Title: Weak Attractors
Author: sangga
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own, but we're having a bit of fun all the same.
Email: sangga55hotmail.com
Feedback: Go sick. Please. I'd like to know that all this work really means something.
Archive: Ask, and it's yours.
Summary: Subject: Human male, caucasian… Trance is trying to figure people out, but she's going about it all the wrong way. And probably with the wrong person. Or is he? (GoldenTrance/Harper)
Note: My attempts to flesh out the relationship between GoldenTrance and Seamus Z. Harper… This fic is over-intellectualised fluff, and it totally kicked my ass. Took me weeks…why are love scenes so much harder to write than fight scenes? I just couldn't shake the idea all the same. What are Harper and Trance to each other, now she's all gold and grown up? They used to have this kind of sweet flirtation on the show, and now there's only this strange sexless comradery… Hm. Just got me thinking, is all. And here's the result. A big huge thank-you to Sarah, who helped me believe that love really can conquer all (for a while there – and I'm still not completely convinced – I thought these two characters were just never made to get close), and who spurred me on – thanks, sis!
Spelling mistakes aren't – I'm using the Queen's English here, folks. And the title is an obvious reference to the quote: "We say that atoms are joined by weak attractors. Why not just admit it? – the universe is held together by love."
Spoilers: I've only seen up to Season Three. I'm going to pretend that the crappy dialogue and bad writing on the show from mid-Season Three through what I've seen of Season Four thus far just doesn't exist
Weak Attractors
Subject: Human male, caucasian, approx. age 30 yrs (Terran Standard Time).
Medical: Poor immune response (factor 2.3), see data-ref. 3.0 cont' for list of diseases/injuries.
Eval.: Sealed records authorised Gemini, Trance – Andromeda file 004/673.
She's broached the idea to him already, and he seems to be cautiously approving, although he's not totally sure of what it all entails. She'll go over that with him, make certain that he understands what the process of study involves, to ensure that he doesn't back out halfway through. Although it wouldn't matter, she'll probably have quite a bit of data by then. Not enough – but there's never going to be 'enough'.
She'll be rather circumspect and discrete, but she'll memorise all her notes and destroy them anyway. She wonders if, given their history, he's really the best person for the study, but her options are really kind of limited. You work with what you've got. Maybe it'll be an asset – I mean, she knows him so well already, and they have a connection. Had a connection. Well, they share something, anyway.
She thinks she'll be able to keep it all very professional and appropriately distant.
Boy, is she ever wrong about that.
xXx
He doesn't really get why she's singling him out from amongst the crew, although it makes sense from the point of view that physically he's the most vulnerable – he understands the whole 'only as strong as the weakest link' thing, hey, that works in engineering too. He thinks it's nice that she's been figuring out ways of fixing his immune system - improving his quality of life. He believes that means she's been thinking about him.
He's not so thrilled about the whole 'under observation' thing – is she gonna, like, follow him everywhere? To the bathroom? Will he have to give, uh, samples? Depending on how 'detailed' the study is, it could just become a whole new forum in which to plumb even greater depths of embarrassment and humiliation…
He's fervently hoping that she won't come back waving her findings, telling him that he's gotta swear off Sparky cola for the rest of his natural life. That would be the worst thing, ever.
He's really not thinking far enough ahead.
xXx
Study - Getting Started
Scan scan scan.
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"Yes. I wanted to run an initial diagnostic so I'd have a basis for –"
"Sure, I get it. Now what?"
"Now…well, what are you doing now?"
He shrugs.
"I don't know…I mean, it's late, and I have to work on Rommie's image resonators tomorrow, so I was just gonna…go to bed?"
"Okay."
She gathers up a few things from the benchtop, and looks at him expectantly.
"What?"
"Are we going?"
"Are we going where?"
"Well, you said you were going to bed."
His eyes pop.
"Wait a minute, it's a lovely offer, don't get me wrong, but when I said I was going to bed, I meant I was going to –"
Before he splutters to nothing she takes over.
"Harper, I'm going to monitor your sleep patterns. I have to set up the sensors before you go to sleep. It's completely non-intrusive. But I need to be with you when you go to bed, alright?"
He blinks.
"Oh. So you're gonna monitor me?"
"Yes."
"But, ah, you're not actually gonna –"
"No."
"And you aren't planning on –"
"No."
"Oh. In that case, uh, fine." He squints in confusion. "So when does this study thing kick off again?"
"About ten minutes ago."
"Oh."
He slides off the examination table.
"Well, then, uh, let's go to bed. I mean, let's, uh, go to – Ah, geez…just, uh, follow me, okay?"
She does.
xXx
Study - Gone
They're in the slipstream core, from which he feels like (as he's already complained) he never leaves.
Tap tap tap wire wire.
"So, I know what I'm doing…what are you doing?"
"I'm checking the environmental conditions you're working in and your reactions to them."
"What, like radiation levels?"
"And air content. And ambient electrical readings. And noise levels. And –"
"I get the picture." Tap tap tap. "Well, I sure hope it helps, 'cause, y'know, I've thought about it pretty extensively and I've come to the conclusion that I. Hate. Being. Sick." Taps for emphasis.
"I don't imagine it's very enjoyable."
"You imagine right. I mean, it wouldn't be so bad, but it's just all the time." Tap tap. "How about you, Trance? You ever get sick?"
She thinks.
"Well, I reacted to all those slipstream jumps when we tried to get to Tarn-Vedra."
"I remember. That was heavy."
"Heavy?"
"Well, y'know – Beka was out to lunch, and you were sick… What was that, some sort of allergy to slipstream or something?"
"…Something."
Tap tap.
"Ah – one of your ask-no-questions-tell-no-lies secrets, huh?"
"I haven't got any –"
"Nah, it's okay, you don't have to get into it." He grabs the jack and grins. "I love a lady of mystery."
"Harper –"
He jacks in and before she can finish, he's gone.
xXx
Study - Nutrition, or the lack thereof
"Now what?"
"Nothing. Don't mind me."
"Trance, I can't just… Trance, what are you doing?"
"Taking notes."
"Taking notes…gimme that."
"That's my –"
"You're noting down what I eat?"
"Yes. I'm trying to find out if your nutrient intake is a factor in your –"
"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Geez. How come you don't write down what Dylan and Beka have for lunch? Y'know, do a comparative study or something…"
"Because Dylan and Beka don't have immunity problems. You do."
"Right."
"Aren't you going to finish that?"
"Lost my appetite."
xXx
After nearly a week of study, he thinks he liked it better when she just kind of ignored him.
Actually, he liked it better when they were friends, and she was purple, and there was a known quantity of something.
The friendly banter, the exchange of expressions, the easiness of it. There was a relaxedness there, and she seemed…well, yeah, younger, but something else too. More open, maybe? He never knew the whole story, but they had a history together, and that was concrete. Something solid.
Sure, he fantasized a little about her purple lips, her tail, her soft hair and big eyes – but it was just playing around. And it was nice, she seemed more akin, they had a playful tone together. Two kids in the sandbox. Looking at each other, and poking each others' skin, and pretend kisses with eyes scrunched up. Except they never kissed, not even pretend, but that wasn't…anyway, that's not the point.
Now, things are different. She seems older, she is older, more aloof. It's not just the physical change, it's the way they relate to each other. More guarded. Colleagues, rather than friends. Things she's seen and done that he has no way of knowing, that she doesn't share. He feels like he's been kinda left behind – certainly their old way of being together has been left behind. It's kind of sad.
