Chapter Text
She was speaking, but he couldn't hear her. Her lips were moving slowly and he just watched them, bitten and reddish. She was smiling. The colour lit up her cheeks like a drop of substance in a reagent, and when it did spread she opened her eyes, her gleaming eyes of an unknown, yet beautiful and beautifully intense hue. She whispered again, and he understood, not hearing the words, just a murmur and a sigh. Contact. He felt bare in anticipation. There was a flicker of light, like the sun, like back home, and there were fingers, light touches on his shoulders and arms and, and... his whole body was on fire, her eyes shining so bright, the light overcoming, swallowing him and-
He woke up. Elias opened his eyes.
The sweat stuck to his forehead leapt away in beads as he shook his head. He was getting colder, his body losing heat in now open sleeping pod. Not looking down, he touched his abdomen and swore under his breath. Slightly warm and sickeningly sticky. Gross. That's what he was, a disgrace. Getting off on his superior.
He froze. When was the last time he had a wet dream? Things like that didn't happen, and he was happy that they didn't. This was new, though he didn’t feel like investigating. Usually he saw a more familiar face. Usually he heard a laugh, so delicate and careless, it was hard to believe his sister was now lying somewhere, her life suspended in a fabricated sleep. He untangled from the pod straps and fisted his hands.
It was hard to decide which image was more awful. He knew that the subconscious would pull images at will, using faces he was familiar with, people he felt strongly towards. It wasn't hard to avoid it, technically speaking. He masturbated every now and then to keep the distractions away. He preferred to refer to the feelings as distractions, even though it was mostly guilt. Repulsive, tormenting knot in his gut whenever he woke up dirty after seeing Olga's face. And now, Lovelace.
Even when the dreams were blessedly clean, dreams of his sister were never pleasant. Dmitri remembered her as a child, crying when she saw her scars for the first time. Later, Olga developed a habit of tracing burnt flesh of her left arm when she was thinking about something. She stared out of the window and touched patterns on her skin. It made her jaw unlock and the fire in her eyes subdued from an inferno to the warmth of a candle or a fireplace. She would then turn to Dmitri and ask him about school or something similarly irrelevant. She knew he didn't care about anything else. Nothing was more important than Olga.
Elias - he was Elias now - floated to the small bathroom cabin, ignoring Rhea's beeping. Was she trying to joke? Laughing at him? He decided not to care. Cold air hitting his soiled skin was all the punishment he could allow. There was no time to waste on self-pity, when there was someone waiting for him down on Earth.
***
It was late afternoon, Canaveral time, when Lambert found Dr. Selberg in the terrarium. Dr. Selberg didn't realize that he'd been found, per se. He was far too caught up in his own thoughts to piece together the clues and realize that this was the culmination of weeks of Lambert passive aggressively fuming, followed by a less-than-productive discussion with Lovelace, and finally several days of searching for the perfect moment when they were alone to begin the conversation. All Selberg knew was that Lambert was fixing him with an intense stare and clearing his throat loudly.
“Officer Lambert?” Elias gave up on any attempts to ignore the other man. Lambert had a way of making himself difficult to ignore. “Is everything fine?”
“No it is not!” Lambert replied immediately. “Things are not fine at all. Military code is clearly outlined in section 17, subsection 22, corollary 35b of the Protocol for Officers and Crews in Deep Space. Just because it's not as well known as Pryce and Carter’s other work is no reason to let this station become a - a -” Lambert paused, clearly overcome, “bawdy house.”
In response, Selberg raised an eyebrow. “This is a matter for Captain, no?” He instantly regretted his words. Usually he enjoyed finding excuses for Lovelace to visit his lab, even if she'd only be coming by to make him pay for sending an irate Lambert her way. But he'd avoided Lovelace at breakfast, barely making eye contact with her and responding to her morning cheer with monosyllabic answers. He wasn't ready to face her yet.
Lambert's already high pitched squeak rose several octaves. “I talked to the Captain! She told me to go away! She said Fisher needed help with the catalyzer on the port compression coil.” His volume, as well as the speed of his words, increased rapidly. “Fisher said that part doesn't even exist! I tried talking to Fourier about professional conduct, but she wouldn't stop giggling. Doctor, you have to do something!”
