Chapter Text
1,147 days since computer breakdown. 932 days since Miller died. 240 days since Earth stopped communications.
The ship hummed its constant lullaby—life support cycling, filters whirring, the gentle thrum of artificial gravity generators buried somewhere in the walls. Tori had stopped hearing it a long time ago, the white noise as invisible as oxygen. What she did hear was the tinny dialogue spilling from the mounted screen in the common area, Julia Roberts laughing at something ridiculous while Richard Gere smirked like he knew exactly how charming he was.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jade said from across the room, not looking up from the tablet in her hands. She was perched on one of the supply crates they’d repurposed as seating, stylus moving in quick, precise strokes across the screen as she logged… what? Temperature readings? Oxygen levels? The same numbers she’d logged yesterday and the day before and every day for the past three years?
Tori didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “What?”
“Pretty Woman again?” Jade’s voice dripped with disdain. “That’s the third time this week.”
“It’s Tuesday. That’s only twice.”
“It’s Thursday.”
Tori paused, thumb hovering over the remote. Was it Thursday? Time had this annoying habit of blurring together when every day was exactly the same. Wake up. Eat freeze-dried something. Stare at the walls. Pretend they weren’t slowly dying. Sleep. Repeat.
“Fine,” Tori conceded, settling deeper into the worn couch cushions. “Third time this week. It’s still a good movie.”
“It’s corporate propaganda disguised as romance.”
“It’s a fairytale.”
“It’s a rich man buying a woman and calling it love.”
Tori finally looked over, catching the sharp angle of Jade’s jaw as she frowned at her tablet, dark hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. Even now—1,147 days into their unplanned forever—Jade managed to look put-together. Her standard-issue jumpsuit was zipped to her collarbone. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, showing off her tattoos. Meanwhile, Tori was pretty sure she’d been wearing the same shirt for three days straight.
“God, Em loves this movie,” Tori said, more to herself than to Jade.
Jade’s stylus paused for half a second. “They have terrible taste too?”
“They have excellent taste, thanks.” Tori grabbed the blanket draped over the couch arm and pulled it over her legs. “But they’d probably think I was crazy for watching it three times a week.”
“I could’ve told you that.”
“You have told me that. Many times.”
“I just want to make sure you know that it’s clinically insane to watch the same movie, three times a week, for three years straight.” Jade’s attention returned to her tablet.
“It’s not my fault it’s the best of the twenty movies we have,” Tori muttered.
“Twenty-three,” Jade corrected automatically. “And that’s only if you count Miller’s documentary about Antarctic penguins, which I don’t, because it’s unwatchable.”
“Twenty-two, then.”
“I’m also not counting the—”
A sharp beep cut through their argument. Both of them froze.
The comms panel on the far wall had lit up, green light pulsing in the dim room like a heartbeat. Incoming transmission. Tori’s stomach did that stupid lurch it always did, even though she knew, knew, what came next.
Neither of them moved.
The audio crackled to life, voice bleeding through the static. Mission Control, probably. Or what used to be Mission Control. They’d rebranded themselves as the ISS Liaison Office six months ago, shuffled the deep space missions to a different department, probably stuck them in a basement somewhere with flickering fluorescent lights and broken coffee makers.
“—confirming trajectory calculations for Station Alpha—” a woman’s voice, professional and distant, “—resupply launch scheduled for oh-nine-hundred hours GMT—”
Tori watched the light pulse. Green. Green. Green.
They weren’t Station Alpha. They were the crew of the Athena, a glorified research vessel that was supposed to have spent four years studying solar radiation patterns in high orbit and then come home. They were supposed to have been home six months ago.
The transmission continued, something about cargo manifests and personnel rotations, information that had exactly nothing to do with them. When it finally clicked off, the silence felt heavier than before.
“Cool,” Tori said flatly. “Glad Station Alpha is getting their supplies on time.”
Jade didn’t respond, still staring at her tablet like the numbers there were suddenly fascinating.
This was how it had been since the computer system had catastrophically failed three years ago, taking their navigation, their outbound communications, and almost all their hope of going home with it. They could receive transmissions just fine (lucky them) but couldn’t send so much as a distress signal back. They’d been waiting three years for a transmission to say rescue was coming. That they hadn’t been forgotten.
But Earth had stopped trying to reach out to them eight months ago.
So as far as Earth was concerned, the Athena had gone dark. As far as Earth was concerned, they were probably dead.
Maybe they were. Maybe this was just a really boring afterlife.
“You know what I miss?” Tori asked, mostly to fill the quiet.
“Indoor plumbing that doesn’t sound like it’s screaming?”
“Well, yeah. But I was going to say hot cocoa.”
“We have hot cocoa.”
“We have an approximation of hot cocoa. We have sadness is a silver packet.”
Jade made a noncommittal sound. On screen, Richard Gere was doing something romantic, probably. Tori had lost the thread of the plot somewhere around the comms interruption.
She pulled the blanket tighter. The ship’s environmental controls kept the temperature steady at a comfortable 22 degrees Celsius, but she was always cold now. Probably psychological. Probably because space was right there, just beyond the hull, endless freezing and waiting.
“You could help me with this, you know,” Jade said, still focused on her tablet. “Instead of rotting your brain with movies you’ve memorized.”
“Yeah, but remember the last time I helped you recalibrate the CO2 scrubbers and you threw a wrench at my head?”
Jade’s expression didn’t change, but Tori caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Almost a smile. Closest thing Jade did to smiling, anyway.
“You deserved it for turning the wrong valve.”
“It was an accident!”
“You almost vented our oxygen into space.”
“Almost being the key word,” Tori stretched, joints popping in a way that made her feel ancient at thirty-two. “Besides, you didn’t even aim for my head. You aimed for the wall behind me. Your threatening gesture was fundamentally non-threatening.”
“Next time I’ll aim better.”
“Looking forward to it.”
This was comfortable, Tori realized. Not good, exactly—nothing about their situation qualified as good—but comfortable. Familiar. They’d hated each other for the first year and a half, all sharp edges and barely concealed contempt. Tori talked too much. Jade was an obsessive control freak. Tori was too loud. Jade was too cold. Tori didn’t follow protocol. Jade followed protocol so rigidly she might as well have been a robot.
And Miller, god, Miller, had been stuck between them, playing mediator like his life depended on it. Which was ironic, considering.
Tori shoved that thought down before it could take root.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced, swinging her legs off the couch. The blanket pooled on the floor and she left it there, too tired to care about tidiness. That was Jade’s department anyway.
“It’s only twenty hundred hours,” Jade said without looking up.
“And?”
“That’s early. Even for you.”
“Yeah, well.” Tori ran a hand through her hair… when had she last washed it? Two days ago? Three? She headed toward the corridor that led to their sleeping pods. “Not like I have anything better to do. Maybe I’ll have dreams about actual hot cocoa. Or pizza. God, I’d kill for pizza.”
