Work Text:
Isabel finds Minkowski floating alone on the bridge, her face cast in shadows.
She clears her throat as she approaches, knowing that catching the commander off-guard would probably be the last thing she ever did. Minkowski doesn’t turn, doesn’t really acknowledge her presence, but the shift in her shoulders tells Isabel she’s not completely tuned out.
“Hey . . . do you have a second?”
“Yeah.” She’s heard Minkowski’s I-am-so-fucking-tired-of-this-fucking-universe voice a few dozen times before, but this particular instance might take the cake. “So many seconds.”
“Right.” She pauses. “Listen, I’m so sorry about the whole. Um.” Her throat catches.
“Shooting me in the gut?” Minkowski guesses.
“. . . yeah.”
“That wasn’t you.”
“I know, I know. I just . . . I should’ve been able to fight it.”
“And for all we know, he would have just turned up his psi radiation and we’d all be dead.” She gives Isabel a sad half-smile. “You did the best you could, Captain.”
“Are you okay?”
“Feels like I’ve been run over by at least three trucks, so...pretty good by our standards.”
“No, I mean . . .” Isabel hesitates, struggling to put it delicately—not a familiar feeling, but Minkowski’s more unsteady than a glass teetering on the edge of a table, and Isabel isn’t sure she can handle damage control if—when—she tips over the edge.
“Emotionally?” Her shaking voice twists the word into a question. “Specifically, with . . . recent events?”
Minkowski sighs, and Isabel can practically see the walls rising again, blocking her out. “I don’t know, Isabel. Coping, I guess. You . . . you don’t have to worry.”
“Firstly, you just called me Isabel. You’re not coping. Secondly, it is my job as your friend to worry about you, and you’re making me worry an awful lot right now.”
“Sorry, I . . . ” She manages a choked laugh. “Guess there’s not much point in lying to you, huh?”
“Nope.”
Minkowski lets out a slow breath. “I should’ve done better. And now the one person I ever thought I could maybe keep safe is gone, but he’s also still here, and I’m not even sure if that’s better or worse than the alternative.”
“It wasn’t your fault. They had us cornered. It was his choice.”
But Minkowski presses on, seemingly not hearing her. “It’s horrible, but a part of me almost thinks it’d be easier if he was completely gone . . . if I didn’t have to see his face, hear his voice, be reminded over and over of what I’m never getting back . . . and I hate myself for that.” She swipes a sleeve over her eyes. Her voice is rising, quickening. “And it’s tearing me apart, and it’s not fair to you and Hera, me being like this when both of you went through so goddamn much, and that just makes it worse—”
“Minkowski . . .”
“I just . . . I’ve lost control, again, and I don’t know what to do.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
Isabel looks at her for a long moment, and then takes a deep breath and launches into a speech that she’s fairly certain will just make matters worse.
“Look, I realize I’m the poster child for self-doubt and this is going to be one of the most hypocritical things ever said on this ship that until recently was the property of some of the universe’s biggest hypocrites, but I can’t just let you beat yourself up for something you're not even sort of at fault for. You went to the literal ends of the earth to protect him, and we lost him . . . the old him . . . anyway, and that doesn’t mean you failed. What happened, happened, and now we get to pick up the pieces. Together.”
Minkowski nods silently, her eyes a million miles away, glittering in the dim gray-blue light.
Isabel’s run out of words and she knows she needs to do something, so she just moves forward and pulls Minkowski into a tight hug.
To her surprise, Minkowski not only hugs back but crumples against her, finally breaking, trembling as sobs start to wrack her body.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” Isabel rubs a soothing hand over her back, keeping her other arm locked around Minkowski’s shoulders. “Just let it out. I’m here.”
Minkowski clings to her and presses her face into Isabel’s shoulder, tears soaking into her shirt.
“I know,” Isabel whispers. Minkowski’s hair is floating loose from its usual bun, tickling at her cheeks. “I miss him too.”
Minkowski’s holding her like a lifeline, and Isabel can feel her rapid heartbeat in between harsh, gasping breaths. The stress of the past few days must finally be hitting Minkowski, she realizes. Maybe she should have given her space for longer, let her work through it before making her face it all over again.
(Goddamnit, Isabel, now you’ve done it.)
“Minkowski . . . Renée. You’ve gotta calm down. Breathe with me, okay?” She takes a deep breath in, holds for a few moments, lets a slow exhale blow a few strands of Minkowski--Renée’s hair away from her face. On the next inhale she feels Renée’s breathing slow, feels her start to come back.
“Good. That’s good. Keep breathing.” She inhales, slow, deep. “We’re okay. Just stay with me.”
It’s a few more minutes, just shaking and breathing and Isabel’s mumbled reassurances, before Renée steadies, loosens her grip a little.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, shame coloring her voice. “You shouldn’t have to—“
“Nope,” Isabel cuts in. “You don’t get to feel bad for having emotions, and anyway, that breakdown was a long time coming. Renée, you’re the strongest goddamn person I know. If you need a shoulder to cry on once in a while, I’ve got your back.”
Renée squeezes her tightly, still trying to steady her breath.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Always.”
Renée breaks away, floating with one hand on Isabel’s shoulder to hold herself in place, and meets her eyes. “Are . . . are you okay?”
Isabel snorts, fighting away the tears that threaten to flood in. “I almost killed one friend, watched another vanish in front of my eyes, my head’s still pounding from whatever the fuck Cutter did to me, and to top that all off, I owe my life to fucking Jacobi. I’m just peachy.”
Renée sighs, and just like that she’s back to her normal self. “Isabel, drop the sass.”
When Isabel looks at her in mock disbelief, she presses on.
“You’re using it as a defense mechanism. Maybe I can’t order you around anymore, but I think as your friend I still get to ask what’s really going on.”
She hesitates for a long moment before acquiescing to Renée's eyes boring into her. “A lot. I’m . . . still trying not to think about it. Emotions can be so ridiculously inconvenient.”
Renée shoots her a pointed look.
“Okay, point taken.” Fuck it, she has to keep going now. “I’m . . . not doing great. Not sleeping, not that that’s new, but . . . I’m so tired, Renée. And the nightmares—well, not helping. Can’t eat, can't relax, can barely even focus. I just keep going back to—to Cutter’s face. To Eiffel. To you. Literally dying in front of me while I was trapped in my own head. I just . . .” She shakes her head and says, in a small, wavering voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this lost.”
It’s Renée who initiates the hug this time, and Isabel's frozen for a moment (Renée Minkowski? Showing affection?) before slipping her arms around the commander.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.” She buries her face into Isabel's shoulder again, but she's steadier now. Still more open, more vulnerable than the Renée Minkowski that Isabel's gotten used to, but the dust is starting to settle.
“To be fair, you were dealing with very legitimate emotional trauma and a very legitimate bullet wound." She playfully ruffles Renée's hair. "I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”
Renée just nods against her shoulder.
Isabel laughs, not even sure why she’s doing it. “God, we are so bad at the heart-to-heart thing.”
“Yeah. We are.” Minkowski laughs quietly.
“Figures, doesn’t it? We kicked Pryce and Cutter’s asses with, like, the power of friendship.”
“And a harpoon gun.”
“And a harpoon gun, but point stands. We can do that, but god forbid we have to have an actual conversation.”
Renée lets out a long breath. “You know, when I told Eiffel—” her voice wavers on his name, and Isabel suspects it’ll do that for a long time “—that we could save the traumatized breaking down for later, this wasn’t what I meant.”
“We’re a mess, aren’t we? Like, an absolute, uncontrolled disaster.”
“Maybe.” Renée pulls away to meet her eyes, half-smiling. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”