He doesn't think any of these things with his conscious mind.
xXx
She's hoping that this idea wasn't a mistake from the very beginning.
She really is trying to work out ways of combating his poor immunity, but it's not the only reason she began the study. All these future threads are so bound up in these human reactions… Really she should be studying Dylan, but a) she has no excuse, b) she needs to be more sneaky about it, c) Dylan is an intimidating subject at the best of times, and d)…
There is no d). She has greater access to Harper, he's more tolerant, and altogether less cautious about what he gives away. And that may be the problem.
She thinks she liked it better when they just kind of ignored each other. She knew that their relationship would never be like it was before, which she regrets, but that's just how things worked out. And his initial hostility, which she put down to insecurity (which she could handle, even though it hurt a bit at first), has long settled down. So now, he isn't hostile, just…more guarded. Frightened? Maybe. He has a right to be.
Now they have this slightly cautious friendship. He's gotten used to the exterior – the hair, the golden colour. She wants it to be like it was before…no, not like that either. That was a mistake. She's almost glad he's a little intimidated, because last time she let things get a bit out of hand, not meaning to, but…
So. That was a mistake, but this is for study. She thinks she's clear on that now.
xXx
Study - Hygiene
Scrub scrub scrub. Spit.
"Why do you do that?"
"Gah. Trance, get out of here."
"Why?"
Scrub scrub.
"Cauz iz ma –" Spit. "'Cause it's my bathroom, and this 'looking-over-Harper's-shoulder' thing is driving me nuts."
Scrub scrub scrub.
"But I'm interested. Really."
Spit.
"Well good for you."
"But as part of the study… I mean, why do you do that?"
"It's perfectly normal, Trance, okay? Normal people brush their teeth."
Scrub scrub scrub.
"But you could take a dental hygiene tablet and then you wouldn't have to –"
Spit.
"Look, I like brushing my teeth. I know it's out-dated, but…I grew up brushing my teeth, okay? They just don't feel clean unless I brush."
"Isn't it just introducing more bacteria into your –"
"Okay, that's it, question time is over. Out."
"But I just –"
"Out."
Scrub scrub scrub.
Spit.
xXx
Study – Go
"You're taking a long time"
"I'm thinking." He sees the look on her face and glowers. "Don't say a word."
"Did I say anything?"
"You don't have to. I can read your mind."
He picks up a piece, moves it tentatively, then finally clunks it down. He doesn't look altogether happy about it. She is watching, with the ghost of a grin.
"If you can read my mind, then what's my next move going to be?"
"Don't push it." He takes a swig of Sparky. "I prefer to use my unique powers for Good rather than Evil."
"Really. Well, that's a relief." She grins wholeheartedly and places her piece. "Your move."
"Yeah, yeah." His expression is distinctly sour. "Gimme a second."
A second passes. Actually, a number of seconds. He has his chin balanced on his hand, eyes darting over the boards, frowning. She waits expectantly. After a while, she yawns.
"Do I have time to get a coffee?"
"Are you deliberately trying to break my concentration?"
She shrugs.
"I was just wondering if –"
"Trance!"
She grins. He narrows his eyes, then a new awareness catches up with him.
"Oh, I get it. This is so unfair. This is a test, isn't it?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it a test, as such…"
He groans.
"Oh, man. That's just cruel. Blow me outta the water why don'tcha."
"You don't have to take it so seriously you know."
"Well, I wasn't taking it seriously when I thought it was just a nice social game…"
"It is a nice social game – it also just happens to be –"
"Part of the study, right." He's grouchy now. "And are you ever gonna let me in on why you want to study the fact that I'm terrible at Go?"
She purses her lips and says nothing.
xXx
Study - Tolerance
Weld weld weld. Stop. Lift the goggles.
"Come on out, Trance. I can't see you, but I know you're there, so just…"
"Hi."
"Yeah, yeah. What is it this time – checking my concentration levels under work conditions?"
"Not if you don't want me to."
Sigh.
"Okay. Fine, sure. Just…y'know – stand clear of the sparks."
"Sure."
"Oh, boy…"
Flick back the goggles, snap switch and flame on.
Weld weld weld.
xXx
He thinks the problem is him. He just can't seem to lighten up around her, be himself like he used to.
He just didn't think a new hairstyle and a funky new outfit could make her seem so different, but…well, it's still her. He can see more of her midriff these days, but it's still her.
It must be him. He must have had one of those flaring panic attacks that affect your brain. She hasn't changed, he tries to keep reminding himself, except she has, and he can see it –
He legs seem longer. She holds herself taller, or maybe it's her hair, all piled up like that. Her cheekbones are sharper, more defined – everything about her is more defined. And the leather bodice…enough with the leather bodice, enough with the leather, leather anything –
Ahem.
He can't help it, it's a turn-on, sure. Only he can't help feeling like he had more of a chance when she was purple.
xXx
She thinks it's probably her. She knows, she thinks she's learnt from the mistakes she made then and she can't afford not to be impartial now, when she really has a chance to change things for the better, only –
It doesn't matter. It's just for study, for research. She needs to know more about human reactions, the nuts-and-bolts of human-ness…while she realises that each element is different, maybe this time she'll have a better basis to predict outcomes.
Outcomes are so important. Even if the rest of the crew doesn't realise it yet.
She wonders if he realises. If he's figured it out – some of the hints she's dropped, things she's said. Too cryptic, maybe. He's not really the most sensitive crewmember on board, but he knows her, maybe a little better than most.
She wonders if he can see past the hair, the gold, the outfit. See her insides. Purple secrets.
xXx
Study - Parts
Unloading crates from the Maru to the hangar. She knows what's inside them – she was there when he bought the parts. He tugs on a grey handle.
"Help me with these?"
"Sure."
Heft and carry in unison.
"So how come you got to do the parts trading this time? I thought Beka was supposed to go."
"She was."
"You just wanted to go for a joyride?"
"Kinda. I just thought I'd give her a break."
"A break from what?"
He pulls hard and slides the crate into position, gives it an amiable slap.
"Look, Beka can haggle okay – actually, she can haggle better than okay, she just hates haggling with Romoly."
"Because he's a hard bargainer?"
"C'mon, Trance. You saw the guy…"
She peruses the stack of crates, casts her mind back.
"Big. Hairy. Ugly teeth. Twelve fingers."
"Okay, you're observant. So did you observe the way he was looking at you?"
"I was looking at the parts."
"Well, while you were looking at the parts, Romoly was looking at your…parts."
"He was ogling me?"
Her vaguely shocked look makes him grin – the fact that she's surprised at all makes him surprised in turn.
"He has an extra eye for that express purpose. I thought you said you were observant."
"So, Beka doesn't like being ogled."
"It kinda depends on the company, but when it comes to Romoly, Beka gets a touch of ogle-itis."
"And you wanted to spare her."
"Sure. She hates it, and I can bargain with the best of 'em, so…why not."
"That's very considerate of you."
"Well, I'm a considerate kinda guy."
She pauses over a container, makes a show over which way to slot it in.
"But it didn't bother you that Romoly ogled me…"
He blushes dutifully, but he's already thought about it.
"Hey, you didn't even notice. Plus, I know you deal with it better."
"Plus, with Romoly distracted…"
He grins and waggles his eyebrows.
"I drive a pretty hard bargain, huh?"
xXx
Study – Basketball
She watches him play one-on-one with Dylan for nearly an hour. She taps in a note every time he makes an intercept, or runs a move, or shoots. It's distracting.