“Noted. I’ll add it to your epitaph.”
Tori flipped her off over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. She heard Jade’s quiet exhale, not quite a laugh, but close enough.
Her pod was exactly as she’d left it: small, sterile, containing a narrow bed, a built-in desk, and a storage locker that held her clothes and a photo of Em she couldn’t bring herself to look at anymore. She didn’t turn on the light, just stripped down to her underwear and crawled under the regulation-thin sheets.
Through the wall, she could hear the faint hum of Jade still working in the common area. Probably cross-referencing readings that didn’t need cross-referencing. Probably inventing tasks to avoid thinking about the fact that they were alone out here, drifting in high orbit, waiting for their life support to eventually fail or their food stores to run out or—
Tori closed her eyes and thought about pizza instead.
Pepperoni. Extra cheese. From that place in Brooklyn that Em loves, the one with the brick oven and the surly owner who always gave them free garlic knots.
She thought about that until she finally fell asleep.
1,148 days since computer breakdown. 933 days since Miller died. 241 days since Earth stopped communications.
Tori had been looking for the good scissors for twenty minutes.
Not that there was a meaningful difference between the “good” scissors and the regular scissors, they were all standard-issue medical shears from the same supply catalog, but she’d labeled one pair “good” in her head and now she couldn’t find them and it was making her irrationally angry.
She’d checked the med bay twice. The supply closet. The junk drawer in the common area where they kept the miscellaneous tools that didn’t have a proper home. Nothing.
Which meant Jade had them.
Of course Jade had them. She always had them. Probably using them to cut precisely measured strips of duct tape or trimming the edges of her meticulously organized supply labels or some other obsessive task that absolutely did not require the good scissors.
Tori stomped down the corridor—well, walked with purpose; stomping wasn’t really possible in the artificial gravity—and stopped outside Jade’s pod. The door was closed, which meant nothing. Jade’s door was always closed. Privacy was sacred to her, boundaries were law, personal space was a religion.
Tori had never been particularly devout.
She hit the door panel and it slid open.
“Hey Jade, do you know where the—”
Her brain stuttered to a halt.
Jade was on her bed. On top of the sheets. Still in her jumpsuit but with it unzipped to her waist, the arms floating around her hips. Sports bra visible, the same gray standard-issue that Tori wore. Eyes closed, face tilted back slightly, lips parted. Jade let out almost-silent whimper as the hand down the front of her pants moved in a rhythm that was—
Oh god.
Oh god.
Jade’s eyes snapped open.
For one horrifying, frozen moment that felt like it stretched into eternity, they just stared at each other. Tori’s eyes wide and mortified. Jade’s eyes wider and equally mortified.
Tori’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Oh my GOD I’m so sorry—”
“GET OUT!” Jade’s voice cracked on the second word, face flushing crimson—actually crimson, the color spreading from her cheeks down her neck—as she yanked her hand away and scrambled to sit up, nearly falling off the narrow bed in her haste.
Tori fled.
The door slid shut behind her and she pressed her back against the corridor wall, heart hammering like it was trying to break through her ribs and make a run for it. Her face was on fire. Her whole body was on fire. She was going to spontaneously combust right here in the hallway and that would be better than facing Jade ever again.
“Oh my god,” she whispered to the empty corridor. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”
She’d just— Jade had been— and she’d just stood there like an idiot—
The door panel beeped. Locked from the inside.
Right. Good. Perfect. Jade was never coming out of her pod again and Tori was going to live on her own now. This was her life. This was fine. Everything was fine.
She pushed off the wall and walked quickly, not running (definitely not running because running would mean acknowledging the full extent of her mortification), back to her own pod and shut herself inside.
The good scissors could stay lost forever.
/ / /
Dinner was excruciating.
They had a routine, established somewhere around day 150 when they’d finally stopped actively trying to kill each other: Jade cooked on odd days, Tori cooked on even days, and they ate together in the common area because eating alone felt too much like admitting defeat. Like admitting that they really were just two people slowly dying in space with nothing but recycled air and freeze-dried food and each other’s company.
Today was day 1,148, which meant Tori’s turn, which meant rehydrated stroganoff that tasted like regret and had the texture of cafeteria paste.
Jade appeared at exactly 18:30, as always. Took her usual seat at the small table that folded down from the wall. Accepted the bowl Tori handed her without making eye contact, fingers careful not to touch Tori’s.
“Thanks,” Jade muttered.
“Yep,” Tori said.
Silence.
The kind of silence that had weight and teeth, that pressed down on Tori’s shoulders. She pushed her food around with her spork, trying to think of something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make this worse.
Sorry I walked in on you masturbating felt both necessary and impossible.
So, interesting afternoon, huh? was immediately squashed.
Hey, should we address the elephant in the room, by which I mean your hand in your pants? would probably get her murdered.
Jade ate mechanically, eyes fixed on her bowl. Her jaw worked with each bite, muscle jumping under skin.
“So,” Tori tried, voice too loud in the quiet. “How was your—”
“Don’t.”
“Okay.”
“We’re not talking about it,” Jade confirmed, voice tight.
More silence. Tori could hear the ventilation system, the soft whoosh of air being filtered and recycled. The clink of Jade’s spork against ceramic. Her own heartbeat, still faster than it should be.
Tori took a bite of her dinner. Chewed. Swallowed. It tasted like cardboard and sadness. She took another bite anyway because the alternative was sitting here with her hands empty and nothing to do but think about—
Nope. Not thinking about it.
Not thinking about the expression on Jade’s face, that moment before she’d realized Tori was there. Unguarded. Vulnerable. The soft part-of her lips, the—
Stop it.
Jade finished first, standing abruptly enough that her chair scraped against the floor. She took her bowl to the tiny sink, rinsed it with the water they were supposed to be conserving, didn’t look back.
“I’m going to run diagnostics on the water recycler,” she announced to the wall.
“It’s fine,” Tori said, watching Jade’s rigid back. “You checked it yesterday.”
“I’m checking it again.”
“Jade—”
She left without looking back, footsteps quick and purposeful in the corridor.
Tori dropped her forehead to the table with a dull thunk.
1,149 days since computer breakdown. 934 days since Miller died. 242 days since Earth stopped communications.
The next day was worse.
They moved around each other like magnets with the same polarity, always maintaining distance, always aware of where the other was. The ship was small—designed for a crew of three with minimal personal space—which meant avoiding someone required active effort and careful timing.
Tori worked in the med bay, reorganizing supplies that didn’t need reorganizing. Alphabetizing medications that were already alphabetized. Reading equipment manuals she’d memorized months ago. Anything to avoid being in the same room as Jade.
Jade stayed in the engine room, doing maintenance that probably didn’t need doing, running diagnostics on systems she’d already diagnosed. Tori knew because she could hear the diagnostic alerts chiming through the ship’s intercom system. Test complete. Test complete. Test complete.
