Previously: Lucy's bad day took a turn for the worse.
Now: Astra finally gets a word in edgeways.
It's quite flattering to hear that this is getting repeat visitors; and on that note, it's lovely as always to hear from you JB.
The fire of her heat beneath her skin does not make her stupid, nor does it render Astra unaware. It merely shifts her priorities from thoroughly planned and pragmatic to directly instinctual and very, very focused on her family.
A family that has shrunk to one, then to one and - well. It seems her Little One has staked her claim on this planet's inhabitants. Some more than others, and others more than some. Astra cannot help but be curious at that.
And it makes her sensitive in a way that decade of sun sent invulnerability has caused her to think had been banished from her life. The sensitivity exists in a physical manner - there is no doubt about that - this fragile-looking cell is too cold, too angled to provide any comfort -
And she is so very easily led by the whims of her most ingrained, most unthinking instincts. The cell that holds her is a confinement, yes, but it is hers. Her presence marks in a way the disinfectants - sharp, pervasive, and frequently reapplied - do not. She watches the first - ill trained, skittish, unworthy of gaining rank - soldier that comes to observe her until he takes fright and departs. She remains as she is, eyes trained on the doorway. Waiting. More will come. They will come, and she will let them leave, provided they make no move against her and hers.
It remains closed for a long time. She slips into a half-aware state, patient as she has ever been - on the hunt, piloting, waiting for food preparations to show the first signs of char. She is unaccountably alone. Her hands do not move from their relaxed position at her side.
The sound of footsteps, rushing toward her doorway, rouses her from the edge of dreaming. Muffled chirping - the inefficiencies of this planet's electronics - an utterance that may be cursing, may be an order. She does not spend the effort of translating it into coherence. The words are of not interest to her, just as the people here hold no sentiment. They exist. They are potential obstacles to her efforts. That is all.
The door opens, to reveal the lowly soldier and a creature in white coat flapping around like pair of wings. Human, of course, but of a different kind.
The pair attempts to enter her prism. To breach her territory. To invade and desecrate and claim -
Astra hisses like a seven-spined took'la. The soldier startles. The other - knowledge-seeker, knowledge creator, more dangerous a foe by far - freezes. Stillness, balanced between them, stretches past bearing and reaches a tipping point once more.
She unfolds to the fullness of her height.
She is General of Krypton, Rao's Fury and Rage. She is queen of her own nest.
They waver, wills crumpling under the weight of her challenge; then their hands drop to their sides, and they retreat from her sight.
She knows where she is, and the reasoning behind it. The assignment remains tactically sound, though her intended mission seems less than important to undertake now, even confined to a cell, with her Little One and her Alexandra near.
It is not ... comfortable. A cell is not a nest, and the sensation of her body without the invigoration of this system's yellow sun is an unfamiliar distraction. Yet she remains - and not only for Kara's sake, or the objective that had led her to this location in the first place. It is of tertiary importance only - she has cause enough to disengage and return to the field when her time here is concluded.
Yet returning to her soldiers and subordinates would entail leaving her inah behind. Would mean being alone, by her own choice and action. Astra can not, will not stand for that. Not as she is.
And Alexandra. Astra had not noticed it, when her other senses ruled, but she shares scents with Kara. Nothing strong enough to be a claim - even the distraction of thousands upon thousands of this metropolis's inhabitants would not have hidden that - but she begins to wonder, if any other agent had been brought before her to force contact, would her Little One have appeared?
The Department for Extranormal Operations is not a friendly force to ally with. The irradiated remains of krypton that they use are enough proof of that. And yet Kara, child of her heart, serves as their vanguard.
Alexandra is a fine specimen. A tribute to her species, and to her profession. Even in a position of power, she doesn't let her guard down. Not in any way that would let Astra escape of her own actions. The cell and room doors are never open at the same time, nor weapons brought within her reach. Astra ... appreciates it. Such dedication must in turn secure Kara's safety, now that she lives without a House to stand behind her.