He fields a couple of curious looks from his captain, returning a 'don't ask' expression each time before trying to re-focus on the game. But finally even Dylan finds it a little off-putting and retires early, leaving Harper ruing the raincheck and bouncing the ball absently, practicing his shots.
He looks at her sideways.
"Well, this is fun."
"I don't know why you stopped. I was just starting to understand the rules."
"I'm happy for you." He shoots, and the ball slides through clean. "Trance, I'm a little confused."
"What are you confused about?"
He bounces, and then holds the ball on his hip as he frowns at her.
"Well, for a start, what has this got to do with my immune system?"
She hesitates. He thinks he can see her brain moving fast.
"Um…energy outputs…cross-multiplied over the course of the study. I'll have to, um, get your medical readings…"
"Uh-huh." He turns and shoots cleanly again, then collects the ball. "Okay. Enough with the research. Your turn. Put down the clipboard."
"What?"
"Here. Take a shot."
He walks over and hands her the ball. She looks thoroughly taken aback.
"But I don't understand the –"
"Nothin' to understand. It's easy." He takes the clipboard out of her free hand and drops it with a small clatter, then walks over to take point. "Stand here, throw the ball – into that hoop."
She moves to the spot. Her face is very uncertain.
"So, I just, uh, aim and –"
"That's right." He watches her assume a shooting position. "Wait – open your stance a little –"
Without thinking, he puts his fingers lightly at her hips to angle her. Her reaction is an immediate stiffening, and he pulls away abruptly.
"Uh, just…give it a try."
She squares off, but she's obviously rattled. The ball leaves her fingers, bounces off the rim hard and ricochets to the corner. She seems shocked that she missed.
He shrugs, still trying to figure out what just happened.
"Don't worry about it. Next game."
There's a pause, when neither of them looks at each other. She collects her clipboard, he collects the ball. By unspoken agreement they leave from opposite doors.
xXx
Study, interrupted.
He's sitting on the Obs deck with a beer. She's got her flexi with her but she's not tapping on it. A good sign.
"So, this study thing…do we get any downtime?"
"There's only four more days left."
"No, I mean, do we get a break – y'know, some non-observational moments."
"Well, we've passed the half-way point, so…"
"Time out, Trance. I was hoping for a fun-filled evening of not being under surveillance."
"You're getting tired of it."
"Well…yeah. How about you?"
"A little." She pouts and thinks. "A whole evening."
"Yeah." Tantalised by the idea now. "A whole evening."
"Would you give me a verbal report of what you did tomorrow?"
"Absolutely. Anything."
She sighs.
"Alright."
"Outstanding." He grins and raises his beer. "You won't regret it. And I promise that this week I'll be the best behaved observational test study subject you've ever had."
She puts her flexi down.
"So, have you got any plans for your fun-filled evening?"
"Not really. Get drunk, maybe."
"That doesn't sound too ambitious."
His puckish grin again.
"What can I say – I'm easy to please."
She's curious now.
"So what would you usually do?"
He frowns.
"I dunno." Suddenly realises. "Probably go to machine shop or…hang out with you."
"Oh."
They both raise their eyebrows at the thought. Look at each other. Then he reaches for another bottle from the modest collection at his feet.
"So…you wanna get drunk and hang out with me?"
She accepts the bottle smoothly.
"Sure."
They sit on the Obs deck for two and a half hours, talking. She doesn't regret it at all.
Until later.
xXx
This is difficult. It was never supposed to be this difficult. She was supposed to be a detached observer, uninvolved, but he's making it complicated.
That's not true, he's not making it complicated, she's complicating things for herself by reacting. Where is her equanimity?
She remembers the way she looked at her younger purple self, before that self walked into the oblivion of the future… She remembers the set of her own golden face, the expression of older-wiser superiority. A smugness, almost. I won't make your mistakes. But she's making the same ones all over again. Will she never learn?
That's the whole point of the study, it's supposed to be about learning – learning more about human beings through him, learning how to second guess, learning to avoid those errors of judgement.
She refuses to think that her current choices might make that horrible future she's seen and experienced a continuous repeating loop of pain… It's too unbearable to contemplate.
She has to get a grip. She can't afford to get distracted again. No matter how sweet he is, talking drunkenly to her plants in Hydroponics.
xXx
Study - Detachment
"Unh…"
He groans, rolls over, and falls off his cot, landing on an alloyed manifold casing and a collection of old-fashioned ball-bearings.
"Again, unh… Ouch. Ah, geez…"
"Good morning."
He squints around the interior of machine shop and stops at a pair of golden-brown eyes.
"…if you say so."
He scratches through his hair.
"How you goin', Trance?"
"Fine."
"Fine…fine. 'Kay. Great. Oh, man, that hurts…"
She says nothing.
"Well, don't go all sympathetic or anything on me, Trance…" He sits up in a nest of blankets. "God, my head is killing me… Andromeda, please, lights to sixty-five percent."
The lights in machine shop dull. She observes the change, then puts her head on one side, watching him.
"You seem to have a hangover."
"Actually, I think I have a 'someone please hang me'-over, which, for your information, is the same only worse."
She just blinks at him coolly. He gives up, staggers to his feet, stumbles to the closet-sized 'fresher off the side of the workshop area. Sounds of water splashing, some groaning and spitting. He emerges towelling his face blearily.
"Okay, I'm up." Walks over, only to plonk again on the cot. "Belay that. Gimme a second."
"Would you like an analgesic?"
"Would I like… Trance, c'mon. What's up with you? A few hours ago we were talking about why you called your aspidistra Franklin, and now you're asking me if I want an analgesic? Gimme a break."
She lifts an eyebrow and says nothing.
"Okay, okay…I really am up. Man…"
He rubs his eyes and rummages.
"What time is it?"
"0918 hours."
"Ah crap." He pulls off his filthy t-shirt and exchanges it for a not-quite-so-filthy one, modesty not so much forgotten as ignored. She watches him sling on his tech-belt and boots. "Rommie's gonna kill me…which may be an improvement on how I'm feeling now… Ah crap."
Fumbling for tools, glancing over his shoulder.
"So, did you, uh, watch me?"
"Watch you?"
"While I was sleeping…"
"No."
"No?"
"You said no surveillance."
"Uh, right – yeah, I did."
"I had other things I had to do."
"Oh. Other things. Okay." He drops something with a clatter and winces.
"You have a headache."
"Headache, yeah. Pretty common symptom of a hangover, actually."
"Are you sure about the analgesic?"
He walks over and peers into her face.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Trance?"
"Pardon?"
"Ah, forget it…" He sighs. "I gotta get going."
She rises to accompany him.
"Now what?"
"I'm coming with you."
"Oh, right…I get it." There's a bitter taste in his mouth. "The fun-filled evening's over, huh?"
She refuses to alter her expression.
"Before you start, I need your medical work-up. Follow me."
He looks at her strangely. She hears a mnemonic echo.
Follow you? I don't even know you…
He snorts, and it's gone.
"Sure. Whatever. Let's get this over with."
xXx
He's confused now – what's up with her? Now here he is, just starting to get the feeling that they were really getting communal or something, getting closer, breaking down some of the ice between them, and bam, it's back to 'Follow me, Harper", and "I need to check the sensor readings, Harper", and "Would you like an analgesic, Harper?". Damnit, she's as slippery as a fish.