They crossed paths in the corridor once, both rounding the corner from opposite directions at exactly the same moment. Both of them stopped. Both of them opened their mouths. Neither of them said anything.
The air between them felt electric, charged with all the words they weren’t saying.
Jade turned around and went the other direction.
Tori stood there for a full minute before her brain rebooted enough to keep walking.
Lunch was skipped entirely. Tori ate a ration bar in the med bay. She assumed Jade did the same somewhere else.
By dinner—Jade’s turn to cook—Tori was ready to claw her way out of her own skin and leave it behind. This was ridiculous. They were adults. They were stuck on a ship together for the rest of their probably-short lives. They couldn’t just not talk because of one mortifying incident that Tori was definitely never going to think about again starting right now.
Except she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The image was burned into her brain like a brand. Jade’s face. Jade’s hand. Jade’s whimper. The vulnerability in her expression before it had shuttered into horror.
Jade had made rice and beans, which was one of the better meals in their limited repertoire. She’d even added the shelf-stable hot sauce that they were supposed to be rationing, the good stuff from the emergency supplies that they’d agreed to save for special occasions. Peace offering, maybe. Or just acknowledging that things were weird enough to qualify as an emergency.
They ate in silence, but it was different from yesterday. Less hostile. More... anticipatory. Like they were both waiting for something to break.
Tori broke first, because she always broke first. Jade could wait out a silence forever, but Tori started to itch after thirty seconds.
“Look, about yesterday—”
“I said we’re not talking about it.”
“Jade—”
“Vega.” Jade’s jaw was tight, eyes still fixed on her plate. “Drop it.”
“I just want to apologize—”
“You already did. In the moment. Apology accepted. Done. Finished. Moving on.” Jade shoveled rice into her mouth like she could physically eat the conversation into submission.
“Is it though?” Tori set down her spork. “Because you’ve barely looked at me in two days and I'm pretty sure you’re planning my murder.”
“I’m not planning your murder.”
“You’re planning something. You’ve got that look.”
Jade finally looked up, eyebrow raised. “What look?”
“That scary focused look you get. Like you’re doing advanced calculus in your head. Or plotting.”
“Maybe I’m just thinking.”
“About what? New and creative ways to avoid me?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“You literally turned around and walked away when we ran into each other in the hallway.”
“I forgot something in the engine room.”
“Bullshit.”
Jade’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but something in the same family. “Fine. I was avoiding you. Happy?”
“Not particularly, no.” Tori pushed her rice around her plate, suddenly not hungry despite the fact that it was actually good. “Why?”
“Because you walked in on me masturbating and I’d like to pretend that never happened?” Jade’s voice was sharp, defensive, but there was color in her cheeks again. “That seems like a reasonable response.”
“I mean, yeah, but we live together. We can’t just not talk for the rest of our lives.”
“Watch me.”
“Jade—”
“What do you want me to say, Tori?” Jade set down her spork, hands flat on the table. “That I’m embarrassed? I’m embarrassed. That I wish it never happened? I wish it never happened. That I’d like to go back to our normal weird dynamic where we barely tolerate each other but at least we’re functional? Yes. All of that.”
Tori studied her. Jade was looking at the table now, jaw tight, shoulders rigid. Defensive posture. Walls up.
“For what it’s worth,” Tori said quietly, “I really am sorry. I should’ve knocked. I always should knock, I know you’ve told me like a hundred times—”
“Two hundred and twenty seven.”
“What?”
“I’ve told you two hundred and twenty seven times to knock before entering. I’ve been counting.”
Despite everything, Tori laughed. Sharp and surprised, but genuine. “Of course you have.”
Jade’s mouth twitched again, more visible this time. Almost a smile.
“I’ll knock from now on,” Tori promised. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve told me, multiple times, usually while complaining about not knowing how to tie knots.”
“Okay, fine. But I promise anyway. Knocking. Every time. I’ll knock so much you’ll get annoyed by the knocking.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Jade said, but something in her had relaxed. The rigid line of her shoulders had softened slightly.
They finished eating in silence, but it was different now. Less hostile. More awkward, maybe, but awkward was better than the cold war.
Tori cleared the dishes, loading them into the sanitizer that made a grinding sound they’d both stopped noticing. Jade didn’t immediately flee, which felt like progress.
“I’m gonna watch a movie,” Tori said, trying to sound casual. “You’re welcome to join if you want. I promise it won’t be Pretty Woman.”
“What will it be?”
“Haven’t decided yet. Maybe something with explosions. Balance out the rom-coms. Or that weird art film Miller loved.”
Jade hesitated, fingers drumming against the table in an unusual show of uncertainty. Then she shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”
Tori tried not to look too pleased about that. “Cool. Yeah. Cool.”
They settled on the couch (opposite ends, careful not to touch) and Tori queued up an action movie neither of them had seen in months. Something with car chases and improbable physics. The kind of thing that required exactly zero brain power.
Halfway through, Jade fell asleep, head tilted back against the couch, mouth slightly open.
Tori watched her for a moment, then turned back to the movie.
Things were still weird. But maybe they’d be okay.
/ / /
Tori was not asleep.
She’d been lying in bed for three hours, staring at the ceiling, watching the faint shadows shift as the ship rotated through its slow, endless orbit around nothing in particular. Just drifting. Going nowhere. Stuck.
Her mind wouldn’t shut up. Kept replaying the image of Jade on her bed, hand moving, eyes closed, that expression on her face—concentration, pleasure, vulnerability, all mixed together into something that made Tori’s stomach flip in a way she didn’t want to examine.
She rolled onto her side. Punched her pillow into a different shape, trying to find some configuration that would magically make her comfortable enough to sleep. She closed her eyes.
Jade’s face. Jade’s hand. The soft sound she’d made when—
“Stop,” she hissed to the empty room.
This was insane. She was being insane. It had been 21 days since she’d gotten off—not that she was counting, except apparently she was, because her brain had helpfully announced that fact in big neon letters every morning for the past week—and yeah, okay, that was a long time for her, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
Except it kind of felt like it was.
Not the lack of orgasms specifically. Just… everything. The isolation that pressed in from all sides. The sameness of every day bleeding into the next until time stopped meaning anything. The slow-dawning realization that crept up on her in the dark hours like this, that this was it, this was the rest of her life, trapped in a metal tube with someone who barely tolerated her, waiting to die.
God, she missed Em.
She missed being touched. Missed being wanted. Missed the easy intimacy of sharing a bed with someone who actually liked her, who chose to be there. Who would kiss her forehead and call her baby and make her feel like she mattered. Who would—
A knock on her door made her jolt upright, heart suddenly racing in her chest.
She blinked at the darkness, trying to orient herself. A knock. On her door. At, she glanced at the time display on the wall, 23:47 hours. Nearly midnight by ship time, which they kept synced to EST for no reason except that having a schedule made them feel almost human.
