Calculate it," Caitlyn decided. "Calculate everything needed. I need to see that this is more than desperate hope before I approve something that could destroy our only remaining livable space."

"How long do I have?"

"How long do you need?"

"Fuck, I dunno. Four hours for numbers I'd bet my life on?"

"Both our lives will be bet on this."

"Then give me four hours."

"Got it."

Jinx nodded once and pushed off toward Kibo, toward her laptop, toward the mathematics that would determine whether they lived or died, although death was rapidly approaching from both directions.

She was moving through the connecting passage when the smell reached her.

It was just faint at first, barely distinguishable from the station's normal scent of metal and recycled air. But there was definitely something there, and it was wrong.

Burning electronics. 

The smell of wires overheating.

Jinx stopped mid-movement, her hand on a rail, her body suspended in the passage.

"Caitlyn, I'm smelling something burning in the passage." She called over her communications device.

A pause. "I noticed something similar when I was in a module earlier, during my inspection of the pressure issue. I attributed it to having stressed some wire connections. But if it's growing stronger..."

"It's definitely present and it wasn't here thirty minutes ago."

Like perfect timing, the smoke detection alarm activated before either of them could say anything else.

The display panel closest to Jinx confirmed it: SMOKE DETECTED in the Service Module.

"Smoke alarm in the Service Module!" Jinx called out. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the connecting hatch!" Caitlyn was already there looking through the small window set into the heavy door that separated the Service Module from the rest of the station. "I can see smoke accumulating inside. There's a visible haze near the electrical equipment panel on the far wall. One of the junction boxes is discolored and I can see the smoke originating from it."

"Don't open that door, Caitlyn. If there's active burning in there, opening the door gives it fresh air from our side."

"I know the procedure." A beat. "The station shaking must have cracked a connection inside that junction box. The damaged connection has been generating heat since the initial impact."

"Can we cut the electricity to that specific box from out here?"

"The power controls for the Service Module are all inside the Service Module."

"Are you kidding me? Who the fuck designed this ship?"

"We could seal the door and let it burn itself out."

"How long?"

"Based on the module's volume and oxygen content, probably twenty to thirty minutes until it suffocates itself."

"What about everything in that module?"

"We accept the loss." Caitlyn's voice was firm. "The backup computers are in there and some of the communication backup equipment. We have to lose all of it."

She was right. 

Jinx knew this. She knew it would be "safe" (a loose term given their current circumstances, but generally the fire would not pose a problem).

But her body didn't know this.

Her body knew something else entirely. It knew something older and deeper and completely disconnected from the rational understanding that the correct procedure was being followed and they would be safe by the sealed door.

It started in her hands. 

A tingling that originated somewhere below conscious awareness that understood: fire. 

You are outside and they went in and they didn't come back.

Jinx felt it beginning and tried to dispel it.

Her hands tightened on the rail she was holding. Her knuckles went white and she couldn't ease the grip.

Each inhale brought the smell of smoke and each smell fed the response building in her.

The edges of her vision were contracting. The center of her vision brightened while the periphery dimmed, the classic tunnel vision of a stress response narrowing her sensory intake.

She was floating in the connecting passage of the International Space Station about four hundred kilometers above Earth but she was also barefoot on a lawn in the middle of the night watching orange light grow and glow and hearing the sound of her own screaming and feeling the unforgiving wind and being alone and her eyes glued at the door that her parents walked through without coming back.

"Jinx?"

A voice far away from across an ocean of time and memory.

"Jinx, talk to me!"

Her throat was closed and her lungs weren't working properly and the air she was taking in wasn't enough and her vision was narrowing further and the passage around her was dissolving, thinning, becoming transparent, and behind the walls of the station she could see the house, the windows, the orange, the smoke rising, her parents getting smaller and smaller as they ran away from her.

Mom and Dad. They went through the door to get Vi—Vi was still inside and they said they'd come back—her mother held her face and said they'd be right back—they went through the door—it disintegrated behind them—Jinx waited on the lawn with cold feet and a thin shirt—she screamed their names—they never came back.

The door. People went through doors and into fires and they didn't come back. They left her outside and alone and they chose to go toward the burning building and away from her and they never never never came back.