He's not asking for much, he doesn't want – that's a lie, he doesn't expect, expect is a better word – he doesn't expect any major personal transformations, but a little consistent chilled-out friendliness would be nice.
But it's weird. He can't put his finger on it, it's like she wants to relax but she can't, or won't let herself. Clues – funny looks. Smiles, when she thinks he's turned his back. Strange questions, and even stranger answers. Things she doesn't say, doesn't do. Stuff she avoids doing, in fact.
He's getting this feeling, this gut feeling, this something-not-quite-as-it-seems feeling. Which is kinda normal in all things Trance-related, but still…
He wonders how her experimental theories are coming along, 'cause he's starting to develop one of his own.
xXx
Study - Repairs
He sees her in med-deck again – no choice in the matter. She twists a new gel pack around his bicep before giving him a shot.
"Ouch."
"There. That should settle things down, but you shouldn't get it wet."
"No shower?"
"No shower."
He rolls his eyes.
"The perfect end to a perfect day."
He flexes his right arm experimentally. The electrical burn arcs from his thumb all the way up the soft inner skin to the elbow. His wrist and thumb joint feel tight and sore.
"It's itchy."
"Good. That means the skin's knitting together."
He grimaces.
"I still gotta fix the internal defences on Deck Nine."
"Tomorrow." She hesitates, then puts a hand on his shoulder for emphasis. "You need to get some rest. I think the crisis is over, but if the Ogami come back for another attempt we need you rested and ready."
He nods. She looks at him carefully.
"How's your headache?"
He grins weakly.
"Y'know, with all the life-threatening excitement I kinda forgot about it."
"Go rest. I need to check on Beka."
"I'm gone."
He slides off the examination table for the second time that day and heads for the door.
"Harper?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll see you in bed."
Sudden turn, double take, eyes wide.
"What?"
"The sensors…"
"Oh. Oh, yeah. Sure."
She grins, she can't help it. Just makes sure he doesn't see.
xXx
Study - Losing Focus
Scan scan scan
"That should do for now. Thank you."
"No problem. Can I ask a question?"
"Sure?"
"Are you really getting anything good out of this observation thing? 'Cause I feel like -"
"I've already got lots of useful information."
Which is true.
"Oh. Okay. And you really think it will help? I mean, even if I could just avoid getting Corellian 'flu every season, I'd –"
"It'll help."
"Oh. Okay. Cool."
Pause.
"Can I ask another question?"
"Sure."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm examining the variations in skull and skin density –"
"It feels kinda like a head massage…"
"Like I said, I'm examining –"
"Yeah, I heard you. You're a phrenologist, now? 'Cause I thought that went out of vogue a long time –"
"Alternative therapies still have their uses in a whole variety of situations."
"Sure."
Pause.
"Mm…"
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"I think I'd better stop now."
xXx
Okay, that's it. He is now totally and officially suss.
xXx
It's true – phrenological examination, while no longer in the contemporary medical sphere, still has a wide variety of uses in clinical…
Oh fine then.
This is a lapse, but she can get around it. It's nothing to worry about, and perfectly understandable – they've been in close contact together for a protracted period, and they've become over-familiar. A minor fault in her professional demeanour is really quite forgivable. She can reassert her detachment and recover her calm, in spite of the fact that he has very soft hair.
Damn.
xXx
Study - Conduit crawling
Moving and splicing and working and talking, all very fast.
"Hey, Trance, look, I know you're still 'observing' me and everything, but I think with the way things are going with the shooting outside, it's just not a good ti-"
"I know. I'm here to help you repair the wiring."
"You are? Okay – great. Handy, too, huh? Here, hold this."
"If you want the connection reconfigured I can –"
"Nah, just – there. Touch those two together."
"Here?"
"Watch the feedline. Hold on, I need to open the panel –"
"Harper, the firewall is disintegrating –"
"Ah, crap. Pull the coupling out – no, the EMG."
"That's it."
"Trance, don't touch the –"
Sparks, and a red tingle from her fingers up to her shoulder. She hardly realises she's hit the back of the conduit until she feels his hand between her head and the metal.
"Ah, Jesus – Trance? Trance, come on –"
"Oh…"
"It's okay, it's okay – geez, you scared the crap outta me. You're not dead – that's good, that's great. Are you hurt? We can get you to –"
"No, it's all right – I'm fine."
"Show me your hand – no burn, okay, that's good -"
"Harper, Dylan needs those sensors –"
"Yeah, screw the sensors for a second. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Eleven."
"Funny. Are you sure you're –"
"I'm fine. It was just a shock." She pulls herself to sitting gingerly.
"No kidding – I mean, I do it to myself a dozen times a day, but I'm used to –"
"Harper, the sensors –"
"Oh, right. Sure, just… Stay there, okay? Gimme a second…"
Alarms stop pealing.
"There, and…there."
"You did it."
"I did." He crabwalks back. "Now tell me again how many fingers."
She laughs shakily. "Four. I told you, I'm fine."
"I can't believe you didn't even get a burn – show me again."
She does. He squints over her open palm, rubs his thumb across a faint blush in the centre.
"Damn. Wish I could do that. Hey, you know you have a really long lifeline –"
She swallows and tucks her hand away quickly. A shake in the conduit announces another alarm, and she looks around.
"We'd better get back to Command."
"After you, Oh Impervious One."
He extends a hand, and she leads out of the crawlspace. He grins, just makes sure she doesn't see.
xXx
She thinks…she thinks this isn't a setback, she can work with this, really, she can. She just has to be totally completely utterly detached and composed and removed and…
He doesn't know her, he can't see inside her, she can claw back the ground she's lost, and in a few days it'll all be over and they won't be in such close contact and things will return to normal. Normal normal normal.
xXx
He's got this idea now, for his own little study, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, the idea isn't as far-fetched as he originally believed, but he'll have to push her buttons a little bit, get her to let her guard down, only he can't for the life of him figure out exactly how to do it without making her angry. He doesn't want to do anything to hurt her or freak her out, because that wouldn't work, that would be counterproductive…
Really, he's just a little bit damned confused. What he'd like is a little honesty mixed into the equation, he really doesn't see what's so freakin' hard about that, and frankly he's kinda peeved that she doesn't seem in any way inclined to deliver any. So he just needs to rattle her cage, just a teensy bit, and see what falls out – only there's the question of how to do it.
As it turns out, he didn't really have to do anything.
xXx
Study – Impossible: it all comes undone
This isn't the first time she's done this, so he's familiar with the routine, if not entirely comfortable with it.
"Lift your shirt, please."
"Um, sure."
Crystal sensors go on at three places, measuring heart-rate, breathing, and internal organ functions. Her fingers feather over his midriff and his skin goosebumps deliciously – he drops the hem of his t-shirt like it's suddenly grown legs.
"Done?"
"Just the ones at your temples."
"'Kay."
He's sitting on the chair beside the bed, she's kneeling in front of him, peeling the sensors out of their flexi-pack, face expressionless, and the weight of making this all seem so normal hanging heavy on her shoulders. She tries chit-chat.
"Late night, then."
"Yup."
She doesn't sigh, but he reads her face and takes pity.
"Had to do some work on the weapons array. Those Ogami fighters whacked the hell out of us."
"I know."
She's concentrating on the sensor positions. She smoothes back strands of hair at his temples.
"You think you can sleep?"
"Sure. I've been patching up for nine hours – I think I could probably sleep in a conduit."