Another knock, firmer this time. More insistent.
“Uh,” Tori called, voice rough from disuse and three hours of not-sleeping. “Come in?”
The door slid open.
Jade stood in the doorway, backlit by the corridor lights that stayed on 24/7 because turning them off would mean navigating in the dark and they’d learned that lesson the hard way in month three. Still in her jumpsuit but with her hair down, falling past her shoulders in a dark curtain that caught the light.
Tori had seen Jade’s hair down maybe three times total in the three years they’d been stuck together. It fell slightly wavy, softening the sharp angles of her face, making her look less like a woman built of edges and more like someone who could be soft if she wanted to.
“We need to talk,” Jade said, voice carefully neutral.
Tori’s stomach dropped. “About what?”
“What you saw.”
“Oh god, I thought we agreed—”
“Not about—” Jade cut herself off, jaw working like she was chewing on words too big to swallow. “Can I come in?”
“You’re already in.”
“Can I come in in?”
“Uh.” Tori’s brain was working at half speed, still caught on the image of Jade with her hair down, which was stupid because hair was just hair but somehow it felt significant. “Sure?”
Jade stepped inside. The door slid shut behind her with a hiss of pressurized air, sealing them in the small space. The pod somehow felt smaller with Jade standing there, taking up space, radiating tension.
Tori was suddenly very aware that she was in bed. In her underwear and a tank top. With Jade standing three feet away.
“So,” Tori said, pulling the sheet up slightly because it felt wrong to be this exposed. “Talking. You said talking.”
Jade crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. Shoved her hands in her jumpsuit pockets. Pulled them out and crossed them again. She looked… uncomfortable. Which was deeply unsettling, because Jade didn’t do uncomfortable. Jade did controlled. Composed. Slightly annoyed at best, homicidally angry at worst, but always in control.
“We’re both adults,” Jade said finally.
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“And we’re stuck here. Together.”
“Also yes. That’s been the situation for a while now.”
“For the rest of our lives.”
Tori’s throat tightened. The words hung in the air like lead. “Jade—”
“You know that, right?” Jade’s voice was sharp now, almost accusatory, like she needed Tori to understand the full weight of what she was saying. “We’re never going home. Rescue isn’t coming. The navigation is fried—completely corrupted, unrecoverable. Communications are one-way only. Miller died trying to fix it and we’re not attempting EVA again because I’m not interested in freezing to death in the vacuum of space. This is it. This is,” she gestured vaguely at the room, at the ship, at everything, “all we get.”
Tori swallowed hard. “I know.”
“It’s been 1,148 days.”
“1,149 now. Technically.” The pedantry was automatic, a defense mechanism.
“1,149,” Jade repeated, like she was testing the weight of the number. “Three years. We’ve been stuck here for three years. Earth stopped broadcasting to us directly eight months ago, 242 days. They think we’re dead. Or as good as. They’ve definitely had memorials by now. Moved on. Our families, our friends, our…” she stopped, jaw clenching, “our partners. They’ve definitely moved on.”
“I know, Jade.” Tori’s voice came out sharper than she intended, defensive and raw. “What’s your point?”
Jade was quiet for a moment, jaw working. Then: “We’re going to die up here.”
“Jade—”
“We are.” The words came out flat, factual. “Maybe tomorrow if something catastrophic fails. Maybe in five years when the life support finally gives out or the food stores run dry or we just… lose our minds from the isolation. But we’re going to die on this ship.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white. “And I don’t— I can’t—”
She stopped. Took a breath that shook slightly. When she spoke again, her voice was carefully controlled, like she was fighting to keep it steady.
“We both have needs.”
Tori blinked, brain taking a hard left turn. “What?”
“Physical needs. We’re… we’re human. We’re not built for this kind of isolation. We’re social animals, we need,” Jade’s jaw clenched, “contact. Touch. Intimacy. We’re not designed to go this long without it.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Are you—” Tori’s brain was short-circuiting, sparking and misfiring like faulty wiring. “What exactly are you saying?”
Jade’s face was carefully blank, but there was color high on her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. “I’m saying this is an impossible situation and we need to be practical about it.”
“Practical,” Tori repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“About…”
“About the fact that we’re stuck together. About the fact that we’re both,” Jade gestured vaguely, hands cutting through the air, “frustrated. Clearly.”
Tori felt heat crawl up her neck, spreading across her face like a rash. “I mean, I wouldn’t say—”
“21 days,” Jade said flatly.
Tori’s mouth fell open. “How did you—”
“You’re not quiet when you do it.”
“Oh my god.” Tori covered her face with her hands, pressing her palms against her burning cheeks. “This is so much worse than walking in on you.”
“Is it though?”
“Yes! At least that was an accident! You’re telling me you’ve been listening and keeping track of my— my—”
“I haven’t been keeping track,” Jade said, defensive now, arms crossing tight over her chest. “You’re just loud. Every morning. Kind of hard to miss when it’s literally the first thing I hear when I wake up.”
“Oh my god. Oh my—”
“That’s not the point.” Jade shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable.
“Then what is the point?”
Jade met her eyes dead-on, and Tori saw something raw there. Something desperate trying to hide behind practicality.
“The point is we’re never seeing our partners again.”
The words landed like a physical blow, knocking the air from Tori’s lungs.
She thought of Em. Em with their bright laugh that could fill a room, their terrible cooking that somehow always tasted good anyway, the way they’d kiss her forehead before leaving for work every morning like it was a ritual. Em who’d waited at the launch site for six hours just to wave at her through a window. Em who’d promised to be there when she got back.
Em who thought she was dead.
“But I have Em. Back on Earth. I had Em. I don’t… God, I don’t even know what tense to use anymore.”
“Yeah, and you know that I have Rachel.” Jade countered. “Had. Have. Past tense, present tense, none of it makes sense anymore. How do you talk about someone who thinks you’re dead? What’s the grammar for that?”
They looked at each other, both of them caught in the same impossible space between past and present, between the lives they’d had and the reality they were stuck in.
“They think we’re dead,” Jade said, softer now. “They’ve probably… They’ve moved on. They definitely have. It’s been three years, Tori. Three years. That’s longer than most people grieve. That’s longer than some relationships last. They’ve had memorials, gone through our things, started dating other people. Maybe even gotten engaged. Married. We’re just… we’re ghosts to them now.”
“Stop.” Tori’s voice broke. “Just stop.”
“I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to be realistic.” Jade’s expression was pained now, something vulnerable showing through the cracks. “We’re never seeing them again. Never. We’re going to die up here and they’re going to live their lives and maybe they’ll think about us sometimes—birthdays, anniversaries, random Tuesday afternoons when something reminds them—but mostly they won’t because that’s how grief works. You move on. You have to. You can’t carry the dead with you forever.”