Selberg nodded gravely, inwardly relieved. At least dealing with Lambert was guilt-free. “I see. Is very serious concern. Please explain problem to me? But in English?”
Lambert attempted to compose himself, a process that seemed to involve a lot of regular breathing and moving his shoulders. With a ceremonious air of finality, he spat out only one sentence. “Captain Lovelace needs to stop flirting with you.”
It was rare for Selberg to find himself at a loss for words, but visions of his recent dream seemed to be getting in the way of coherent thought. “Ah.” Rather than answering, he devoted himself to giving the terrarium a thorough visual inspection, checking that none of the snakes were in striking distance. One couldn't be too careful, after all. Finally satisfied, he returned to the matter at hand. “So, Captain is flirting with me? You are sure?” He tried to keep composed expression as he spoke, tried not to remember exactly what he'd imagined her lips doing last night. “We cannot proceed with incomplete information. Details are vital.”
“Dr Selberg.” Lambert crossed his arms over his chest. “Captain Lovelace is your superior officer -”
“Technically, I am civilian,” Selberg interrupted.
Lambert glared at him and continued. “Captain Lovelace is a superior officer to most of this crew. Pryce and Carter specifically mention the effect on crew morale -”
“The crew, they also notice? This flirting?”
“They do! You can deny it all you like, but the situation is painfully obvious to the rest of us. I was talking to Hui and Fisher, and Fisher said that Lovelace's intentions were - and this is a direct quote - ‘not honourable’. And Hui agreed!” Lambert punctuated his statement with an assertive motion of his fist. “They said we should leave things to work themselves out, but I can't do that. Not when you're aiding and abetting this flagrant disregard for the rules!” Lambert gave Selberg a moment to respond, but the doctor was too busy considering the implications of ‘not honourable’ to defend himself. With a huff, Lambert continued. “She's got you distilling lab alcohol for her birthday party! Do you know how many regulations that breaks?”
To be fair, Lambert was probably right about the regulations regarding lab ethanol. But Lovelace looked like a sad kitten when she'd asked him to brew up something nice for her, and they'd both known there was no way he was going to refuse her. Besides, getting his crewmates drunk was hardly the worst rule Selberg was planning to break on this trip. In the end, Selberg shook his head in what he hoped would pass for a conciliatory manner. “I am glad you came to me.”
Lambert visibly brightened. “Really? I mean, of course! You're going to take care of the matter.”
“Yes, Officer Lambert, I will take care,” Selberg answered dryly. “But you should go, before python strangles you.” Lambert looked startled and gave a quick glance around the room, as if only now noticing his surroundings. “Is joke, officer. All snakes here are venomous, not constricting. No need for worry.”
Surprisingly, Lambert did not seem encouraged by hearing this. He made a hasty goodbye and left Selberg to his thoughts. Which was good. Selberg had a lot to think about.
***
Alone in his pod, Selberg considered Lambert's statements. Perhaps the man was wrong. Lambert was wrong about so very many things. But he had said that the whole crew had noticed, and that included Hui, Fisher, Fourier. Good minds, there.
Feh, how could anyone even even tell? English was a cudgel of a language. Not made for flirting. No wonder crass Americans liked it.
Still. If she had been flirting, then his dream was - was different. Not a disgrace. Maybe she had dreams too. Dreams that he was in. He could imagine her, strapped into her sleep pod, moans that sounded almost like laughter. Fingertips and eyelids twitching, the only external motions of a scene playing out deep inside her head.
His erection strained against the fabric of his pants and he reached down a hand, felt calloused fingers on soft flesh. It was a familiar rhythm and he let himself fall into the sensation. This time, though, Lovelace fell with him. She was there, more than just a face and a smile. He could feel her touch, memories from every time she'd brushed against him in a corridor, her hand soft on his shoulder, each contact burned into his skin, leaving a warmth behind. He closed his eyes. For the first time, he imagined his hand as another's. What would it be like? He adjusted the angle to give in to something else than his familiar grip. Her mouth pressed against his, lips caught between teeth, pulling softly. Playfully. All while he thrusted into her hand. Her voice, whispering against his ear, encouraging him to unwind...
He moved slowly, not wanting this to end. When he finally came with a gasp, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, his hand on his softening cock. For a moment, he stayed with his fantasy Isabel.
And then, once again, he was alone.