Chapter Text
Both of you couldn’t keep it completely hidden, though. You two weren’t trying to, exactly, you just weren’t announcing anything.
But the crew knew. Victor, Reid, and Jeremy, in particular, seemed to take immense delight in witnessing the slow, organic process of both of you finding each other again.
The next wave of internet speculation came from their accounts. Both men posted candid reels and photo dumps from the post-splashdown debriefs, the welcome-home parties, and the inevitable team-building exercises.
They didn't tag you. They didn't mention the Instagram mystery. They didn't have to.
The photos told the story for the two of you.
In one of Reid’s photos, a grainy, candid shot taken at a backyard barbecue, you and Christina are standing in the middle of a laughing circle. The both of you aren’t looking at the camera but at each other, heads bent close. Christina is laughing at something you’ve just said, her smile wide and joyous, and your own expression is mirrored perfectly. You two look like a matching set.
In another shot from Victor, from a formalized photo-op where you were supposedly discussing the lunar data, Christina is captured in profile. She’s looking slightly down at you, and the tenderness in her eyes is palpable. She’s listening to you explain a trajectory correction, and her whole demeanor is one of rapt, devoted attention. The look is so utterly distinct from her usual professional composure that several comments simply read: “Get someone who looks at you the way Christina Koch looks at this unnamed engineering associate.”
"Victor, blink twice if the atmosphere in that room just became 100% oxygen because I can’t breathe looking at this."
"Confirmed: Christina’s internal navigation system has officially locked onto a new North Star."
"The trajectory math is cool and all, but Christina is looking at her woman like she’s the only habitable planet in the universe."
"Error 404: Professional Composure not found. Christina Koch has entered the 'smitten' orbit."
"Victor really caught her in 4K with the ‘heart-eyes’ setting on. He is so messy for this and I love it."
"Imagine being that engineer and explaining a trajectory correction while the most powerful woman in space looks at you like you just invented gravity."
"Reid and Jeremy are in the back arguing about fuel, and Christina is over here busy writing poetry with her eyes."
"They’re discussing 'trajectory corrections,' but we all know who’s really steering the ship here. 🫠"
"Anyone else notice her hand resting on the table right next to hers? The proximity alert is screaming."
"She’s usually so focused, but here? She looks like she’s home. Victor, you are a legend for capturing this."
"I don't think she heard a single word about the lunar data. She’s just listening to the sound of their voice. We’ve lost her, folks."
“Other NASA Scientists: Intently listening to the Engineer discussing space data. Christina: Blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff.”
But the photo that really set the world on fire was one that seemed to capture a private moment in public.
It was taken outside a museum where the crew had just spoken. They were posing for a group photo, but you and Christina had fallen slightly behind the main line.
You are laughing again—head tilted back, the sound of your laughter seemingly echoing through the frame. Christina is right next to you. She’s laughing too, but her posture is different. Her right hand is settled securely on your waist, a subtle, grounding touch that screams familiarity.
She isn't just standing near you; she is protecting you. Her left arm is slightly extended, as if she is preparing to guide you through a crowd. She’s looking at you with that same look of absolute adoration, but now it’s mixed with a clear, fierce defensiveness.
The contrast between your carefree laughter and her steady, protective watchfulness was beautiful, genuine and truly warm.
The comments under that photo were…interesting.
“This isn't just friendship.”
"If the definition of 'home' was a photo, this would be it. The way her hand just fits there... it’s like they’ve been doing this for years."
“I feel like we’re interrupting something”
“I am in tears”
"I’ve seen Christina handle high-pressure dockings with less focus than she’s using to watch that engineer laugh. The devotion is terrifyingly beautiful."
"That's not just a colleague. That's a 'I'd go back to the moon and stay there if you asked' look."
“MOON MOMMY?”
“She’s so soft with her, even when she’s standing guard.”
“Wait a minute…”
"The gravitational pull in this photo is stronger than the Moon’s. They’ve clearly created their own orbit."
"Victor and Reid are doing a press op, and Christina is busy being a human shield for the person who makes her smile like that."
“I’M CRINE”
"Forget the Artemis mission, the real discovery was whatever joke caused that laugh. Christina looks like she just won the lottery."
"The silence on the caption for the first photo makes so much sense now. How do you put a caption on this?"
“I’m starting a rumor…”
“EVERYONE WAKE UP! ASTRONAUT YURI JUST DROPPED!”
"We were all looking for the 0g indicator, but the real indicator that they’re in love was that hand on the waist all along."
Christina and you hadn’t hard launched anything. You two hadn't given interviews or made statements. You had just existed, side-by-side, trying to navigate the complex trajectory of your shared past into an uncertain future. But in the process, both of you had left a trail of authenticity that the world couldn't help but notice.
You looked down at the silver band on your finger and smiled. You and Christina weren't hiding anymore. You both are just living your lives, soft-launching the truth…Just in one candid and smitten moment at a time.
—-
One night, long after the press tours ended, both of you were alone in the lab. It was midnight, and you were running final tests on the lunar data they’d brought back.
"You're staring," You whispered, not looking up from the screen.
"I'm observing," Christina teased, her voice low. She leaned against the desk, her hand brushing against yours. "The data says you're still the best engineer I've ever known."
"And the astronaut?" You asked, finally looking up.
She didn't answer with words. She leaned in, her eyes reflecting the soft blue light of the monitors. When she kissed you, it wasn't a mission or a calculation. It was just both of you—finally grounded, finally home.