Tori’s chest felt tight, like the walls were pressing in. “So what? We just… what? Decide it doesn’t count? That we’re not— That it’s not cheating?”
“On people who think we’re dead?” Jade laughed, sharp and bitter, no humor in it at all. “In a situation we’ll never escape? Tori, there’s no rulebook for this. There’s no etiquette guide for ‘how to be faithful to your partner when you’re trapped in space for the rest of your probably-short life.’ We’re in uncharted territory here.”
“So you’re saying what exactly?” Tori needed her to spell it out, needed to hear the actual words instead of dancing around them.
Jade took a breath, and when she spoke, her voice was careful. Measured. Like she’d practiced this.
“I’m saying we should acknowledge reality. We’re stuck here. Together. Alone. For the rest of our lives, however long that is. And we both have needs and we’re both,” she gestured at Tori, then at herself, “clearly struggling with the isolation. The lack of physical contact. Intimacy. All of it.”
“So you want to…” Tori trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“I’m suggesting,” Jade said carefully, “that we could help each other. With that. If you wanted.”
The room felt too small suddenly. Too warm. Tori was hyper-aware of her own breathing, of the way her heart was hammering against her ribs.
“You’re suggesting we sleep together,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m suggesting we acknowledge that we’re two adults with physical needs in an impossible situation, and that maybe helping each other with those needs would be beneficial for our mental health and our ability to survive up here without losing our minds entirely.” Jade’s words came out in a rush, like she’d been holding them in and they’d finally broken free.
“That’s a lot of words to say ‘let’s fuck,’” Tori said, slightly hysterical.
Jade’s cheeks flushed darker. “I’m trying to be mature about this.”
“By propositioning me at midnight?”
“Would you have preferred I schedule a meeting? Put it on the calendar? ‘Tuesday, fourteen-hundred hours, discuss potential sexual arrangement’?”
Despite everything, Tori laughed. It came out shaky and a little broken, but it was real. “That would’ve been very you, actually.”
Jade’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “I considered it.”
They looked at each other.
“Jade,” Tori said slowly, “we barely tolerate each other.”
“We tolerate each other fine now.” Jade’s voice was defensive. “We hated each other for the first year or so, sure, but we’ve,” she waved a hand vaguely, “adjusted. We coexist. We have routines. We watch movies together sometimes. That’s more than tolerance.”
“Adjusted is not the same as wanting to sleep together.”
“Want has nothing to do with it.” Jade’s voice was matter-of-fact now, almost clinical. “This is practical. We’re both… we’re going insane up here. You know we are. You can feel it. The walls closing in, the same conversations on repeat, the boredom that’s so profound it physically hurts. And if we’re going to be trapped together for the rest of our lives, we might as well—”
“Might as well what? Use each other?”
“Help each other,” Jade corrected sharply, something flashing in her eyes. Anger, maybe. Or hurt. “There’s a difference. This isn’t— I’m not trying to use you. I’m trying to find a solution to a problem we both have.”
Tori stared at her. Jade stared back, chin lifted, defiant, but there was something vulnerable underneath it. Something almost desperate.
“This is insane,” Tori said.
“Probably.”
“And a terrible idea.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll make everything weird.”
“Weirder than it already is?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “You walked in on me masturbating two days ago and we’re still functioning.”
“Barely!”
“We’re talking now, aren’t we? That’s functioning.”
Tori opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Jade had a point, unfortunately.
“I’ll need to think about it,” she said finally.
Jade blinked, like she hadn't expected that response. “You will?”
“Yeah. I mean, this is… this is a big thing. I can’t just— I need time to process.”
“That’s okay.”
“Just like, a day? Maybe two?”
Jade nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. That… makes sense.”
She turned toward the door, then paused with her hand on the panel.
“For what it’s worth,” she said without looking back, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think we could handle it. If I didn’t think you could handle it. I’m not trying to make things harder for you.”
“I know,” Tori said softly.
Jade nodded once, sharp and decisive, then left.
The door slid shut and Tori was alone again, staring at the space where Jade had been standing.
“Well,” she said to the empty room. “Fuck.”
1,150 days since computer breakdown. 935 days since Miller died. 243 days since Earth stopped communications.
Tori spent the entire next day thinking about it.
She thought about it while she brushed her teeth with the recycled water that always tasted faintly metallic. While she drank her coffee and stared into space.
She thought about it while she reorganized the med bay for the third time this week, lining up supplies in perfectly straight rows that didn’t need to be straight. While she ran diagnostics on equipment that was functioning fine. While she ate a ration bar for lunch and stared at the wall.
She thought about Em.
Em, who she’d loved with the kind of easy certainty that felt like coming home. Who’d made her laugh every single day. Who’d supported her dream of space even though it meant years apart, even though it meant risk.
Em, who thought she was dead.
Em, who’d probably cried at her memorial. Who’d probably given a speech about how Tori had died doing what she loved, reaching for the stars, all those platitudes people said to make senseless death feel meaningful.
Em, who had definitely moved on by now. The thought made Tori’s chest ache, but it also felt… true. Three years was a long time. Em wasn’t the type to wallow. They’d grieve, yeah, but they’d also keep living. That was who they were.
She thought about Jade.
Jade, who drove her crazy with her obsessive organization and her cutting remarks and her inability to just relax for five seconds. Who’d thrown a wrench at her head and only felt moderately bad about it. Who kept everything locked down tight like emotions were a structural weakness.
Jade, who’d stood in her doorway last night looking vulnerable and desperate and trying so hard to hide it behind practicality.
Jade, who was right. They were going to die up here. And they were both going insane from the isolation, from the lack of touch, from the crushing loneliness of being surrounded by nothing but metal and void.
Jade, whose face had looked like that when Tori had walked in on her. Unguarded and open and—
Tori dropped the supply inventory she’d been pretending to review and pressed her palms against her eyes.
Okay. Okay. She needed to think about this logically.
Pro: She was attracted to Jade. That was… new information, kind of. Or maybe not new, maybe just information she’d been actively suppressing because acknowledging it would make everything complicated. But yeah, okay, Jade was objectively attractive. Sharp features, icy blue eyes, tattoos, that athletic build from the mandatory daily exercise regimen. And that sound she’d made—
Con: This could blow up in their faces spectacularly. They had to live together. There was no escape clause. No “let’s take a break” or “I need space.” They had exactly this much space and no more.
Pro: They were both adults. They could set boundaries. Make rules. Keep it simple and physical and not let feelings get involved.
Con: When had anything ever stayed simple? When had boundaries ever held against proximity and time and the fundamental human need for connection?
Pro: She was so fucking lonely she could scream. She missed being touched. Missed mattering to someone. Missed the weight of another body next to hers in bed.
Con: This wasn’t Em. Would never be Em. Would be settling for something less because the thing she actually wanted was impossible.