"JINX!"

Hands on her shoulders. 

Since when?

Both hands. 

Whose?

Firm and strong, shaking her.

What?

"Jinx, look at me."

When had she closed her eyes?

I don’t… I don’t remember.

But I can still see.

I see grass.

I see fire.

She opened them.

Caitlyn's eyes were wide and locked onto hers, blazing with intensity. Caitlyn's face filled her vision.

"You're here." Caitlyn's voice was grounding to the here and now. "You're on the space station. I'm here. The fire is contained and it won't reach us. We're okay right now. You're okay. "

Her hands, Jinx realized, were gripping Caitlyn's forearms hard enough that it had to be painful. Her fingers dug in around muscle and bone through the fabric of Caitlyn's sleeves.

But Caitlyn didn't complain. She didn't pull away, nor did she seem to acknowledge the pain at all. She kept her hands on Jinx's shoulders and her eyes on Jinx's eyes and her voice in the air between them.

"Breathe with me." Caitlyn drew in a slow, visible, audible breath. Her chest expanded and her shoulders lifted slightly.

Jinx's first attempt was a shudder. 

"Count with me. Breathe in on counts of four. One. Two. Three. Four. Hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Now out slowly."

They breathed together in the passage of the damaged station. Jinx's hands stayed on Caitlyn's arms. Caitlyn's hands stayed on Jinx's shoulders. Their faces were maybe closer than they'd ever been before. Their breathing synchronized gradually as Jinx's body followed Caitlyn's body's lead.

Slowly, Jinx's vision began to return. The tunnel opened back up. The station reassembled around her and she began to register where she was again.

"I'm back," Jinx whispered, a tear falling from her eye. "I'm here."

"Hi there." Caitlyn's voice softened. "You weren't responding."

"The smoke must've triggered it." Jinx's hands loosened their death grip on Caitlyn, one finger at a time. "It's a trauma response. It's been there since I was a kid and I—I thought I was over it, shit, fuck—"

"Has it happened before recently?"

"Not for this reason." Jinx pulled back slightly and Caitlyn's hands fell from her shoulders. "We don't have the time right now. I gotta get to work."

"You… in the moment, you said come back." Caitlyn told her, quietly.

Jinx looked away. She didn’t know she was talking, rambling, spouting anything at all.

"We really don't have the time for this now, Caitlyn. Can we talk about this after I save our lives or at least when I know we're dead for real?"

"Jinx," Caitlyn's eyebrows titled up at the front, a crease of concern.

"I can't talk about it right now." Jinx pulled herself together, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine. "T-thank you… for that. But we have a bigger situation at hand. I promise I'll… it won't happen again."

"Just tell me if it does."

"I will."

"Promise me, Jinx."

"I promise."

Caitlyn's hands, which had been hovering near, finally dropped to her sides. She nodded once.

"Then you're dismissed," Caitlyn said. "I'll manage station systems and keep trying to reach Houston."

Jinx moved away, through to her module, her lab where her powered-down engine sat dark and patient in its mount and her laptop waited.

She pulled the laptop from its tether and positioned herself at her workstation and began to calculate.

The next four hours would determine whether they lived or died. Everything depended on whether a prototype experimental engine she built in her twenties could do something nobody ever imagined it would need to do, running longer and harder than any test had ever demanded, producing enough force over enough time to keep the station from falling out of the sky and more importantly, keep them alive.

While the equations built themselves on her screen, the adaptive correction algorithm formed. This was a piece of software that allowed the magnetic field to maintain itself during extended operation by compensating for the natural degradation that occurred over time. This algorithm was the only reason the engine could theoretically sustain maximum power for hours rather than minutes.

This algorithm existed because Caitlyn Kiramman had stood up at a conference over a year ago and dared to question her, "How do you account for progressive decoherence?"

At the time, Jinx was furious at being doubted, at Caitlyn for searching for the one possible conceivable flaw in her schematics. This question made her re-think and re-analyze her weaknesses and drove Jinx to spend two months developing the algorithm answer in response. 