"Well don't do that again."
Her voice is soft. He snorts, and looks twenty years older.
"Not if I can help it."
"There…is that comfortable?"
"Sure."
She stands.
"Okay, then. I'll see you when you wake up."
And out she goes, just like that.
Only to run back in again, four hours later, when his heart-rate and breathing spike dramatically, to find him gasping and gagging, fallen out of bed in a tangle of sheets.
"Ah, god –"
"Harper – Harper it's okay, it's just a nightmare –"
"I know that, goddamnit –"
Wiping his eyes with his hand angrily, pushing her away. She stumbles back, the tsunami of hurt in her chest so completely unanticipated.
"Ah, Jesus…"
He sits on the bed, trying to get his breath back, hands in his hair, eyes closed until he opens them and realises.
"Ah, crap. Trance – Trance, I'm sorry, I was just –"
"No. It's fine. I'll go – I mean, I was –"
"Trance - please, don't go, I didn't mean to –"
Rising to catch her arm, she turns and her face is down. He's angry with himself now.
"C'mon, Trance…it's okay. I didn't mean to – y'know, I had this intense nightmare and –"
He lifts her chin.
"Oh – hey. Hey, geez, don't… Trance, I'm sorry, okay? Please don't…"
Now she pushes away – what has she done? - wet cheeks a testimony to her mistake, turning her back to try and regain her composure. She's screwed up, but if she can get herself together there's still a chance to put things right.
Then he quick-steps around to face her, and whatever opportunity she had is gone.
"Trance…" He frowns. "Trance, why were you crying?"
A thousand Arcturian curses on him for making this so impossible.
"Because…because I got the sensor readings and I thought…I thought you –"
His eyes narrow, playing along, calculating.
"You thought I'd been…attacked or something…"
"That's right. I thought you'd been –"
"Nah. That's not it."
He's got her measure now and his heart is beating fast, and he really can see her insides. She holds very still.
"You cried, Trance. You cried. I pushed at you and you –"
"No. I thought you were –"
"Hey, I've got this crazy idea, y'know? This experiment I'd like to try –"
She stumbles back, but he matches her step for step, expression intent.
"…say if I put my hand here, and I come in closer here…"
He suddenly realises what she's wearing – she's come straight from her quarters, in a white shift and long robe, and her hair is down, a twisting red curtain either side of her face. He swallows, but he's come this far and it's too late to turn back now.
"…see, I have this little theory of my own, about the way you and me have been acting with each other since you came back all new and improved, and this whole aloof 'let's keep our distance' thing just hasn't been quite gelling with me, but y'know, I think I figured out why…"
He's so close now she can feel radiant heat, and she's paralysed, she can't tell if she's steeling herself or dying with anticipation, his voice low and scared.
"…and y'know, I think this might be why."
And he inclines his face and both their eyes close – through a haze, she remembers that for him, this is the first time they've kissed. And his lips are dry and soft and faintly trembling, and she sinks into his mouth without another conscious thought as his quiet gasp makes her shudder. His hand at her waist scrunches the fabric convulsively, her fingers slide up his arm to his neck, and it's not until the momentum starts to become frenzied that she gasps and pulls away, out of his reach, pulls her robe together, eyes wide.
"I –I've –I've gotta go…"
She runs out, and he's left sucking his lip where her taste is still strong, bringing his breathing back under control, watching the door close in her wake.
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
xXx
She's sitting in the easy chair in her quarters with her feet drawn up underneath her, staring at the plants ranged along the low table in front, and trying to come to terms with the monumental disaster she's just created.
If she hadn't started the study…if she hadn't chosen him as a subject…if she hadn't ignored all the warning signs…
If she'd only been more honest with herself this would never have happened. She should never have gotten so involved, gotten so close –
Close.
She thinks of the feel of his hand at her waist, the way his fingers bunched the fabric…she shivers, and realizes that she's hugging herself in unconscious mimicry. She drops her arms and picks her nails instead.
Okay. She made this mess, now she has to clean it up. Emotional housekeeping. So now…
Now what?
xXx
He's lying on his bed again with the sheets pulled up and an arm under his head, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
It wasn't like it was planned, or staged. She just…and he just…and then they…
He takes a deep breath and touches his bottom lip, thinking. Thinking makes him shiver. He stops thinking, tries –
Nah, he can't stop thinking.
He didn't mean to freak her out. He didn't mean to – actually, he doesn't know what he meant to do. He never thought that far ahead. Sure, he thought about kissing her, what it would be like, but…
It was like being consumed by fire.
He takes another deep breath.
He never thought about the aftermath. So they kissed, and she ran. So now…
Now what?
xXx
He sees her in the corridor, which is good, but then she bolts for her quarters, which is bad, so he stands outside the door, trying to sound harmless.
"Trance…"
No response.
"Trance."
Not a murmur. He keeps tapping the 'com.
"Trance. Trance. Trance, c'mon." Try wheedling. "Trance…"
The intercom light flares briefly.
"No."
It's better than nothing, but he's still flabbergasted.
"No? No what?"
"No nothing."
"No nothing? Trance, c'mon. I just wanna –"
The door slides a bare inch. He can see a sliver of gold and a nervous eye.
"I said no. Can you please –"
"Trance, I only want to talk."
"And I don't."
He puts his hand at the opening of the door.
"Trance, please, I just –"
His fingers jerk back hurriedly as the door slides shut.
"Ah, for cryin' out loud…" He goes back to the intercom, takes a breath and tries a new tack. "Trance, we can have this conversation through the bulkhead if you really want to, but with half the crew walking past at any given time, it might not have quite the same sense of privacy as if you just –"
The door slides open. He peers through tentatively, then walks into her quarters, which he finds unnervingly tidy. Funny he never noticed before. Except his mind isn't really on it – she's standing in the middle of the rug with her arms crossed.
"Yes?"
This is just as unnerving.
"Uh, hey…" He had something rehearsed, but it's dribbled away. He's taken aback by her attitude. "Just, uh, relax, okay?"
"I'm very relaxed, thank you."
"Really. That would explain why you're gritting your teeth."
She says nothing, but uncrosses her arms in a show of relaxedness. He thinks breaking the ice might be a good idea.
"Trance, don't you want to –"
"I have something to tell you."
"What's that?"
"The study I've been conducting had nothing to do with your immune system."
This is coming out of left field. He squints at her.
"Come again?"
"The study. It wasn't about your immunity."
"Really."
His expression has flattened out dangerously, but she presses on.
"No. I mean, I did get some useful test results, but…it wasn't about that. It was completely secondary."
"Ookay. So…you weren't trying to make me better…"
"No."
"Right." He's thinking that this is a distraction. A good one, but still. "So, what was it about, if you don't mind me asking."
"I can't tell you."
"You can't –" God, the woman is frustrating. "Look, I didn't come here to talk about the study, I came to –"
"I'd like you to leave now."
"Excuse me?"
"I think it's best if you go now."
He's been coming to a slow simmer, but her last comment brings him to the boil. His face darkens and his lips thin, and he takes a step forward – then stops, as he catches her expression. Something funny going on… He narrows his eyes, soft-voiced.
"Trance, are you trying to make me angry?"
Her eyes dart up quickly and he feels a triumphal swell. Bingo.
"I think you should go."
"I don't think so."
Step forward again slowly. She's trying to stand her ground and managing to do a pretty convincing job – he might be fooled if he wasn't looking at her eyes. He speaks low and quiet.