Pro: But maybe less was better than nothing. Maybe something was better than the alternative, which was years more of this—touching only herself, dreaming about a life she’d never get back, slowly losing her mind in the silence.
She thought about Miller.
Miller, who’d been annoying and cheerful and had told the worst jokes. Who’d tried so hard to get them to like each other, to be a team, to make this work. Who’d died trying to fix the communications array, trying to get them home, because he’d believed they could make it.
What would Miller say about this?
Probably something inappropriate. Probably a joke about finally getting them to work together. Probably—
Tori’s throat tightened. She missed him. Not like she missed Em—different, less sharp—but she missed him. Missed having a buffer. Missed having someone else there so she and Jade weren’t just staring at each other across the void.
She thought about what Jade had said. We’re going to die up here.
It was true. They were. If rescue was coming, it would’ve come by now. Three years was more than enough time to plan a mission, to launch, to reach them. But Earth had gone silent. Given up. Moved on.
They weren’t going to die today. Probably weren’t going to die tomorrow. But eventually, they would. The ship would fail or they’d run out of supplies or something would go catastrophically wrong and that would be it. Game over.
And she could spend that time, however long it was, alone in her head, touching only herself, aching for something she couldn’t have.
Or she could say yes.
She could let herself have this one thing. This one comfort in the dark.
It wasn’t love. It wouldn’t be love. But maybe it could be something. Connection. Warmth. Two people holding onto each other in the void and pretending it was enough.
By dinner—Tori’s turn to cook—she’d made her decision.
So Tori made pasta.
Well, “pasta” was a generous term. Rehydrated noodles with powdered sauce that was supposed to taste like alfredo but mostly tasted like salt and regret. But she added the preserved vegetables they’d been rationing and the garlic powder they were definitely supposed to be saving and even found a packet of freeze-dried chicken that hadn’t expired yet.
If she was going to do this (and she was, she’d decided, somewhere between hour three and hour four of obsessive thinking) then she was going to do it right. Which apparently meant cooking an almost-nice dinner first, because that’s what people did, right? Before they… negotiated mutually beneficial sexual arrangements with their reluctant roommates?
God, this was insane.
Jade appeared at 18:30 exactly, as always. Took her usual seat. Looked at the pasta with something like surprise.
“You used the chicken,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“We were saving that.”
“I know.”
“For a special occasion.”
Tori met her eyes. “I know.”
Understanding flickered across Jade’s face. Her expression did something complicated—hope, fear, uncertainty, all mixed together.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Tori served the pasta, hands surprisingly steady despite the fact that her heart was trying to break out of her chest. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind of silence that felt full of words neither of them knew how to say.
The pasta was actually decent. The chicken was surprisingly not terrible. The sauce was still mostly salt, but at least it was warm.
“So,” Jade said finally, setting down her spork with careful precision. “Have you thought about it?”
Tori took a breath. Let it out slowly. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“I think you’re right.”
Jade’s eyes widened slightly. “You do?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re right sometimes.”
“I’m right always, but thank you for acknowledging it.” Jade’s voice was light, trying for humor, but Tori could hear the tension underneath. “About which part, specifically?”
“All of it, I guess.” Tori pushed pasta around her plate, not looking up. “We’re stuck here. We’re both… struggling. We’re never seeing our partners again. This is… this is all we get. And if we can make it a little less terrible, a little less lonely, then… yeah. We should.”
“Okay,” Jade said softly.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Jade’s hands were flat on the table, fingers spread like she was bracing herself. “So we’re doing this.”
“I guess we are.” Tori finally looked up, meeting Jade’s eyes. “But I think we need rules.”
“Agreed. Rules are good. Structure is good.”
“Okay. So,” Tori's mouth was dry, “no kissing on the mouth.”
Jade exhaled in an almost-laugh. “You’ve been watching too much Pretty Woman.”
“It’s a good rule! So what if I got a little inspiration from it?”
“Okay, but this is a different situation than in the movie.” Jade said. “So why can’t we kiss?”
“Because kissing is… it’s romantic. It’s intimate in a different way. And this isn’t— We’re not—” Tori struggled to find the words. “This is just physical. Just about meeting a need. Kissing makes it something else.”
Jade considered this, head tilted slightly. “Okay, Vivian. No kissing on the mouth.”
“And either of us can stop whenever. No questions asked. No guilt.”
“Obviously.”
“And we don’t talk about it after. We don’t… we don’t make it a thing. It just is what it is.”
“Casual,” Jade said.
“Right. Casual.”
“Two adults helping each other out.”
“Exactly.”
They looked at each other across the table.
“It doesn’t change anything between us,” Tori said, needing to say it out loud. “We’re still just… us. Whatever we are. Roommates. Crewmates. People who tolerate each other and occasionally watch movies together.”
“Agreed,” Jade said. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Right. Nothing.”
“Just scratching an itch.”
“Exactly.”
More silence.
“So,” Tori said, voice coming out higher than usual. “When do we… I mean, how do we… do we schedule it? Put it on the calendar? Set specific days?”
Jade’s mouth twitched. “I thought you were mocking me for considering that.”
“I was. But now I’m actually asking because I don’t know how this works.”
“I don’t think it needs to be scheduled,” Jade said slowly. “I think it just… happens. When we both want it to.”
“Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Tori’s heart was racing now. “So like… organically.”
“Mhmm.”
They finished eating in silence, but it was charged now. Electric. Every movement felt significant. Every glance felt weighted.
Tori cleared the dishes, loading them into the sanitizer. Her hands were shaking slightly. Jade stood, started to leave, then paused at the doorway to the corridor.
“I’m going to go read in my pod,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “If you wanted to… or not. No pressure. Just saying where I’ll be.”
“Okay,” Tori said.
Jade left.
Tori stood in the empty common area, staring at the dishes in the sanitizer, listening to them cycle through the cleaning process.
This was happening. This was really happening.
She could go to her own pod. Go to bed. Pretend this conversation never occurred. Wait for some future moment when she felt more ready, more certain, more—
But when would that be? When would she ever feel ready for this?
And she’d already decided. She’d thought about it all day. She’d made her choice.
Tori turned off the lights in the common area and walked down the corridor.
Past her own pod.
To Jade’s door.
She stood there for a long moment, hand raised, heart hammering.
Then she knocked.
Three sharp raps, deliberate and clear.
The door slid open.
Jade stood there in her jumpsuit, hair down again, tablet in her hand. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Tori.
“Hi,” Tori said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Hi,” Jade said back.
They stared at each other.
“Can I come in?” Tori asked.
Jade stepped back. “Yeah. Yes. Come in.”
Tori stepped inside. The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
Jade’s pod was neater than Tori’s (of course it was) with everything in its place and the bed made with crisp corners. There was a book on the side table, actual paper because Jade was precious about some things, and a photo face-down that Tori had never seen displayed before.
“So,” Jade said, setting her tablet down carefully, “you came.”
“I knocked first,” Tori said, trying for lightness.