If Caitlyn hadn't asked that question, the algorithm wouldn't exist. If the algorithm didn't exist, the engine couldn't sustain maximum power for more than a few minutes before the magnetic field degraded and containment failed. If the algorithm didn't exist…

Jinx typed faster. 

After two hours she had her preliminary answer.

Maybe. 

The thinnest, most improbable, most risky thing she had ever calculated in her career. The engine needed to run at maximum power (untested) for continuous hours (unprecedented) through an improvised exhaust path (unvalidated) with precise timing coordinated to the station's spinning (requiring someone with an extraordinary piloting skill). Every variable was necessary to hit the minimum functional bound. Every system needed to perform beyond what it ever had before. Every piece of engineering she'd ever done needed to hold under conditions she'd never imagined yet.

But the answer was maybe.

And maybe, right now, was the only thing standing between them and the absolute certainty of death.

Hail Mary, indeed.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn had been on the treadmill for over four minutes now.

The gym was nearly empty at six in the morning. A man that looked to be in his late fifties was on the rowing machine in the far corner, a young woman with headphones was working out in the free weights section, and that was about it. The overhead speakers played something instrumental at a low volume that Caitlyn had long since learned to tune out entirely. The air smelled of rubber mats.

5:00 (five minute) mark. Mile one approaching.

She thought about her schedule for later today. She had a simulation review at 0900 that she was already prepared for. Then a meeting with Viktor about thermal shielding data at 1100 where she expected to discuss the results from last week's testing. Afterward, lunch, probably at her desk. Then her afternoon block of personal study time she allocated for learning the new emergency procedure updates.

5:47.

She thought about how her life felt right now.

Stable was a word for it. Solid, even. Her work was progressing well and her reputation was strong. Her friendships were all intact, positively connected. Her therapeutic work with Seraphine was producing improvements, she could tell herself, in her ability to identify and process emotions rather than compressing them. She was sleeping seven hours most nights, eating three meals with nutritional balance, exercising six days a week.

6:23. The incline increased per her programmed settings, the treadmill tilting upward by two degrees.

She thought about this stability and what it meant to her, about why the word carried such satisfaction for her. Thanks to Seraphine now, it was easy to answer that. She valued this stability because she hardly grew up with it, her developmental years lacking. It was not what most people would assume when they looked at Caitlyn Kiramman's background and saw wealth and privilege.

7:01. Mile two beginning.

She was sixteen, at an academy, one of the top five private schools in the state, tuition figures that many families would find staggering, a student body drawn from the children of politicians and executives and old-money families and the occasional scholarship student. Caitlyn was not a scholarship student. Her family paid full tuition without financial strain and had donated separately to the school's building renovation fund the year before Caitlyn enrolled, which everyone knew.

7:38.

She was walking to her fourth period AP Chemistry class, junior year, carrying her textbook and a binder and a coffee from the student lounge. The hallway was crowded between classes, a chaos of teenagers moving in multiple directions, and Caitlyn walked through up straight, eyes forward.

She passed a group of girls she recognized. Three of them, juniors like her, part of the social circle that occupied the tier just below Caitlyn's social position. They were standing by a bank of lockers and when Caitlyn approached, one of them looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Caitlyn! Love your sweater today."

"Thank you." Caitlyn had smiled back. The sweater was cashmere, a birthday gift from her mother.

She continued past them and rounded the corner toward the science wing. But the hallway acoustics let her keep hearing their conversation.

"God, did you see that sweater? That's like five hundred dollars. She just wears it to school like it's nothing."

"Because it IS nothing to her. My mom says their house has a separate closet room bigger than our living room."

"She's nice though, you gotta admit."

"Well of course. Everything is easy when you never have to worry about anything real. Like, try being nice when you're stressed about whether your parents can pay the electricity bill this month."

"I heard her mom basically bought her the class president position. Like, the Kiramman Foundation donated all that money to the school right before elections? Coincidence?"

Caitlyn kept walking. She reached her chemistry classroom and sat down at her seat and opened her textbook and nobody looking at her would have known that she'd heard every word.

8:15. 

Her pace on the treadmill increased slightly, unconsciously. The incline was steeper now and her legs were burning but she pushed through it.

