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"Fate really has it out for you, huh."
Minkowski grits her teeth, glaring down at the fallen piece of equipment that's lodged in her leg. "Yes, yes, I should probably stay away from maintenance at this point, I get the point. Now help me and get this thing out."
Lovelace looks at her with big, concerned eyes. "Renée, you've got to take care of yourself. We're less than a month away from Earth, don't kill yourself before we evenget there."
"Lecture me when this thing isn't stuck in my thigh.
"Alright, alright," she mutters. "Count of three."
"OK," Minkowski says through huffed breaths, "the count of three.”
"One."
"One."
"Two."
"Tw- AGH! Shit! Lovelace!"
Lovelace lifts the scrap metal up further and Minkowski scampers out from under it, huffing and clutching her thigh. It's not that deep, it'll be fine with maybe two stitches and some bandages. It probably won't even leave that bad of a scar, but it pisses her off. They're supposed to be done with this. Jacobi and Eiffel- Doug- was supposed to be the one here. Oh, God, why does this Doug also have to keep screwing her over on accident? Screw him and his day off.
"Sorry," Lovelace says without an ounce of remorse. "It's easier when you're not expecting it."
"I know, I know." Minkowski presses her palm into the wound. Everything in her leg feels too hot. "Could you get the first aid kit? There should be one in the storage closet down the hall."
"'Yeah. I’ll be right back."
"Don't get distracted," she calls, almost as a joke.
The thirty seconds Lovelace spends gone is like torture. The pain isn't that bad. She's worked though worse, she's recovering from worse. It just pisses her off so badly. This is supposed to be over. She's supposed to have ended it.
But she is back quickly, just as she promised, and Minkowski knows because she's watching the clock.
Lovelace doesn't waste time with small talk or comfort. She unzips the bottom part of Minkowski's pants so they turn into shorts and roll them up enough to find the wound.
Minkowski can look at it just fine, but she winces when her friend and comrade wipes the antiseptic over it and pulls out gauze and bandages.
"You alright?"
She doesn't even look at Minkowski, but it's the sentiment of care that strikes her in the heart.
"Fine. Fine. As Eiffle says," she huffs, "it’ll buff."
Lovelace snorts. "God, I forget he used to say that."
"All the goddamn time. AH!" She grits her teeth and when Lovelace apologizes again, her chin starts to wobble.
No. Stop it. She will not cry, damnit. The pain's not even that bad.
"Make sure it doesn't get infected," Lovelace mutters. "Remember Daniel's bullet wound? He did not take care of it properly, and now he's reaping what he sowed."
"Where the hell is Jacobi, anyway?" She tries to think about how angry she is at him rather than how much Lovelace's touch hurts something in her chest. She's not used to it. It's only supposed to be this way-
It's only supposed to be this way with Dominik.
She squeezes her eyes shut, but not until after one tear could slide down her face.
They don't talk about it. They don't think about it. The nights Minkowski climbs in with Lovelace and they huddle so close together they might as well climb inside one another entirely. She doesn't think about the way Lovelace kisses her forehead, pets her her hair when she can't sleep. She doesn't think about how Lovelace doesn't even seem to need anything from her. She doesn't think about how guilty it makes her feel.
But she can't say anything. That would be admitting that this is something. And then they'd have to think about what that something is.
So she doesn't and she won't.
"Daniel's dealing with some comms stuff. We got a message last night- he didn't tell you?" Lovelace shrugs.
"Damnit, Jacobi,” she hisses. Lovelace taps her knee to let her know she's done wrapping it up, and Minkowski looks down at it. Shit. Trying to stand doesn't come any easier than she thought it would, and she wobbles around unstably.
"It's Daniel now."
"Hm?"
"We're not- I'm OK with Isabel. And he's OK with Daniel, and Doug is Doug. And Miranda-" Lovelace twists her mouth to stop her anger from leaking out. "She's Miranda."
Minkowski runs a hand through her hair. Renée runs a hand through her hair.
"I'm sorry. Isabel. I'm... still getting used to it."
"It's alright," Lovelace- Isabel says mildly. "We'll figure it out as we go along. Right?"
Right.