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A week ago, Vespa Ilkay would’ve said that traveling through hyperspace was the most boring place in the galaxy to be. Now, stranded on a desert island with just enough supplies that they’re not even having to rough it at all, she’s starting to have second thoughts.
She knows she should be grateful. Other than a moment of gut-wrenching panic when she was the first one to wake up after the crash and mysterious rescue, when she’d seen Buddy's flame-red hair fanned out over the sand and her body lying eerily still, the whole crash-landing on a mysterious planet thing was going better than any of the crewmates really could've hoped. Every one of them (except Ransom, she suspects, and the thought raises her hackles every time) is used to making a little food and water go a long way, and Jet's been hard at work repairing the ship, saying they should be back in the air in the next week, at most.
But the Carte Blanche, or what's left of it, is out of commission. And the six of them are stuck here for the foreseeable future, with nothing to keep her busy but the same old doubts she'd been paging through before the crash.
Or- that's not entirely true. Buddy, a little too perceptive for Vespa's own good, had picked up that something was off, something other than the whole shipwrecked and alone thing. Pretty much as soon as the whole crew was safe and had found somewhere to sleep, before Vespa had even gotten all the salt water out of her nose, Buddy'd asked if she could talk with her in private for a bit.
It… hadn't gone well. God, she hates fighting with Buddy, hates feeling like there's not a single goddamn soul on the ship- scratch that, in the universe- who's on her side. It's childish, she knows, not even a real fight, but still. She hasn't slept well the last few nights. To put it lightly.
She just wishes that Buddy would see sense, would understand that it wasn't just the one awful watch that she'd failed. Wishes that Buddy could put away the rose-tinted glasses for a second, and realize what's clear to everyone else on the ship. She's not up for the job, and she knows it, so why doesn't Buddy?
But it's an argument they've rehashed over and over the last few days. Once, just this morning, with the hacker listening in. Vespa hadn't even had the energy to do better than a weary threat to wring her neck. (See? She's losing her touch.) Which, come to think of it, she hasn't actually seen Rita since. Or Steel, but that’s no surprise. He’s probably fawning over his boyfriend, like usual.
Anyways. The medbay’s been cleaned more than once, Ransom’s been checked on in the last six hours and she doesn’t think she can stand seeing his stupid face again, and Buddy’s… off somewhere, probably with Jet. So here she is. Alone on the ship. In her room, her and Buddy’s room, trying to keep herself from spiraling too badly. She busies herself sharpening her knives for a while until that gets old, then crashes down on the bed like a moody teenager.
After a while of righteous sulking, the memory strikes her of an old habit, from the days back when it was just her and Buddy shooting through cyberspace. They’d had their fair share of dumb fights back then, too, and even with her brain somewhat more intact, Vespa hadn’t been much better at dealing with the rare times when they weren’t talking. She’d had rituals back then, too, little things she’d done just for the sake of keeping the anger from growing roots in her. Comforting things, keeping her grounded. One of which is sounding pretty enticing right about now.
She knows it’s a stupid thing to find comfort in. Something that would make her laugh, or growl, at Steel, if he tried to pull something similar with his boyfriend.
But what the hell. It's cold on board the ship, and she might be angry at Buddy right now, but unlike what some people might think, she tries not to let her heart freeze through all the way. So, she stalks over to the door of the room and grabs Buddy's favorite robe from the hook at the top. Slides her arms through the sleeves, lets the smell of her cologne take her back to nights when they were young and giddy and all she had to worry about was… the next life-threatening job they were gonna pull off.
Okay, so maybe it's not the sweetest of reminiscences, not the same robe or the same cologne or anything. Maybe she's gotten to a point where she's made peace with everything that's changed. Doesn't mean that she doesn't immediately feel a little lighter, wrapping the robe around herself and letting the sleeves hang past her hands.
God, being angry and in love is so much harder than just being angry. Harder than just being in love, though, too, so she gives herself a second to pretend everything's all right, to pretend that she and Buddy had exchanged more than a few terse words over lunch. That Buddy's right here next to her, even, hand clasped around Vespa's. Warm against hers, fingers intertwined.