"You want me to be angry with you."
She shifts nervously.
"How you feel is entirely up to you."
Another step.
"Trance, you've been studying me for two weeks, I'da thought you'd be able to predict my responses a little better than this."
She's frozen as he steps closer again. If he wasn't listening intently he would have missed her whispered reply.
"Me too."
He's a handsbreadth away, feeling the intense pull of imminent contact like a pain. It's an effort to keep it all low-key.
"So what am I going to do now?"
She blinks hard.
"I don't know."
"That's right."
The temptation to kiss her again is almost overwhelming, but he can see the fear in her. He doesn't know what it is that's holding her back, but he wants to play this nice and easy. He leans forward, enough to bring his lips to her ear, and whispers soft.
"Your move."
He closes his eyes - her scent is making him dizzy - backs off, turns and leaves.
She's left swaying, her housekeeping plans in ruins.
xXx
Next time, she comes to him, easing into the workshop quietly. It's not until he pops up from behind a workbench that he sees her. He puts down what he's holding slowly, doesn't want her to spook. But she's calm, collecting herself on a breath.
"The study…the study was about human responses and reactions to stimuli…"
"Stimuli?" His quiet reply is completely innocuous, with a wealth of undertone.
"Non-specific stressors, general life experiences, task-focussed tests…"
"Task-focussed tests… Like playing Go."
She sighs out a deep breath.
"Like playing Go."
He regards her calmly.
"Why the study, Trance?"
"It's complicated."
And it is, apparently, because she's wringing her hands. He decides to unburden her a bit by not going into it.
"Okay. So – why me?"
"I…I had an excuse. And I had greater access to you." She stumbles on, apologetic in tone, getting caught up in her explanations. "We've known each other for so long – I mean, we had a connection –"
Straying too far.
"A connection -" A nova-bloom in his brain, and his face suddenly changes. "A connection."
Uh-oh.
He looks unsteady, and his voice comes out a little hoarse.
"Trance, look me in the eye and tell me we never kissed before two nights ago."
She looks distraught. But there's nothing to give except the truth.
"I'm…I'm sorry."
For telling him? For how he feels now? She's breaking rules, and she's not sure of her own motivations anymore.
"When?" He looks like he's had the stuffing knocked out of him.
"A long time ago…in the future. One future."
He sits – he looks like he needs to sit.
"You didn't tell me."
"I'm telling you now."
He shakes his head – feedback headache – trying to separate the concepts of then and now. Finally he grins lamely and presses on.
"Okay, so what, you don't want to revisit the ex? What was it terrible, did we fight all the time or something?"
"No. No, it was…wonderful."
This almost completely unmans him. He feels like he's limping.
"But you…don't want to get involved…"
"It's complicated."
That word again. His spine straightens.
"Try me."
"It's too dangerous."
"It's dangerous? What, it's dangerous for you to –"
"For me…" She chews her lip.
"How?"
"Last time…when we were… I lost focus – I-I got distracted…"
"Distracted." The thought that he could be responsible for distracting her in that way is unnerving.
"Yes."
"And this was bad."
"Yes. For everybody."
"What happened?"
"I can't tell you."
Frustrated again… He sighs and rubs a hand through his hair.
"Okay…let's just refresh here for a moment. We – you and me – have or had a thing sometime in the future, and now you don't want to take the plunge – again – because you're worried that potentially bad things might happen – again. Maybe."
She nods.
"In a nutshell."
He winces.
"Trance, don't you think you might be crying over milk that hasn't even been spilled yet?"
"Maybe. Maybe I want to make sure that it never…gets spilled."
Even she can see that it sounds bizarre. He stands up, throws up his hands.
"Well, that makes sense. Just live your whole life in fear of something that might never happen."
That's my existence, she thinks for a bleak, brief moment. Then she gathers herself, firm in her purpose now.
"Better that than the alternative."
"Which is?"
"Living through it all over again."
He closes his eyes and sighs again, a grimace twisting his features. He understands, really he does – I mean, he can get String theory, he can get this. But it's just so… God. His internal umpire is screaming 'foul'. She's standing a scant two steps away. He closes the distance and reaches up tentatively, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers.
"Jesus, Trance… Is this really so bad?"
She's torn. Her face is lilting into his hand, but her brain is saying something else entirely.
"No," she says softly. "But I already told you, it's dangerous."
"Why?"
"I…can't tell you."
He pulls away sharply, appealing to her and to the heavens both.
"Ah, for pete's sake – what, the Magog attacked again? The polar stars collided? The Ogami found their brains?"
"No –"
"Then what?"
She swallows hard.
"You died."
Check and mate.
xXx
Overall, she thinks he's taking it remarkably well.
He was avoiding her for a couple of days, which was good – well, she's not sure if it was good, as such…actually, she's not sure what's good and what's not, at this stage. But for a couple of days she had a little distance, a little time to think, which was…helpful.
Well, probably helpful.
Well, maybe not completely helpful, but certainly it was nice to have a bit of distance. Only they'd been spending so much time in each others' company it felt a little strange, to not be around him anymore, which was kind of ridiculous, because they'd really gotten a bit sick of each other after nearly two weeks, only his absence made things seem a little…
Well, it was very quiet.
Anyway – distance. She had a chance to catch up with her plants, some of whom appeared to be suffering from neglect.
She knew that it might take some time for things to get back to normal, and she was absolutely right – it took three days before he reappeared from the conduits, and no, she hadn't been looking for him, but when she saw him in the briefing, apparently quite his unconcerned regular self, she did feel a certain relief, and maybe a certain pang of…something, which she could have imagined, which she really didn't want to go into, or examine in any great depth, which she was sure would fade politely away given a little time and effort, particularly if they can just stay focused on relating to each other in the same even, relaxed, normal way, which is the way it should be after all…
So. She's taking it remarkably well. And everything is going smoothly, and they're smiling at each other in corridors, and then –
Then she gets the note. It's a handwritten note, attached to a Dionesian cactus in a small terracotta pot which magically appears on the table in her quarters, and the note says,
I don't believe in density.
xXx
He's in the workshop when she marches in. She's brandishing the note. He's welding.
"You spelt it wrong."
He stops what he's doing, pushes back the goggles.
"And hello to you too. What's that?"
She frowns dangerously.
"Don't be coy."
"Now, you'd know if I was being coy, 'cos I'd be fluttering my eyelashes."
She thrusts the note under his nose.
"You spelt it wrong."
Which isn't the point, but she's starting with the basics. He peruses the paper for a second.
"Hm, nice handwriting. But no, actually, I think that's pretty much how you spell it. Density – D-E-N-S-I-T-"
"You gave me a cactus," she says, bristling.
"I did?" He grins, readjusts the goggles and picks up the welder again. "Gee, that was pretty nice of me."
She has to speak louder now, over the noise.
"Harper, I thought we already –"
"Pardon?" He stops for a second. "Trance, look, I don't wanna be rude, but if I don't finish repairing this injector it's gonna be my butt. Can we talk later?"
He resumes. She fumes, then walks out.
xXx
They don't talk later, because she doesn't go anywhere near him for about two days.
On the third day, she's pruning in Hydroponics and when she folds back the broad emerald leaves of her favourite miniature palm, she sees a bundle of dirty white. The bundle is heavy, and fits in her hand.
She picks it up like it's an unexploded bomb, flicks back the rag wrapping – there's a knife in her hand, lying in a blanket of ozone-scented cloth. The short blade is dark, a hard-edged alloy, but the handle is exquisite – carved green stone of some kind, jade, or maybe chalcedony. It feels warm against her skin when she touches it.