Until, as she presents nesting material - Kara's blanket, or one very much like it, turned anachronistic cape, a most thoughtful gift in this pancepticon of sterility - and Astra is enjoying the mixture of scents imprinted in the fabric, the familiar kin-scent and oils from handling and, fainter, smoke and air and greenery, with sweet foodstuffs predominant - the door is opened and soldiers start spilling through. It would not even require the use of her powers to gain access to the corridor that she sees. And they are armed enough for choice - the speed of the base's reaction would have to be impressive indeed to successfully catch her, should she decide to flee.
She does not.
The Agent spins and puffs up like a deploying mobile shield. Astra finds herself both amused and pleased by the act. She does not require protection, not from her Agent's fellows, but the gesture is appreciated. Alexandra has no need to prove her skills - dispatching a Hellgramite, while injured no less, was enough of an indication of competency for that.
Which is not the same as Astra not appreciating the move. Alexandra's new position is both an admission of trust, and, more proximately, bares the wiry cords of her throat to her investigatory approach. It's ... diverting. The muscles flex as she swallows, the strands of her hair shifting. Astra allows the conversation - the posturing - to wash over her. Nipping at the sweet softness of her skin, Astra acts to draw her attention away as she grows agitated. And she pulls her Agent's body close, warmth against warmth, when that elicits a positive response. The others can wait. They can leave. Alexandra is with her now, turning closer to her, lying prone with her, arms flexing between them, showing off her musculature, and then -
Then.
Her inah arrives at speed, slamming down against the floor with little to show of her usual finesse. She takes in the scattered bodies at a glance, her attention snapping without hesitation to the sound of a stuttering inhale.
They don't need words to act together. Alexandra is injured, and just as clearly unsafe here. The chamber that had been her nestspace is vulnerable. Unworthy. Astra has already turned her back on it, as she would any she was forced to defend with the use of her claws.
Kara offers a safe location for use as a replacement refuge. Defensible. Far from any gatherings of humans, in one of the most isolated tracts this planet has to offer.
A construct of coded crystal, made by kryptonians for kryptonians, though she does not in truth count Jor-El's get amongst them. It is Kara, her pack child, who is the Beacon of the House of Stars, and as one Housed to another she offers sanctuary. Their honor demands nothing less. Their shared duty binds them faster, quicker than blood.
Any who pose threat, who raise hand or weapon or voice against their wounded charge; they will burn.
Astra bristles still, vigilant and sharp-clawed and agitated by the blood soaked environs, so it is Kara who carefully removes the hurt from Alexandra's flesh and bundles her into Astra's arms. Covers her with the blanket, soft as if she were newly born, and tucks her head to the hollow of Astra's throat. This close, Astra can feel the press of each breath against her skin, shallow as it is. A comfort.
Their exit from the facility is unobstructed and unobserved.
When Alexandra finally wakes, after her long sleeping, she moves by touch, blindly seeking out the shape of her environment. Astra keeps her warm and close to herself, where she is safe, and she settles back into slumber soon after. Kara, returned from a patrol of the nearby area, joins their pile, carefully hovering to reduce the harm of any force applied on her fragile form. Astra dozes between the two, content.
This is pack, pack as she has not held since ... the thought is a distress. She needs not face it.
Her second rousing shows more promise. She opens her eyes, for one, although not without significant delay. Blinks curiously, and takes in their surroundings with an analytical gaze. Looks at Astra, brows furrowed like her inah denied the chance to gorge herself on the starhip-petals Astra had bartered for on her return from her last deployment. Astra does not, much as she wills it, trace a fingertip over than furrow and smooth. By her bravery and actions Alexandra has been placed under her protection, but Astra has met enough of her kind to know that she would see this confusion as a battle to be fought by her own strength, pain and all that accompanies. Warriors such as she would not look with favour if Astra intervened without leave. Proud, prickly thing, conscious to a fault of line between pity and compassion. Astra would know. And because she knows, she keeps her hands relaxed and steady at her sides.
They had been working towards a kind of trust, testing, until the attack. Astra would like to hope that it remains undamaged in its aftermath.
