Chapter Text
Cress scrolled through the feeds on her netscreen. A cute cat played with a toy mouse. Two girls danced to a popular song. A woman talked about Lunar politics while she did her makeup. This was how she liked to unwind after a day of deliveries.
The Rampion was parked on the outskirts of the latest letumosis outbreak zone, a rural town in Iceland.
“Wait until we go to Greenland,” Thorne had said when they arrived at the lush green landscape. “That’s where the real ice is.”
“I know,” she had replied. “I can’t wait to see real earthen snow again! And maybe actually get to enjoy it, this time.”
The Rampion had taken them to snowy climates before. They had been traveling around the world, delivering the letumosis antidote for three years now, but last time they were in a snowy place, Cress had gotten a cold and spent the whole trip in bed.
Cress’s thoughts drifted to what they would do in the snowy lands. She and Thorne walking down an icy path, their boots crunching crisp footprints in the tiny crystals. Snowflakes landing in their hair. Thorne brushing snowflakes off her cheeks and leaning in close, sharing his warmth. His knuckles tracing down to her lips.
“Knock, knock.”
Cress startled, her port screen nearly flying out of her hands. A hot flush crept up her neck. Thorne stood in the doorway, freshly showered. His hair stood on end and his gray t-shirt looked a bit damp around the collar.
“What’cha got there?” he asked, strolling toward her. It was a baking tutorial.
“I think I’m going to make another attempt at cookies again,” she said breathlessly.
“I hope that goes better than last time,” he said with a chuckle. Last time, she had burnt them.
“At least I didn’t set the toaster on fire,” she said, sitting up and giving him a friendly nudge.
He ran his hand along his chin thoughtfully. “I’m still not sure how I did that… Are you showering soon? I hate to admit it, but I’ve been wondering what Mr. Darcy is up to all day.”
Cress smiled. She and Thorne spent their evenings before bed watching Cress’s favorite net dramas. And while Thorne pretended not to be interested in anything that wasn’t a space adventure, he usually got super invested about halfway through the show. Currently, they were watching an old second era series called The Lizzie Bennet Diaries.
“I’ll make it quick,” said Cress, already up and on her way to the washroom.
~ ~ ~
Thorne queued up the net drama from where they last left off. Lizzie was sitting in front of her camera wearing a hat that meant she was doing an impression of her mother. The show was so old, it hadn’t been converted to a holograph format and Lizzie’s two-dimensional face was plastered to the wall.
Thorne had been skeptical about this show from the beginning. It mostly consisted of this girl, Lizzie, sitting in her room, talking about her life. There was no action. But Cress said that she’d always liked it because it was something that she could have created all on her own from the satellite. If she had had friends up there that is.
Thorne liked to picture Cress making her own net dramas all from the tiny satellite, and it filled his heart with a somber pang. He wondered if she would be interested in making a net drama with him now. She would be good at it, and he had old classmates back in L.A. who were producers and directors now. Maybe he could star in it. He’d always wanted to be famous.
Thorne sat back against the headboard and listened to Cress’s singing from the shower. She was singing that second-era aria that first heard her sing back in Africa. It was her favorite. He heard the water shut off and a few moments later, Cress emerged in her pajamas, a towel wrapped around her hair. Her hair was nearly as short as his was—she kept cutting it shorter and shorter every time she got a haircut—but she still wrapped the towel around it out of habit.
She hopped into bed, snuggling up beside him, and he played the net drama.
~ ~ ~
Cress couldn’t hide her amusement as they ended the fourth episode of the night.
“I knew Wickham was up to no good,” said Thorne, shaking his head.
“You did not,” she said. “You’re a lot like him, you know.”
“I am actually insulted, Cress. How can you say that?”
She laughed. “Well, he’s got your charm if not your heart.”
“If I ever blackmail an innocent girl in an attempt to collect money that I gambled away, you have permission to shoot me in the foot… oh, spades, now that I say that out loud, that sounds like something I totally would’ve done as a teenager.”
“Well, at least you’re like Darcy in the respect that you’ve learned from your mistakes,” said Cress.
Thorne looked at her sheepishly. “If I ever revert back to my unsavory ways, you have my permission to shoot me in the foot.”
“I doubt it will come to that, Carswell,” she said, patting him on the chest. He turned the netscreen off. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Cress.”
She settled into her usual place, her head on Thorne’s shoulder. Just as their breaths fell into rhythm, Cress’s port screen lit up on the bedside table and an alert sounded. She rolled over and looked to see what the alert was for.
Letumosis Outbreak:
Kingston, Jamaica, American Republic.
05:34 U.T., 15 NOV 129 T.E.
“Well, it looks like we’ll be heading to Luna first thing tomorrow,” she said. “There’s an outbreak in Jamaica.”
“Jamaica?” Thorne said, a trace of worry lacing his voice. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, in Kingston.”
He sighed deeply. “Aces, I never thought I’d have to go back there.”
“What happened to you in Jamaica?” Cress asked.
“You read my file, didn’t you?”
“Extensively.”
“Then, I’m sure you read what I did after stealing the Rampion from the American Republic Air Force?”
Cress did remember reading about Carswell Thorne’s path of self-destruction. Shortly after stealing the Rampion, he had marooned his crew on an island in the Caribbean. An island right off the coast of Jamaica.