She purses her lips. She's a connoisseur of knives.
She sighs and reaches for the inevitable note.
Anatomy isn't destiny.
Anatomy – he means poor, weak, frail, human, mortal. And then the fact that the word could be interpreted as being deliberately suggestive. She doesn't know whether to frown or grin.
She tests her thumb on the knife, and finds the honed blade to be already quite sharp.
xXx
This time he's in the conduits, which means that she has no choice but to hunker down and scramble into the crawlspace with him. He has a string of wires between his teeth, but spits them out on her arrival. His fingers keep working.
"Hey, Trance, what's up?"
"This."
She wields the knife in front of him with barely contained frustration. He rears back.
"Whoah, watch where you wave that thing. If it touches a feedline, you'll get a –"
"Harper, what is this?"
"Well, I'm not totally sure, but –" The edge of the blade comes perilously close to his nose. " – actually, yep, now I see it better I think it's definitely a knife."
"I know it's a knife, Harper. What I want to know is why I found it in Hydroponics."
"You found it in Hydroponics? What, did it grow?"
"No, it didn't grow. It was a gift."
"A gift? Who gave it to you?"
She's practically grinding her teeth now.
"Well, considering that it was wrapped in one of those disgusting rags from your workbench I pretty much assumed –"
"You know, I think I read somewhere that knives are bad-luck gifts. They're supposed to mean that you –"
"Harper!"
"Trance, did you know that when you get angry you get these cute little frown lines right near your eyes?"
She stands up indignantly, and bumps her head on the top of the conduit. He looks on, interested.
"Hey, watch out for the roof. You okay? You want me to check that for you? It might be bleeding or something –"
When he makes to stand up she scampers away.
xXx
This is wooing.
It's not a game – definitely not a game, it's too important for that – but it's about strategy.
He knows she'll never suffer a direct approach – tried it, didn't work – and he has a few ideas now about the way her mind moves.
So this is how it goes, like a great spiral, contracting circles spinning closer and closer… Tempt and release. Tempt and release. Like a riddle she has to figure out for herself. Like a heartbeat, blood rushing in then ebbing away, then again, rush and ebb, getting stronger now…
Inexorable momentum.
He gets shaky, he gets nervous sometimes, thinking about what he's doing. He's never wooed a woman before. I mean, he's never really attempted a relationship before.
Then he thinks about the days he spent contemplating life without her, trying to convince himself that it would work, that she was right, that it was too risky…
The hell with that.
xXx
A day later, she gets another offering – a burnished clip of metal that would look wonderful in her hair… She must be crazy.
The note reads Distraction: diversion, thing that diverts the mind, amusement, relief from over-absorption. She examines his handwriting – it's not copperplate, bit it's surprisingly neat. Left leaning. She wonders where he got the old-fashioned pen and ink.
The words are, once again, worrisome. He's paraphrasing heavily – she knows that the same dictionary entry includes 'interruption, confusion, perplexity, internal conflict'. Not to mention 'frenzy, madness'.
This is madness – she shouldn't even be contemplating it. Is he completely oblivious? Or just supremely unconcerned about his own well-being? What about her well-being? She never wants to go through grief like that again...
But his persistence is wearing her down. And she had so few defences to begin with…
xXx
He's been thinking a lot about the things he really wants.
He's had plenty of time for thinking, because he's been almost constantly working, and while he always keeps one part of his mind on the job at hand, there's another calm little part of him that's actively engaged in thinking.
About what he really wants.
He used to think he'd never throw his life away on something that didn't bring tangible returns – money, power, babes, for example – but obviously the last few years have blown that theory completely to the wind, because he wouldn't still be here on this damn ship if that were true.
He used to think he'd settle for just one of the things on his wishlist – so babes, for example, or money, or power – but he's realized over the last little while that his heart's desires have subtly altered, and he's not as venal as he's always encouraging people to believe.
He used to think he'd pretty much settle for any woman who'd have him, who'd put up with him, and certainly, after a few drinks, he used to think there was an armful of candidates at any of the multitude of bars he's frequented while on r'n'r.
He used to think…he used to think a lot of things. Now his vision has narrowed. Now his vision is laser-pointed.
What he really wants.
The last time he wanted something this badly, he'd walked in through the doors of the biotech clinic, scrounged cash and hat in hand, and they'd shaved the side of his neck… Time after that, he'd watched the exhaust dust settle as the Maru landed, and let Beka size him up with her eyes… Time after that…
There's only been a couple of times like that, but he recognizes the symptoms. Clenching in the gut. Having trouble remembering to eat. The little tremble in the fingertips.
What he really wants. Who he really wants.
It's not about possession. It's desire, like a craving, and he realized some time ago that he's had it all along. Like a fire in the belly. Like a slow exhale. Like a giddy rush…
Like –
No, don't say it. Bad luck to say it.
And if it involves a sacrifice, as she pointed out, that's only to be expected.
At this moment, he doesn't really care.
xXx
There's no space to talk for nearly two days on account of the Ogami attacks. Then they manage to snag a moment in the reactor chamber, doing emergency repairs together.
Naturally, they argue.
"Clippers –"
"In my pocket – no, the other one. Wait – can you snip this?"
"Here."
"Thanks." He fiddles, then pulls back his fingers when sparks fly. "Yeow. There. Honest to god, sometimes I think this ship is only held together with spit and my fused skin."
She glares sideways as she works.
"You take too many risks sometimes."
"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow. "Wanna gimme some examples?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Trance," he mutters as he pulls off a panel, "some things are worth the risk. You should have figured that out by now."
"And the presents? And the notes?"
"Just dropping a few hints." He catches her eye for a moment. "I think you already know how I feel."
She's trying to focus on the circuits in her hands.
"Seamus, we already had this conversation. And we agreed that –"
"Actually, we didn't agree. You agreed." He has dropped all pretence of working now. "I'd really like to know where you got this idea that we agreed on anything."
She abandons the circuits to meet him head on.
"You're not being fair! I told you – I told you what it is that I'm afraid will happen and you just won't –"
"What might happen, Trance – it might happen. We might get together and I might die some horrible death –"
"That's right!"
" – or, alternatively, I could get blown up by the Ogami tomorrow, and it wouldn't make a scrap of goddamn difference!"
"It would make a difference to me!"
Her taut face stops him dead. He swallows and reaches out to touch her cheek. She doesn't back away, she's too busy trying to marshal herself. His voice is gentle.
"I know, Trance…I know."
"You know," she says softly, "but you don't understand."
This is true – he can't comprehend what she constantly copes with, the pressure of knowing what's ahead, all the possibilities, trying to divert destiny, each step a potential disaster, and so much out of her control… He speaks quietly.
"I understand that you came back to set things right. And that you're a different person from the one I knew before…"
She nods, blinking hard into his hand.
"…but Trance, you're the one with the chance to change things. You've already changed so much yourself…doesn't that kinda make you think that things could work out differently?"
She puts her own hand over his, then pushes it away, a heaviness darkening her feature.
"If it were just about us…but the Andromeda? The rest of the Commonwealth?"
God that's too much to handle. He bites on his lip, feeling a desperate sadness rising inside, swallowing it down. She watches his eyes, her voice a thick whisper.
"I have a job to do, Seamus. I can't lose focus on that."
He's running out of witty comebacks.