The air between them holds a steady regard, the moment a liminal space that lengthens into itself. It is easy to grow lost, entrapped in the colours of rich earth and wood and chocolate. It always is, in heat. Alexandra is similarly held.
For a time. She begins to withdraw, shifts about beneath her until Astra is forced to let her leave their perch and lever herself onto her feet. Her limbs quake at the effort, sensitive dermis reacting rapidly to the ambient temperature, and Astra quickly settles herself against skin once more. The fortress is a stark place, designed for kryptonian tolerances, and her system is not yet through a shock targeted at Astra's sturdier constitution. For that alone, Astra would return her to the flush of health. If Astra had her way, Alexandra would not need to set foot on the floor before that day, but she is a stubborn thing.
So it is that she follows along, close as Ina held the first child of Ze, as Alexandra sets out, though the journey is a distance of only a few strides. Her Agent appreciates her warmth, so her warmth she will receive.
Astra continues aiding as best she can. The query is not exactly a directive, but she sets about providing for Alexandra's desires with the sort of contentment that she had thought long since lost to her.
At least until she insists on being alone. Astra does not like that. She does not like that at all. Nor does she like that desire for privacy curtails her sight - a weakened, unpredictable thing, with her energy redistributed, but newly reavailable under the open heavens of their flight to the ice. But there are no crashes, no cries, and though she loathes to acknowledge it, independence is cherished the more its lack is felt. She knows this. She has experienced this, in her own time, and to her own frustration. Astra does not like it.
The steady rhythm of her Agent's heartbeat startles, and it is all her years of control that hold her from breaching the chamber, and not a thing more.
Her Alexandra is made of a stubborn substance that could serve as starship hulls in the deepest, most demanding depths of the void. Even with encouragement of Astra's most soothing thrum, she refuses to rest before being fed. Recalls fond memories of Kara pulling on the very same tactic as she watches her disgruntedly consume rations from her inah's hand, wrapped in both arms and blanket.
Once she gives in to her exhaustion, Alexandra slumbers securely in her arms for a long time, long enough for Kara to assure herself of the base's security and find the nesting chamber. It is, for good reason, well hidden and defensible. The perfect balm to her instincts.
Like the rest of the chambers in the outpost, the space is refreshingly free of scents. Astra immediately sets about changing that state of affairs, pressing the glands at her wrists against the fabrics, rearranging the soft, padded furniture into an acceptable shape for a den, making it hers.
It will serve their purposes well. Nestled deep within the heart of the structure, it is far warmer than the examination or consumption areas that they have made uses of, nearer the outside world. Her Brave One is a fragile thing, for all her fierceness. A frailty that is magnified with her injury. Astra will not allow further harm to come to her. Not now, not, if she has any chance of managing it, ever again.
Once she has claimed the chamber to her satisfaction, Kara accepts her invitation to enter. With a touch to the broad strength of her shoulders - her Little One is little no longer, she has grown into a fine Alpha - she relaxes her protective grip on Alexandra, and she sprawls, loose-limbed, into the padded hollow in the center of the room. Astra, who has fed and watered and rested already, claims a location nearer the entrance, within sight and reach of both.
Alexandra rouses, after a period, enough to accept hydration, look at Astra with every appearance of confusion, and latch onto the largest of the pillows.
Replaced, Astra ventures out - not too far, just long enough to collect a periods worth of provisions and activate the Kelex units. She sets them to serve as perimeter guards with a few simple commands - this refuge will not be one that is breached and tainted.
The mechanical neutrality of their acknowledgements is refreshing. Unthreatening.
Kara lands from her position in the sunlight above as they disperse to take over her role as guardian. She is jittery still, her protectiveness freshly drawn into expression, but Astra is family, and familiar, and safe. They sleep once more, curled into each other's embrace, Alexandra tangled between them.
The next cycle, Astra rouses with Kara's hair in her mouth and two pairs of legs tangled with her own. When she opens her eyes - slowly, comfortably, unwilling to move - it is to find Alexandra watching her, chin propped on Kara's shoulder. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, her breathing slow and shallow, and her lips as they part are tinted the palest green.