Tristan on Mira

a/n: Lila the OC had just about the best dream ever. Oh, waiiiiiiit ...

Indulgent fluff. Possibly one swear, some innuendo (ya think?). Spoilers to Ch. 5.

All the good stuff belongs to the geniuses of Monolith Soft, and in massive magnificent quantities. Lila is mine, scrabbling in the shadows.

She needed to track down the members of the mimesome dev team in charge of special builds and buy them a beer. She needed to buy them a house. She needed to start a movement to give them a ticker tape parade and then put them in charge of restoring the city of New Los Angeles. They might not thank her for giving them the huge task of establishing the colony of possibly the last precious remnants of humanity. But if those kids were in charge? The phrase "we are screwed," so accurate in describing the current situation on Mira, might take on a radically different import. A positive, brilliant, shining meaning. Because she knew, she just knew that she would feel unending optimism about her future if the people that were guiding the ECP were the same ones that had sculpted and programmed Jack's …

The alarm sounded in the early morning light, a mechanical bleeping that faintly resembled an annoyed chicken. Lila Brown slapped it into silence and curled inward on her sofa. She pressed her face into the throw pillow resentfully. It wasn't fair that she had to wake up. She'd just had the first good sleep in weeks, no waking in the small hours. She probably could have slept for another hour. Then her alarm decides not to malfunction. It could at least have let her finish that dream.

Her eyes flew open and she inhaled so deeply, she practically lifted from the sofa. She sat bolt upright, mouth open, but no whisper of air left her lungs. Her breath trembled on her lips, before finally leaving her body in a low, slow gasp.

It hadn't been a dream. Last night, she'd … they'd … Jack had been here!

She lurched to her knees, scanning her office somewhat wildly. It was exactly the same: door, shelves, desk, vid screen, couch. Rug.

Oh mercy, what had she done? It had been so … She waited for her brain to fill in the answer. "Foolish" would work, or "selfish". Or maybe just "wrong". Those words lay sleeping and far away. Right now, all she got was one word: "magnificent". It echoed across her skin.

She slumped and covered her face in her hands. "Magnificent" was pretty accurate when it came to describing Jack Vandham, head to heels. So, yes, she needed to write a nice thank-you note to the mimeosome team. Granted, they'd had a spectacular model to base everything on. Jack's mim frame had been custom designed, matching his original size and shape. No slim and boring body for him. Back on Earth, he'd needed that special model, and to her secret satisfaction, she hadn't been deprived of the occasional view of his massive shoulders and arms and every other drool-worthy aspect. It was reasonable to assume that every part of him had also been replicated, out of aesthetic balance and simplicity. Also, out of fear that the Chief would track them down and kill them.

"Lovely". Another word offered itself. And it really had been lovely. His hands were exactly as strong and gentle as she'd imagined. She'd wondered about them, quite a lot, over time. Once, on the Whale, they'd been working together to replace vent shields. Finicky, frustrating work. The contractor on Earth had used the wrong coating, and the things tended to shatter if you so much as looked at them wrong. She'd watched him strip a tiny but stubborn nut from a panel using only his fingers, then press slowly against the shield until it loosened and fell into his hands. She'd felt a rush of gratitude that he was keeping them all safe. But she was ashamed to admit that she had also felt incredibly jealous of the Whale.

Now she knew. Even as she smiled, she pressed her hands harder against her eyes. The first tears were starting. The word "wrong" was sneaking forward. Because he was too good.

They'd been lying so close, and Lila hadn't been thinking about anything but holding him closer, when he'd done something that had almost killed her. He'd stopped and pushed her away, just a fraction. She couldn't swallow, so frantic and afraid she'd become. If he said he was sorry or that they were making a mistake, she'd probably have to die right there. He'd said her name, then asked her ...

"Say yes, Lila."

Those words, taught to every recruit, she'd learned them too, years ago. You never, NEVER, began an encounter, without getting clear, verbal agreement from your partner. They'd sort of skipped it, out there in the station courtyard. Well, they weren't teenagers, Jack was one three times over, and she was following hard. He actually had jokingly asked, verbally, for that first kiss, although he hadn't asked for the sort of kiss she'd delivered him. The second kiss was agreed to also, but only non-verbally, and everything after that had been completely non-verbal. She wasn't sure she'd managed a real word since they crashed through her office door, almost hitting the floor then and there.

And there they were, on the thread-bare industrial carpet of the station office, him looming over her, her with both hands gripping his shoulders (those amazing shoulders) and he chooses that moment to ask. To make sure. And to let her know, she could say "no" and he'd do what she said. This man, he was going to kill her. He'd break her heart, she knew it, because he was too good.

She hadn't cared anymore. She'd said yes, couldn't say it fast enough, and then her heart had stopped again, as she felt another thing, pushing through her brain and over her lips. She couldn't tell him how she felt about him, he didn't deserve to be burdened with that, but she could ask in turn, let him know how much she valued his respect, confirm how deep her admiration was. "Say yes, Jack."

Then he'd said yes.

Lila rubbed her eyes and stood up from the couch. Well, it had happened, and she couldn't go back. She was somewhat alarmed to realize that she didn't even want to, even knowing what was likely to happen. It had dropped onto her like Jia Mian, the Beloved, starved and relentless, and she wouldn't fight it even if she could.

Her comm device lit up, and she swiped it open reflexively.

"Brown. Lila. You awake?"

Another breath rushed into her lungs, and threatened to never leave. She gulped quickly. "Yes. You?"

"A while now. I wanted to say good morning. Because of leaving so early. Sorry about that."

She shook her head slightly. "It's okay."

He dropped his voice to a gentle rumble. "You okay?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"Okay does not even begin to cover it, woman."

"Same here." A smile hid behind her lips. One that was only for him.

"Good. I'll see you as soon as I can, get that?"

"Yes, sir. Have a good day."

She closed the device, only to have it buzz before she could set it down. As soon as I close my eyes. She closed her eyes in turn, and knew exactly what he meant.

It was like gravity. The Ma-non could make it do tricks, but all she could expect was to keep falling, until suddenly she wasn't. Maybe the landing wouldn't kill her. Lila smiled suddenly, without any restraint. Mira was different. Maybe the fall would never end.

a/n: …had sculpted and programmed his hands! That's what I was going for. I don't know what else it it it could be, okay? Lila & swearing: she was dreaming, so I'm not counting it against her; you cannot be held responsible for what your unconscious says. Opinions differ as to that being a swear in the first place. Lila would count it as one, though.

Also, for strict accuracy, Vandham said, "Hell, yes." Can I mention how much I want the "say yes" call and response to become a thing? It'll show up in another story line later in the spring.

The title: I've read too much medieval poetry. It can work in space, if you change the nouns. (Does this make the ECP King Mark? Will someone please draw a picture of Vandham as Iseult? … Send help.)

Wrote this up because I had a longer, unpublishable piece (apparently fuel invoicing discussions can melt the internet, who knew?) with some otherwise good bits, and also because of timing. If I'm right, the next chapter should hit on Valentines Day, and we need fluff on that day above of all others.

Next up: We return you to your previously scheduled chapter. Date 2.0, same level of fluff, more conversation. Does Jack find pink flowers? (Short version: no.)