"She probably gets her papers written by a tutor. There's no way she's actually doing all that work herself AND all the extracurriculars AND the volunteer stuff."

"It's all for college applications. She doesn't actually care about volunteering or charity."

"I sat next to her in English today and she literally corrected the teacher and the teacher just accepted it because how can you disagree with Caitlyn Kiramman?"

"Must be nice to be born with everything and then get praised for being impressive with it. Like, yeah, I'd be impressive too if I had unlimited resources and parents who could buy me every opportunity."

"Daddy's girl."

"Trust fund princess."

"Perfect Kiramman."

8:52. 

The boys were a different category of cruelty entirely.

Caitlyn had known she was considered attractive by the time she was fourteen because the evidence was impossible to ignore. Not just the compliments from family members but the way boys looked at her when she walked into rooms. Conversations faltered, eyes watched her. She was tall and she had her mother's bone structure and her father's coloring and puberty hit her early.

The boys at the academy talked about her like they discussed sports statistics. She knew this because she heard them, just like she heard the girls.

"Kiramman is objectively the hottest girl in our year. That's not even debatable. She's like a nine point five minimum."

"Nah, solid ten from the height alone. And those legs? Have you seen her at the school pool?"

"She's got to be fucking someone in exchange for all those good grades."

"Dude, that's disgusting."

"I'm just saying! Nobody is that put together. She's probably sleeping with a teacher."

"I bet she's a freak. The uptight ones always are. She probably goes complete psycho behind closed doors."

"Twenty bucks says I can get her to go to prom with me."

"You don't have a chance. She turned down literally every guy who's asked her out this year. She's either gay or already being fucked."

"Maybe both."

"Probably both, honestly."

Casual, laughter followed, classic teenage boys entertaining themselves at the expense of a girl they'd never bothered to know as a person. She just existed as a body and a name onto which they projected their fantasies and resentments.

9:30. Her jaw tightened at the memory so hard her teeth ached. 

She never confronted any of these people. She heard the comments behind her back but she let them go. Cassandra Kiramman's approach to public life also applied here, even as young as she was. You never showed a wound because that was giving someone a weapon to use again. You let them talk and you carried on being excellent and eventually the excellence would speak loud enough, or so she said.

Except it didn't. The excellence and the whispers coexisted without one ever silencing the other. Three years of being the best student in her class and the whispers never stopped. Three years of genuine volunteer work. Three years of being kind to people's faces and backs and receiving the opposite.

9:58. Mile three. Her body was beginning to protest seriously now.

She came home from school every day (if there were no club meetings) at approximately 3:30 PM and the house was always vacant. 

The house itself was beautiful and large and well maintained by a housekeeper that came every weekday. There were three stories, not counting the basements, and multiple living rooms, and a professional kitchen that Caitlyn learned to use by herself because there was nobody to teach her, nobody to cook with, nobody to eat with.

She had a routine. She dropped her bag on the bench in the entryway then headed into the kitchen for a snack. Then she went to the kitchen island where she spread her homework across the marble countertop and worked for two to three hours while the house sat silent around her.

The silence was enormous in a house that size. Caitlyn's childhood had taught her to exist within enormous silence, to fill it with her own activity rather than needing external sound or presence to feel comfortable.

But she would have liked a sibling, she thought. She'd wanted one desperately as a young child and had asked her parents repeatedly and been answered every time that their family was complete as it was. By high school she'd stopped wanting it and understood more.

10:34. Her legs were shaking with fatigue and sweat was running properly now, dripping from her hairline and darkening the collar of her shirt.

She cooked dinner alone most nights starting from age fifteen, when she realized that waiting for her mother to come home meant eating at irregular hours that disrupted her study schedule. So she learned to cook by watching videos online. She started simple and progressed over time to more complex meals because she learned cooking was soothing.

She ate at the kitchen island every night. The dining room was never used except when her parents entertained guests, which happened a few times a year and required Caitlyn's participation as the presentable daughter. The kitchen island was where she lived her real life with homework, dinner, sometimes reading, sometimes just sitting with her phone and scrolling through social media and seeing her classmates posting photos of family dinners and movie nights and weekend outings.