“You did. Progress.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
Jade took a step closer. Then another. Until she was standing right in front of Tori, close enough that Tori could feel the warmth of her.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Jade said quietly. “We can just… talk. Or you can leave. Or we can watch a movie. There’s no pressure.”
“I know,” Tori said. “But I don’t want to leave.”
“No?”
“No.”
Jade’s hand came up slowly, giving Tori time to pull away if she wanted. Her fingers brushed Tori’s jaw, feather-light and careful.
“Is this okay?” Jade asked.
Tori’s breath caught. “Yeah.”
Jade’s thumb traced along her cheekbone, down to her jaw, learning the shape of her face. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, like Tori was something precious that might break.
“You’re shaking,” Jade observed softly.
“Nervous,” Tori admitted.
“We can stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“What do you want?”
The question hung in the air between them.
Tori thought about lying. About saying something casual, something that would keep this light and simple and uncomplicated.
But then she thought about Miller dying alone in the void. About Em moving on without her. About all the lies she’d already told herself about being fine, about being okay with this half-life.
She didn’t want to lie to Jade. But she also didn’t want to make this into something it wasn’t. This wasn’t supposed to be emotional. This was physical. Practical. Just two people helping each other survive.
“This,” she said finally, voice quiet but steady. “I want this.”
Jade nodded. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?” Tori asked.
“Yeah. Yes. That’s—” Jade cleared her throat. “That’s good.” Jade’s hands slid down from Tori’s face to her shoulders, to her arms, settling at her waist. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Jade’s hands found the hem of Tori’s shirt, fingers brushing the skin there, asking permission. Tori nodded and Jade pulled it up and off, letting it drop to the floor.
Tori stood there in her sports bra and pants, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. Jade’s eyes traced over her, not objectifying, just… seeing her.
“Your turn,” Tori said.
Jade unzipped her jumpsuit, peeling it down her arms, stepping out of it. Sports bra and underwear, the same as everyone wore, nothing special. But on Jade the bra was… distracting. The neckline cut low enough to show the curve of her breasts, cleavage visible in a way it never was when she was fully suited up. Tori had never really looked before (had actively avoided looking) but now she couldn’t seem to look away.
Jade had great breasts. That was just an objective fact. And Tori was suddenly, acutely aware that she was about to see them. Touch them. Put her mouth on them.
The thought made her stomach flip in a way that felt dangerous.
“Now what?” Tori asked, voice coming out slightly strained.
“Bed?” Jade suggested.
“Yeah. Okay. Bed.”
They moved to the narrow mattress, crawling onto it from opposite sides. The bed was small, meant for one person, so they were immediately close, knees bumping, shoulders touching.
Jade reached up and turned off the light.
Darkness, except for the faint glow from the corridor seeping under the door.
Jade’s hand found Tori’s in the darkness, fingers lacing together. They laid there like that for a moment, just holding hands, getting used to the contact.
Jade rolled toward her, and Tori rolled to meet her, and their bodies pressed together in the dark.
Then Jade kissed her.
For one shocked second, Tori froze. Then her brain caught up and she pulled back. “We said no kissing!”
“Shit.” Jade said, mortified. “Sorry. I just— Habit. That’s how you usually start, right?”
“I mean, yeah, but we made a rule—”
“I know! I forgot. I’m sorry.”
They stared at each other. Tori felt a laugh bubble up in her chest, slightly hysterical.
“This is a disaster,” she said.
“Complete disaster,” Jade agreed.
But she was smiling. Just slightly, just a tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth, and something in Tori’s chest loosened.
“Okay,” Jade said. “No kissing.”
“No kissing,” Tori confirmed.
They laid there in the dark, close enough that Tori could feel Jade’s breath on her face, but not touching now. Both of them clearly trying to figure out how to do this without the usual roadmap.
“This is harder than I thought,” Jade admitted.
“The no kissing thing?”
“Yeah. I don’t… I don’t usually do this without,” Jade paused. “How do we start if we don’t start with kissing?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had to think about it before.”
They were quiet for a moment.
Then Tori felt Jade’s hand on her shoulder, sliding down her arm, leaving heat in its wake.
“Is this okay?” Jade asked.
“Yeah,” Tori breathed.
Jade’s hand continued its path, tracing over Tori’s ribs, her waist, her hip. Gentle and exploratory.
“You can touch me too,” Jade said quietly. “If you want.”
Tori’s hand came up, hesitant, settling on Jade’s waist. The skin there was warm and soft, and Tori felt Jade shiver slightly under her touch.
“Cold?” Tori asked.
“No. Just…”
“Yeah. Me too.”
They lay there, hands on each other, both of them trembling slightly.
“Can I take this off?” Jade asked, fingers playing with the edge of Tori’s sports bra.
“Yeah. Yes.”
Jade sat up slightly, helping Tori pull the sports bra over her head. Tori heard it hit the floor somewhere in the dark. Then Jade’s hands were on her, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples.
Tori gasped, arching into the touch. It had been so long since someone else had touched her like this and the sensation was almost overwhelming.
“Still okay?” Jade asked, voice lower now.
“So okay. Please don’t stop.”
Jade’s mouth replaced her hands, lips closing around Tori’s nipple, tongue circling in a way that made Tori’s breath catch. Her hands found Jade’s hair, threading through it, holding her there.
Jade’s teeth scraped gently and Tori moaned, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
“Sorry,” she gasped.
“Don’t be.” Jade’s voice was muffled against her skin. “I like it. Means I’m doing something right.”
She switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and Tori felt heat pooling low in her belly, arousal building fast.
“Jade,” she breathed.
“Yeah?”
“Can you— I need—”
“Tell me.”
“Touch me. Please. I need you to touch me.”
Jade’s hand slid down Tori’s stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants. “These need to come off.”
“Yeah. Yes. Off.”
Tori lifted her hips and Jade pulled her pants and underwear down in one motion, tossing them somewhere into the darkness. Then Jade sat back, and Tori heard the rustle of fabric as she removed her own clothes.
Then they were both naked, and Tori couldn’t see anything in the dark but she could feel everything—the heat of Jade’s body next to hers, the brush of skin on skin, the weight of possibility.
“Come here,” Jade said, and pulled Tori closer.
Their bodies pressed together, breast to breast, thigh to thigh, and Tori made a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Jade’s skin was so warm, so soft, so real.
“Fuck,” Tori breathed.
“Good?” Jade asked.
“So good. This is… yeah. Good.”
Jade’s hand traced down Tori’s side, over the curve of her hip, down to her thigh. Tori’s leg hooked over Jade’s hip automatically, opening herself, and Jade’s hand slid between her thighs.
“Fuck, Vega,” Jade said softly. “You’re so wet.”
“21 days.”
“I know. 22 now.”
Jade’s fingers slid through Tori’s folds, teasing, exploring. Tori’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more contact, more everything.