Vespa's lonely hand finds its way into the pocket of Buddy's robe. Not looking for anything, really, just idly exploring. Digging up some more nice memories to lie in. Way back when, they'd had a game they'd liked to play, to keep their pickpocketing skills honed (or just to have an excuse to flirt). Nobody else posed a challenge, so who better to steal from than each other?
She digs through old post-it notes, a few hair pins, and a pencil stub before her fingers close around a box. A pill box, is her first thought, but Vespa watches Buddy take her cocktail of medications every morning, watching to make sure she's not forgetting any. (Buddy returns the favor at night, stern admonishments whenever Vespa tries to get away with dry-swallowing them.)
Curiosity gets to her, so she pulls the box out, gives it a cursory glance. It's dark velvet, not circular like she'd thought at first, but hexagonal, rounded at the corners. And it takes her right up until when she's about to flick it open with her thumb for her brain to catch up to her.
Shit. Okay. She shoves her hand back into the robe's pocket, drops the box like it's burned her.
It's not like it's a surprise to Vespa. Not really. They'd talked about marriage at length when they were younger, written it off as an overly formal way of stating what everyone already knew from one glance at either of them, as a useless ceremony, a liability. Then again when reunited, those long nights at the lighthouse where neither of them could sleep, not used to a soft bed, or to another person in it. Admitted that they each like the sound of the other's last name more than their own. That out of all the stupid things to worry about, losing a piece of jewelry was one of the less painful ones.
It had always been hypotheticals, though. Always this vague idea of after we're done with this, which is ironic, seeing as that's exactly what's got Buddy all pissed off recently. And the second that Vespa's heart slows down its pounding a little more, the second that she's able to really process what she's just found, that's what confuses her. That's what makes her feel off balance.
Fine. So Buddy won't let her quit. Not on her own. But Buddy sure as hell won't give up the dream of the Curemother, either (and honestly, Vespa's sort of grateful for that). What's the plan, then, Aurinko? She envisions a whole lifetime of just… this same old, but with a different name. Signing marriage papers under aliases. Moving the wedding ring to the left hand when picking a lock. A little honeymoon, then right back to business.
Does she like the idea? She's... not sure. Yeah, it's nice, knowing that Buddy's got a whole rest of our lives planned for her. But how much do a few promises mean, staring down a future of the exact same uncertainty? A future that, just a few hours ago, Vespa was trying to argue her way out of? Goddamnit. She shouldn't be feeling this way, thinking this way. She doesn't even know that Buddy's planning on proposing any time soon.
What she does know is that they've been fighting for too long already. She can't just let this ferment away, can't bury all the excitement and anxiety and fear as easily as she can bury the troublesome box under pocket lint and old notes. Can't let the nasty parts of her brain have any more ammunition.
It'll be okay, she tells herself. They've talked through heist plans and nightmares, through fifteen years of new scars and old fears heightened to a newfound fever pitch. They'll just have to talk through this, too.
It'll be okay, she tells herself. Buddy'll be home soon.
Nature has never been one of Buddy Aurinko's areas of expertise. Between the insects, the physical exertion, and the dreadful amount of time alone with one's own thoughts, she's always found herself far more at home on a dance floor, or in the captain's chair, or really anywhere else at all. So when dear Jet had suggested that she swap her high heels for an old pair of his hiking boots, her initial reaction had been a loud and hearty laugh right in his face.
He's a terribly convincing man, though, that Jet Sikuliaq, which is why Buddy finds herself right here, right now, sweaty and bug-bitten and caked in mud up to her ankles. Jet's proposition had been entirely correct, though- she'd been awfully surprised when he'd told her at the last minute he wasn't planning on accompanying her, but she can't deny she's had plenty of time to muse on her recent troubles. And though she hates to credit anyone other than herself for the rather ingenious compromise she's come up with, well. Her thoughts had run themselves into a dead-end back on board the Carte Blanche, and maybe, just maybe, the fresh air and infernal sounds of wildlife had played some role in getting them kickstarted again.
