A/N: Well, here's another plot bunny that ran away. For now, it's a two-shot, but I do have plenty of plot planned if I do continue this in the future. Here's my obligatory space AU (complete with sci-fi space ghosts, because why not). Please know that major character death occurs within the first two chapters, although I will say it's not for long. Enjoy~
Edit: Well, my only defense is that I couldn't stay away. No longer a two-shot.
"I'm telling you man, have you seen those stats?"
His friend, looking ridiculous as usual, half-in and half-out of his burnt orange suit, shrugs noncommittally. "I don't see what's so strange about them, Stiles."
"Not strange," Stiles say. "Cool!"
"Cool?"
"Amazing! Fantastic! Whatever ostentatious adjective floats your boat, man."
Obviously, the choice of words passes completely over his friend's head. Scott pulls his leg out of one side of the suit like it might snap at him. "Yeah, okay," he mutters, attempting to kick off the other leg without touching the outside of the suit. Stiles is taking his own off with slightly less dramatics.
"A little radiation isn't going to kill you," Stiles offers helpfully when Scott makes an expression like he might want to die right now rather than touch the stretchy material currently draped over his right foot again.
"A little radiation? Stiles, it's like crazy high. You said so yourself earlier!"
"I said the stats on the planetary atmosphere were cool, not that they were dangerous."
"Stiles, you say everything is cool–"
"It's kinda like an elevated form of our planet's rays, dude. Actually, that's exactly what it is. The most that's gonna happen is your kids might be mutated in the future if you and Allison ever get back together." Which isn't exactly true, but the expression on Scott's face and the panicked glance down is definitely worth the half truth. "Seriously though, it's not clinging to your suit. I've done this a thousand times before. You're fine."
Scott shudders and shakes his head. "I still don't like it."
"These suits are good," Stiles says, taking on a more reassuring tone. "I promise."
Though they've been friends forever, they've only recently started working together in the same department, after Scott was transferred from maintenance on another sector to this one. Stiles never got the full story, but he remembers gossip about Scott and his relationship with pretty, young Allison Argent, one of the guards. Apparently, whatever happened between them following their break-up was severe enough for the ship's chief engineer, the chilling Lydia Martin, to request a change of positions for McCall. Not that it really matters why it happened or what caused it. Stiles is just happy he's finally got a partner for a two-man job he's been flying solo on for a few months.
"Come on, if it makes you feel better, lunch's on me," Stiles says, watching Scott pluck the last fold of his suit off. The fabric falls limply to the ground, and for a second there, it looks like Scott is half considering kicking it, or maybe setting it on fire.
"Um, sure." Scott sounds distracted, but when doesn't he? "Wait… we don't pay for lunch."
"Ah, see? Your ears are still working just fine."
Stiles waits by the door, hands in his pocket, and when Scott joins him, Stiles leads the way down the hall. They walk down mostly empty hallways, some only partially lit, and take the lift at the end of one of the more well lit ones. With the cost of keeping a fully crewed ship, it's understandable that Green Sciences, their employer, mostly keeps the year-round residence down to a skeleton crew. Just enough people to do the job, and no more. At least it keeps them from getting pay cuts when the economy takes a turn for the worst.
He tries to keep up the conversation, but it's pretty obvious Scott isn't invested. He shrugs it off and resolves to get his daily quota of human interaction during the lunch break. Maybe he can get a word in with Lydia. Though, on second thought, he doesn't really want to sit through the horrible glares he always gets from the handler.
Jackson Whittemore heads the crew that directly keeps up with the species they're shipping. It's a hard job, sure, and one Stiles has always wanted to have, but he doesn't see all the fuss about it. Jackson may have to handle the aliens, but Stiles has a pretty cool job too. Atmospheric control is very rewarding.
Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration…
There aren't a whole lot of people in the cafeteria by the time they get there, which makes sense because the routine checks took a little longer today than they usually do. Some kind of weird interference in the computer's sensors that gets Stiles' blood pumping. It's exciting. That means there's something cool and out of the norm going on. Scott doesn't feel the same.
Stiles gets his tray, not even attempting to figure out what the hell they're trying to pass as food today, and drops down next to the janitor. Isaac Lahey is kind of jumpy and always looks about half a second away from bolting whenever Stiles corners him to 'socialize', but at least he pretends to listen when Stiles brings Scott along. If Stiles had any kind of civil couth, or lack thereof, he'd try to set them up together, if only for the guarantee that Isaac would be forced to be his friend through Scott. But he isn't sure who bats for what team, and at the moment Scott is obviously enamored with 'lovely, wonderful, perfect Allison.' Bleh.
"Hey, Isaac." Stiles say, beaming. And if he didn't know any better, he'd think he'd saw the curly haired boy repress a shudder.
"Stiles," he mutters, pursing his lips.
Scott slides in next to Stiles and offers Isaac a nod and one of his blinding puppy-dog smiles. It has the desired effect, and Isaac smiles back, a snarky little curl to his lip.
It takes several more attempts at conversation to get either of his lunch companions to acknowledge him, more in favor of wolfing down the offensive looking sludge masquerading as… meatloaf? than paying attention to Stiles' stunted efforts to chat. He's finally got them to both look up at the same time when the ship gives a horrible shudder and the lights flicker off.
"Damn it," someone grumbles not too far away.
It's pitch black in the cafeteria. Stiles can hear Scott resume eating next to him, and Isaac slide over on his bench, tapping worriedly on his tray. This isn't an irregular occurrence. A lot of long-term vessels, especially older ones like this one, have trouble transferring gravitational systems when they cross into new sectors. Occasionally there's a power trip, especially when all of the biomes are occupied. It just means that Stiles and Scott are probably going to have to cut their lunch breaks.
He sighs as the steady thrum of the back-up generators rumble through the near silent interior of the ship. They'll be cutting their lunch breaks sooner than later, then. Stiles forces himself to take a few bites of his lunch as the main motor of the ship hums to life below them. Already back and soon to be up and running. Great. Stiles grabs his tray and climbs out of his seat, dumping it into the nearby bin. Scott sluggishly follows with one of those world weary sighs like he's lost all faith in humanity. Stiles isn't too far behind him.
This is the second time in the past week they've dealt with power outages. If Stiles didn't know how old the ship was, he'd almost be tempted to blame it all on engineering. As it is, his dad was an officer on this ship way back when he'd only just joined the force, and as far as long-term running vessels go, this one's practically ancient. But they're working with what they've got…
They pass Jackson in the hall, who is busy yelling at a couple of the younger so-called 'wranglers', and mission control officer… what was his name again? Vernon Boyd, or something like that, trailed by one of the doctors, Erica Reyes. She's got her arms full of towels and bandages, and both of them are walking fast enough that Stiles wonders if something in the control room must have exploded. He sure hopes Lydia is okay. And the others too… Yeah, can't forget about them.
Scott stops at the door when they get to their locker room and stares at the horrible pile of discarded protective clothing, though a quick tap on the shoulder from Stiles and he's into motion again.
As he's pulling on his own suit again, Stiles let's his mouth go. "I know we've got time, since the atmospheres usually stay stable if the power's out too long, but I'm a little worried about that one biome with the heightened concentration of x-rays. The controls were a little wonky last time. I mean, we might actually have to go in and recalibrate the system."
Scott lets out a little of breath. "I sure hope not. Aren't those bad?"
"Naw," Stiles says shrugging. "We'd only be in there for ten minutes, tops, and the suits offer protection for that long. We get exposed to more as passengers on this ship."
"If you say so," Scott says, zipping up the last part before slipping his helmet under his arm.
"If anything, I'd be more worried about the levels of Nitrogen Dioxide."
Scott groans.