“Please,” Tori gasped. “I need—”
“I know,” Jade said, and slid one finger inside her.
Tori cried out, hands clutching at Jade’s shoulders, nails digging into skin. It was too much and not enough all at once, her body so starved for this that even one finger felt overwhelming.
Jade held still, letting Tori adjust. “Okay?”
“More,” Tori managed. “Please. More.”
Jade added a second finger, pushing deeper, and Tori’s head fell back, a long moan escaping. Jade started to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm that was methodical and controlled and somehow exactly what Tori needed.
“Like this?” Jade asked, curling her fingers slightly.
“Yes. Fuck. Yes, like that.”
Jade’s thumb found Tori’s clit, pressing down with firm, steady pressure. Tori’s hips rocked up to meet her thrusts, chasing the friction, the heat, the building pressure.
“You feel so fucking good,” Jade murmured, voice low and a little awed. “So wet. So ready.”
“Don’t stop,” Tori panted. “Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t. I’ve got you.”
Jade adjusted her angle slightly, fingers hitting that spot inside that made Tori see stars. Her thumb maintained that firm pressure on Tori’s clit, circling in tight, precise movements.
The pressure built quickly, coiling tighter and tighter in Tori’s core. Her thighs started to tremble, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Close,” she managed. “I’m— Jade, I’m—”
“It’s okay,” Jade said against her ear. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
Tori came with a sharp cry, back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed through her in waves. It felt like breaking apart and coming back together, like every nerve ending in her body firing at once. Jade worked her through it, fingers gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last aftershock until Tori collapsed back against the mattress, boneless and trembling.
When Jade finally withdrew her hand, Tori whimpered at the loss.
They laid there in the darkness, Tori’s breathing gradually slowing back to normal. She felt wrung out, emptied, lighter than she had in months.
“That was…” she started, then stopped because she didn't have words.
“Good?” Jade asked, and there was something tentative in her voice. Like she actually cared about the answer.
“So good. I mean… yeah. Really good.”
“Good,” Jade said, and Tori could hear the smile in her voice.
They were quiet for a moment, both of them just breathing in the dark.
Then Tori pushed herself up on one elbow, finding Jade in the darkness by touch.
“Your turn,” she said.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Tori’s hand slid down Jade’s stomach, feeling the muscles jump under her touch. “We’re helping each other, remember? I don’t need to be the only one that gets off. That’s weird.”
“It’s not weird, it’s just—”
“Jade.” Tori’s hand slid lower, between Jade’s thighs. “Let me.”
Jade sucked in a breath as Tori’s fingers brushed through her folds. She was wet, ready, had probably been turned on this whole time.
“Tell me what you like,” Tori said softly.
Jade’s breath was shaky. “I— Just—”
“Hey.” Tori's free hand found Jade’s face in the dark, cupping her cheek. “You can tell me. I want to make you feel good.”
“Fingers,” Jade said after a moment, voice tight. “Inside. Two. And pressure on my clit. Firm. Steady.”
“Okay,” Tori said. “I can do that.”
She pressed two fingers inside, feeling Jade clench around her, hearing the sharp intake of breath. Jade was tight and hot and so wet, and Tori had to take a second to breathe through the rush of arousal that hit her at the feeling.
“Okay?” Tori asked.
“Yeah. Yes. Move. Please move.”
Tori set a rhythm, slower than she’d do for herself, trying to pay attention to Jade’s reactions. Every gasp, every shift of her hips, every tensing of muscles. Learning what made Jade’s breath hitch, what made her moan.
Her thumb found Jade’s clit and pressed down, firm and steady like she’d asked for.
Jade moaned, loud and unguarded, and her hips jerked up.
“Like that?” Tori asked.
“Fuck. Yes. Exactly like that.”
Tori kept the pressure consistent, fingers curling inside to find that spot, thumb circling Jade’s clit with steady, deliberate movements. She could feel Jade getting closer, could feel her tightening around Tori’s fingers, thighs trembling.
Then Tori leaned down, pressing her mouth to Jade’s neck. Jade made a surprised sound, head tilting to give her more access. Tori kissed along the column of her throat, then found a spot just below her jaw and sucked
“Tori—” Jade gasped, but she didn’t sound like she was objecting.
Tori worked at the spot, teeth scraping gently, determined to leave a mark. Something that would still be there tomorrow, proof that this happened, that they did this.
“You’re— Fuck—” Jade’s hands clutched at Tori’s shoulders. “I’m close. Don’t… don’t stop.”
Tori didn’t stop. She maintained her rhythm, kept the pressure steady, mouth still working at Jade’s neck, focused entirely on Jade’s reactions. On the way her breath was coming faster, on the sounds she was making, on the way her whole body was tensing.
“Come for me, Jade,” Tori murmured against her skin. “Let go. I’m right here.”
Jade came with a strangled cry, her whole body going rigid, back arching off the bed. Tori felt her clench hard around her fingers, felt the flutter of her orgasm, worked her through it with gentle, steady movements.
When Jade finally collapsed back against the mattress, Tori carefully withdrew her hand and pressed one more kiss to the hickey she’d left on Jade’s neck.
They laid there in the darkness, both of them breathing hard, bodies cooling in the recycled air.
Tori wiped her hand absently on the sheet, then rolled onto her back, staring up at where the ceiling was even though she couldn’t see it.
“So,” she said finally, “that happened.”
“That happened,” Jade agreed. Her voice was rough, satisfied.
They were quiet for a long moment. The silence felt different now—not uncomfortable, exactly, but weighted. Like they were both trying to figure out what came next.
“I should probably go,” Tori said, pushing herself up to sitting.
“Yeah,” Jade said after a brief pause. “Yeah, okay.”
Tori fumbled in the dark for her clothes, finding her underwear first, then her pants. Her sports bra was somewhere on the floor and she had to pat around for it, which would’ve been embarrassing if she could actually see Jade’s face right now.
“Got it,” she muttered, pulling it on.
She found her shirt last, tugging it over her head. When she was fully dressed, she stood there awkwardly by the bed, not sure if she should say something or just leave.
“So,” Tori said. “That was… good.”
“Yeah,” Jade said. “It was.”
“Okay. Well. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Vega.”
Tori moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the panel. “This doesn’t change anything, right?”
“Right,” Jade said from the darkness. “Doesn’t change anything.”
Tori nodded, even though Jade couldn’t see her. “Okay. Good.”
The door slid open and corridor light spilled in, making Tori blink. She stepped out quickly, and the door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
She stood there for a moment in the empty corridor, heart still beating faster than normal, skin still warm.
Then she walked back to her own pod, slipped inside, and crawled into her own narrow bed.
It felt colder than usual. Emptier.
But that was fine. That was the deal. No complications. No feelings. Just two people helping each other survive.
She could still feel the ghost of Jade’s hands on her skin.
She was so fucked.