Chapter Text
A lighter wheel makes a satisfying scraping noise when flicked. She inhales quickly, catching the flame.
Sorting through the gear they picked up during their last incursion, she tosses crappy armor and guns into one pile, something usable into another. A brand new tossball stick? Felix is just as likely to mount it on the wall as beat people with it. It lands into a useful pile with a clanking noise.
“I do so love it when you make my receivers crinkle with excessive decibels,” quips ADA. The captain rolls her eyes.
“You could have gotten used to it by now. That’s what I always do when we get back. Just mute if you don’t like it.”
“Reverberations carry through the ship at 67.834% efficiency. I wouldn’t be able to ignore it unless I completely mute all sound.”
“Of course. My apologies. How else are you going to know which soap opera Parvati and Felix are watching today.”
“Captain…”
“Just get over it, ADA.”
“Captain. Vicar Max is outside your quarters. It appears that he wishes to speak with you.”
“Oh. Um, thanks.”
She takes one last drag of her cigarette before crushing the butt into an ashtray.
“Come on in, good vicar!” She shouts over her shoulder.
A quiet whisper of long robes is the only thing that gives away the priest’s presence. He is awfully stealthy for a man of his size.
She gets up from the floor and dusts herself off carelessly. She then turns around peers at the vicar. Still Max… and yet somehow… not?
“Everything alright?”
She means it in both general way and… well. He hasn’t been the same since their trip on Scylla.
He smiles, crow’s feet at the corners of his dark eyes thrown in high relief.
“Yes. Better than ever, in fact.”
She narrows her eyes and sighs, resting her bottom against the side of the table, the metal edge is cool even through her trousers.
“That’s all you have to say about it?”
“Should there be something else?”
She shakes her head. She can’t quite put her finger on it. It was like a stranger has broken into her house and rearranged all the furniture. Same, but oh so different. Foreign.
“So serene. I have to admit, I kinda miss the angry, determined smartass you were. Barely holding together the rage and frustration kind of Max. It was something that was part of your intrinsic… uh… Maxness?
He laughs, and there is warmth in the sound that wasn’t there before.
“Yes, yes, I was quite an ass. To be fair, I still am, just much more self-aware.”
“Uh-huh… so… did you want something?”
“Do I have to have a reason to see a good friend?”
She gives him a crooked smile.
“That’s how it usually goes. Everyone needs something from me.”
“Not this time.”
She gives him the look. The one that makes people fold at the knees in fear. Usually.
“... I almost believe you.”
Stepping over the haphazard pile of gear, she dives headfirst into a crate by her bed.
“Whiskey? Vodka? Got some beer too, I think.” She calls out from the innards of the container.
“Whiskey will do nicely.”
She re-emerges from the crate holding a bottle.
“Mind going to the mess and grabbing us some glasses?”
“None here?” He quicks his eyebrow.
“I usually just chug it from the bottle,” she shrugs.
“That’s fine by me.”
She cocks her head to the side before taking a gulp. The liquid burns all the way down, but she doesn’t cringe, instead reveling in the warmth it brought.
“What happened with the neat freak Max? Who are you and what have you done to him?”
He laughs again, softly, and reaches out to take the bottle out of her unresisting hand.
“I’m still me, dear Captain. Only… different.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be same and different at the same time.”
His smile takes on a predatory edge. He never can resist a good philosophical debate.
“Is metal not metal any longer after it has been cast and molded into shape?”
She pulls the bottle back to her after he has taken a sip. To give her some buzz yes, but also to give her an extra moment to think.
“I suppose no, but people are not objects to be shaped, despite the evidence to the contrary I’ve encountered on Halcyon… but that wasn’t what I meant. You are fundamentally different person, Max. Like if you had been transmuted…”
“Like lead into gold?”
“Now you just flatter yourself.”
“I did warn you, Captain. I’m still an ass.”
He takes the bottle back and takes another swig. She looks at him, into him, through him.
“I suppose there is something left of the old you. Going back to your metal analogy, impurities floating on the top. Leftovers.”
“Impurities. Such an… undignified word. Lesser metals mixed in with the pure… perhaps it’s good that they are nearly gone.”
She smiles, meeting his dark eyes head on.
“But alloys are stronger."
His brows shoot up, eyes widening.
“I… never thought of that before.”
She slides the bottle out of his unresisting fingers.
“A nugget of wisdom for you then, good vicar.”
“You really are going all in this metal analogy, aren’t you.”
She toasts him with the bottle and they both laugh.
“You are a wise woman, Captain.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
His smile is so warm it burns her insides stronger than whiskey.
“In any event… I just wanted to thank you. For everything.”
She puts the bottle down on the table carefully, gingerly.
“Are you leaving the crew?” Her voice is too tense, she meant for it to sound lighter.
“I… what? No, can I not thank you for what you’ve done for me?”
“Ah,” she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she has been holding.
“It simply sounded like… well, like a goodbye.”
“No. No, that was not my intention.”
“Good. Good…”
The silence that follows can only be described as awkward. She studies him, the impeccable robes, the broad shoulders. Neat and groomed hair, square jaw. Up to his face, and she can’t avoid looking at his lips. By the stars, her eyes might as well be glued to them. She can imagine all to vividly hooking her fingers under his chin, running her thumb across his lower lip, and pulling him closer.
She tears her gaze away with some mental effort. Focus. Look at the weird purple fungus she for some reason put on top of her sleeping pod. On second thought that might not have been her brightest idea, but...
She turns back to vicar and looks up at his eyes, feeling her cheeks tingle with warmth. Max is a perceptive man…
No doubt back in Edgewater he had plenty of women falling over themselves to get his attention. Compared to all the rest of the sorry excuses for carrying the Y chromosome in that miserable town, he was - and still is - absolutely stunning.
His expression is composed, friendly and mildly interested. A vicar’s equivalent of a poker face, as in “yes of course, I’m still listening to your concerns.”
She wonders if they have classes for that in the seminary. “How to not fall asleep through confessions and maintain a proper face while doing so” or something.
She turns away and screws the cap onto the bottle.
“I should get back to my work. This junk isn’t going to sort itself.”
“Of course.” His voice is soft, barely perceptible through the noise of the ship.
“Uh… yes. Feel free to stop by anytime. My door is always open. Figuratively.”
“Thank you.”
She can feel the cold emptiness in the room when he leaves. Max sure does have a presence. How does one person take up so much room?
She collapses down on her bunk, pieces of gear and weaponry strewn all over the floor, forgotten, and flicks open a crumpled pack of Spacer’s Corona with her thumb.