"Would it help if I tried to be as undistracting as possible?"
She drops her head, then sighs heavily and retrieves her tools from the grille floor.
"I have to…work upstairs…"
Without looking at him, she turns and heads for the ladder.
He watches her climb for a moment, catching a flash of her leather chaps as she ascends. He grins weakly.
"And she thinks I'm distracting…"
But it really isn't funny anymore.
xXx
She thinks sometimes that this load is too much for her, too much to bear. Her vision of what's to come has been clouded for so long, and she so much wishes for everything to go right –
She thinks about him, turning his form over in her mind, contemplating strengths and weaknesses. His humour, in the face of so many trials. His mind, like a jewel. His unabashed ego, and his stubbornness – perverse, to the point of self-annihilation. He applies it in his work and calls it perfectionism. It's never been a trait she's particularly admired – but doesn't she display the same quality herself, at times? Her work, the attainment of perfect possibilities. And the sacrifices she's made to achieve that goal…
Uncountable as the stars.
xXx
In command and under attack, she's focussed on what she's doing – what she's always doing – when Dylan orders a report. The vidscreen blips and resolves, the vibrations of the ship shaking the camera, so that Harper's face trembles slightly as he waves away smoke and grimaces.
"Ah, lemme see – today, we have a lovely selection of fried wires, with a side helping of trashed circuits, and a piquant dressing of melted plastic. We follow this with a glamorous dessert of –"
"Mr Harper –"
"Look, Boss, in a nutshell, I can get you sensors and stabilised weapons array, but the AG fields on nine, eight and twelve will be –"
Which is when Rommie calls incoming, and there's rocking, and an explosion of sparks, and the conduit feed turns into white noise.
And Trance hardly realises she's in the corridor, running, until Dylan catches up with her and they collide together at the down-ladder, and he helps her over the last part, where the rungs are just twisted metal. She shoves away a collapsed section of the shaft with one bare hand, and then finds that she can't move forward, she just can't move at all, so Dylan pushes past her gently, and examines the wreckage and calls Harper's name…
…and there's a weak cough from behind them, they both turn in amazement to find him pulling himself out from under a fallen strut, grinning lopsidedly, blood in his hair and down his neck, but basically in one piece. He looks a little dazed.
"Hey guys."
She grabs his arms as he stumbles out, scanning with her eyes frantically, not trusting herself to speak. He stares, cocky in shades of wan.
"Trance, babe – whatcha doing here?"
She's still holding tight to his arms.
"Sit."
"Ah, so caring." His grin is distinctly off-kilter, as she brings them both to ground level. "People will say we're in love."
She blinks, and releases her grip with an effort, reaching for her medical scanner.
"You have a head wound. We should get you to med-deck."
"Hey, I'm fine…" Trance and Dylan share a look, and Harper rolls his eyes. "…but outvoted. Okay, sure whatever. Med-deck it is." He sees something in her face then, at last, and squints at her. "Are you okay?"
He's asking her if she's okay… She swallows hard.
"I'm fine." Her quiet confession is a peace-pipe. "You scared me."
"Oh." He blinks at her and grins unsteadily, as a neat line of blood trickles quietly out of his nose. "That's okay – I, uh, scare me a little sometimes too."
She watches the blood and feels her stomach suddenly curdle. …Or I could get blown up by the Ogami tomorrow… A glacier turns over slowly inside her heart.
"Help me," she motions to Dylan quickly, "help me get him up…"
"Really, I'm okay –" Harper slurs, and he staggers a little then and stops talking so much and they get him to med-deck and everything is fine, he's fine, she's fine, we're all fine here thank you very much, and it's a fine, fine day.
xXx
No more panic stations – the emergency is over, for the time being. It's late, and she was in Hydroponics for hours, making repairs of her own, sifting soil back into spilled pots and generally cooing reassurances.
Now, for some reason, she's returned there, the warmth and humidity making her loose hair curl and the fabric of her nightrobe go soft.
She sighs. It's relaxing – sitting in contemplation, sitting still. She's watching the bonsai grow. She was about to do a little pruning, but her hand had stopped at the sight of a new green bud unfolding from the vee of one withered branch. She thinks little of it, until the door chimes softly and Harper wanders in.
"Hey."
She blinks at the sight of him. He's still in the loose clinical sweats from med-bay, and he still looks dazed. She keeps her voice soft, in deference to his headache.
"Hey…what are you doing, you should be in bed –"
"Yeah, I know. I was. I got bored."
He wanders closer and she grimaces.
"Harper, you have a concussion."
"I know, I know…I'm a terrible patient."
He toys with the clippers on the bench, looking so boyish, so vulnerable. She has to smile gently.
"But still my most regular one."
He grins and shrugs.
"Can't stay away."
They run out of things to say for a moment. He nods at the bonsai.
"How're your plants?"
"They got through all right."
"Glad to hear it."
He's trying to smile, bit it's an effort – he winces, pales, and she immediately rounds the bench to help him to a stool. She brushes the hair at his temple, tenderly exasperated.
"Seamus, what are you doing…"
"Told you – can't stay away."
It's a throwaway, but he means it. She sighs wearily.
"This is crazy…"
He catches her eye and exhales heavily. He looks tired, he is tired, but he'll go right down to the wire if that's what it takes.
"No – it's not crazy, but I don't have the energy right now to keep trying to convince you. Not if you don't wanna be convinced."
She looks at him, feeling the familiar warmth his blue gaze generates. She wonders how long she'll be able to keep stomping on her own emotions for the sake of the common good. Forever is a long time.
I do want to be convinced.
He should be able to read that in her face, and more besides.
"I'm afraid," she whispers.
He stiffens. He feels a gentle flame ignite, and clings to it.
"It's just fear, Trance. We've all got it, trust me. Actually, no, don't trust me. Just…trust yourself."
Can she trust herself? To do it right? To make the right decisions, given the second chances she's been given? She has to believe that it's possible to hope for the future, this future, in spite of all her dreadful experiences of what's gone before…
He stands up then to go. Let it settle, let it ride.
"Trust yourself, Trance."
His energy deserts him – so much for poignant exits. His head jolts and he lists and reaches for the bench. Stood up too fast…ah crap.
She makes a grab for his arm, frowning again.
"Seamus, you should –"
It's like electricity.
The contact sends a ripple through her, which she suddenly recognises for what it is. Underlying the physical sensations, the emotional reactions – there. Optimism. Future threads stream away as her unique gift kicks hard into life, and she knows, she knows the way…
It can work, she can make it right, and the right path is…
She looks over suddenly to the bonsai, to the tiny teardrop of green on what she thought was a dead branch… She hears Harper's voice through a haze.
"Trance?"
"I'm-I'm okay…" She looks into his face, still sorting out this epiphany. But her reaction time is better than it used to be. She nods at him slowly. "I'm great. And you should go back to bed."
What did he just see? She's suddenly more vibrant, more golden somehow, and he knows that something has happened, he's in a Moment… Forget the concussion, forget everything – he sees the fire and swallows hard, and grabs for his courage and holds out his hand.
"I'll go if you'll come with me."
She blinks, and then she's beautiful, like a flower opening, like a sun emerging from behind clouds, as she slowly relaxes, smiles, and he gasps like a swimmer who's risen to the surface as she pauses, then reaches out tentatively, more confidently now, sliding her fingers across his palm, the frisson of contact as she takes his hand.
"Alright."
And it's not complicated at all.
Fin