Her mother texted her updates about her schedule, questions about Caitlyn's day, reminders about upcoming obligations. But a text asking "How was your week?" at 10PM from across the city while you sat alone in the kitchen was never the same thing as a mother sitting across from you, watching and listening as you answered.

Her father was warmer when present but present even less if that was possible. His work involved travel, weeks at a time sometimes, and when he was home he lived in his study with the door open but never proactively seeking her out. If Caitlyn went to him, he was available and attentive and kind. But he didn't come to her. He didn't knock on her door at night to check on her. He didn't appear in the kitchen while she was cooking to ask.

The Kiramman household lived on the principle of assumed independence. Everyone was expected to manage their own emotional needs. Asking for attention or company or comfort was technically acceptable but required the person needing those things to initiate, and initiating felt like weakness, and weakness was not something the Kiramman household modeled or rewarded.

11:07. Her breathing ragged, her body deep in the final part of the run, everything hurting.

So Caitlyn learned, across these years, a very specific set of beliefs about other people and about herself in relation to them.

Belief one: people present differently depending on whether they think you can hear them. The version of them that faces you and the version of them that faces away from you are frequently different people with different opinions about you. 

Belief two: beauty attracts attention but that attention is not the same as being seen.

Belief three: achievement inspires resentment, particularly when the achiever is perceived as having advantages that make the achievement less impressive. You will never be able to achieve enough to silence people.

Belief four: being alone is survivable. You can eat alone and study alone and exercise alone and process your emotions alone and you will be fine.

Belief five (the one she didn't learn until much later, until adulthood and certain people and therapy taught her): being alone is survivable but it’s also optional. And the people who make being not-alone feel safe are the ones who are the same person regardless of whether you can hear them.

11:45. Mile four began and her body was fully in protest mode.

So, understandably, Caitlyn valued honesty.

One of the things Caitlyn loved most about Vi was the complete absence of duplicity in her character. Vi was incapable of the kind of social performance that had defined Caitlyn's adolescence. What Vi thought, Vi said. What Vi felt, Vi showed. There was never, in years knowing her, a single moment where Caitlyn suspected that Vi was lying to her.

Jayce was the same way, had been since she was a child running around at family events. Jayce's every thought was visible on his face before it reached his mouth. Trying to be deceptive was something Jayce simply couldn't do.

12:22. Slowing down now.

These were the type of people Caitlyn surrounded herself with as an adult. People who might say difficult things or uncomfortable things or things you didn't want to hear, but who said them to you rather than about you, and only because they cared about you .

12:58.

But now there was someone else who also fit this category with perhaps more force than anyone else. Someone who was hostile to Caitlyn's face and (presumably) hostile about Caitlyn behind her back too. The same in every direction. The same regardless of audience. She was transparently honest about every thought and feeling at all times.

Someone who, from the very first moment of meeting Caitlyn, had shown her exactly what she thought without the slightest attempt at polite fiction. Even though it was rude and said with disinterest, she meant it completely and had followed that up with years of consistent transparent antagonism that was, in its own peculiar way, one of the most honest relationships Caitlyn had ever experienced.

Caitlyn had spent her formative years surrounded by people who were kind to her face and cruel behind her back. And now she found herself unable to stop thinking about a person who was openly honestly unkind and who offered no false comfort and no fake friendliness.

She didn't pursue this thought to its conclusion. She just noted it.

15:00. Session complete. Her legs were liquid now and her shirt was soaked through but the endorphins coursing through her made her feel better.

She grabbed her water bottle and her towel and wiped her face and moved toward the free weights section for the second portion of her workout.

Dumbbells for the upper body. She selected the ideal weight and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

The first set was bicep curls. Twelve repetitions, controlled tempo, full range of motion. Her reflection in the mirror showed her form and also showed her face flushed from the run, focused.

Between sets, resting for sixty seconds, she thought about nothing deliberately.

The second set was shoulder presses. Her arms extended overhead with the dumbbells, the weights controlled at the top of the movement, then lowered slowly.

She thought about how far she'd come from the girl at that kitchen island. She thought about how the adult Caitlyn Kiramman still carried the child inside her.

Third set now. This was lateral raises. The weights moved outward from her sides in an arc, targeting the shoulder muscles that she maintained.

The fourth set included tricep extensions. The weight behind her head, extending upward, her elbows tracking close to her ears.

The person she couldn't stop thinking about now had never once hidden anything from her. 

Final set. Rows! Bent over the bench, pulling the weight toward her ribcage, engaging her back.

Caitlyn finished her workout and stretched and showered in the locker room and dried her hair and drove home with wet ends still dripping.

When she got back home, settled briefly before work, she checked her email and saw twenty new messages, not surprising. She scanned sender names and subject lines and decided which to respond to and what order.

Routine scheduling confirmation. A newsletter she subscribed to. Meeting change notification from Viktor's assistant. Routine administrative update from the training department. A social invitation from a colleague she'd respond to later. Routine, routine, requires attention, routine.

And then one message that stopped her scrolling.

The sender was the office of her division director. CONFIDENTIAL: ISS Expedition XX - Commander Assignment and Crew Selection Update.

She clicked the email open.

The opening paragraph congratulated her. Commander Kiramman had been evaluated by the selection board and chosen as Mission Commander for ISS Expedition XX. A six-month duration residency mission with a projected launch window in no sooner than four months. Her qualifications, flight experience, and operational readiness had been assessed and she was deemed the most suitable candidate for the command position.

She continued reading.

The email described the mission's unusual configuration as a two-person crew. It was a reduced-crew operational study. Caitlyn would maintain station operations, safety, and communications while a single mission specialist handled the experimental workload for the most part.

The email continued with logistical details. Training timeline, preparation requirements, medical clearance milestones, points of contact for administrative processes. The language was bureaucratic but comprehensive and Caitlyn absorbed it all

Then, purposefully the final section, titled: Crew Composition Update: Mission Specialist Selection.

"The selection panel is currently in the final stage of specialist assignment. Candidates under consideration (listed alphabetically) are as follows. Final determination will be communicated within approximately two weeks."

Caitlyn's eyes moved down the short list that followed.

Blah blah blah.

Blah blah blah.

Dr. Devaux, Jinx. Advanced Propulsion Systems.

Caitlyn stopped reading anything further.

Dr. Devaux, Jinx.

There were more names below Jinx’s, but Caitlyn paid zero attention to any of them.

Jinx was a finalist. Jinx was one of the candidates being considered for the specialist position on this mission. On Caitlyn's mission. On the half a year, two people only, alone in space together mission that Caitlyn had just been assigned to command.

There was a chance that Jinx would be selected.

Caitlyn closed the email. Then she opened it again. Then she closed her laptop entirely. Then she opened it again and reread one more time to confirm that she hadn't hallucinated it or misread it.

Dr. Devaux, Jinx. Advanced Propulsion Systems.

Still there. 

Caitlyn stood up and walked to her window and looked out at the morning. The neighborhood outside was quiet at this hour. A bird sat on the fence. A car drove past. 

It was so mundane and unlike everything going on inside.

If Jinx was selected then Caitlyn would spend six months in the most isolated environment with the person who had occupied an increasingly undeniable portion of her thoughts nearly every day now. 

She would be Jinx's commander, responsible for her safety, responsible for making decisions about her wellbeing and her work and her daily schedule. 

And she would have no escape. Neither of them.

But this was only if Jinx was selected.

Caitlyn returned and opened her laptop again and began drafting her formal acceptance and gratitude response to the commander assignment. She expressed her appreciation for the selection. She confirmed her availability for the accelerated preparation timeline.

She hit send.

Then she sat in her kitchen with her coffee and the morning light and the quiet of her apartment around her and she thought.

The email said approximately two weeks until the specialist determination was communicated.

Two weeks of waiting to find out whether six months would be the greatest professional achievement of her career experienced alongside a colleague she had no complicated feelings about, or whether they would be the greatest professional achievement of her career experienced alongside the most complicated, consuming, terrifying, exhilarating person.

Caitlyn finished her coffee. 

She was so overwhelmed by these thoughts she couldn’t even focus on her own excitement for her selection as commander.