No time for dinner- she's long missed the hour. Just a brief shower, and then off to Vespa. Vespa… her thoughts spin as the warm water beats down on her back. Staring at the tile, she envisions her eyes, her lips. The warmth of her embrace. Her shoulder, turned from Buddy, in anger, in rejection- no. Enough of that.
She's found a solution that will leave all parties satisfied. She has mentally written and rewritten exactly what to say. Absurd- two days of a lover's quarrel and she's worried about losing her, when the tension hadn't even been high enough to deprive her of a good-night kiss last night. And yet… the best-laid plans of even Buddy Aurinko tend to stray from course.
The shower is not nearly as inspiring as her hike was. She turns the water off.
She runs through the pertinent points of her proposal one final time before turning the knob to her room, where she's immediately met with the first step of her plan being derailed. Vespa's inside, pacing back and forth anxiously, and as soon as Buddy steps in, she snaps her head to look at her like a startled cat.
"Vespa, darling," Buddy says, just at the same time that Vespa hits her with the four most blood-curdling words known to humankind.
"Bud. We need to talk."
"Funny," Buddy replies, unswayed, or at least trying her best to play the part. "I was about to say just the same. It's a remarkable coincidence how in tune we seem to be, isn't it?" Then, when the rambling gets her nowhere but right into the sharp end of an unimpressed look, "Well. Shall I start, then?"
"Yeah, go ahead." Vespa rocks on her heels, eyes trained on a meaningless point past Buddy's shoulder.
"Sit, darling," Buddy urges her, taking a seat herself on the bed. She hates seeing Vespa anxious like this, wishes she knew exactly the right words to calm her racing mind. When Vespa sits down next to her, Buddy takes her hand.
"I've been thinking," she starts.
"Good for you." Vespa snorts out a little nervous laugh.
Buddy's tongue itches to reproach her, to tell her to listen, to be serious, but she holds herself back. It wouldn't do any good. "You know, I'm sure, that our mission to obtain the Curemother is not solely one for our own benefit. That I believe that our crew is capable, perhaps the only crew capable, of liberating a great good from the clutches of those looking to make a profit. You've sat through our family meetings, and perhaps even listened to them."
Vespa nods, jerkily. Her hair hangs loose around her face, tousled, like she's been running her own hand through it for quite a while now. "Yeah, but- look, Bud. If all you wanted to say was that it's selfish of me to want to quit, you can skip the lecture, okay? I've got that all figured out."
Buddy runs her thumb over the back of Vespa's palm. Yes, she'd anticipated this, had prepared a proper line of defense.
"Darling," she starts, "I will never think you selfish for choosing to act in the interest of your own health, or your own comfort. You know yourself better than anyone else, even me. And if you really, truly think you aren't fit for this job, that the role I've planned for you is not one you can play anymore- I don't intend to be a chain around your neck. You're free to retire, now or whenever you feel the time is right."
Vespa opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but Buddy holds up a hand to stop her. "And yet- I have an alternate proposal to make, if you're willing to hear me out."
Something flashes across Vespa's face that Buddy can't quite make out, but then she nods. "Sure. Hit me."
"We get the hell off this island as soon as possible," she poses. "We've lost a little bit of time, but not an irrecoverable amount. You and I, and the rest of the crew, fulfill our integral roles in getting the Curemother, all according to my plan. Our plan. We pop some champagne, put our great minds together in order to find a distributor for the Pprime, and then- don't give me that look, Vespa love. I'm only just getting to the good part. Then we retire."
"What?" Vespa looks stricken at that, and frankly, Buddy can understand why. Way back when, over dinners for two and quiet words spoken into bedroom darkness, they’d agreed on one thing above all others— to go out in a blaze of glory. To make it a beautiful end, one taught in history classes and sung in folk songs in overcrowded bars and known all across the galaxy. An end fitting for the two of them.
The thought bothers her quite a bit, nowadays. There’s no glory in what had happened that day on Baldur, that’s no doubt. Would it have been more fitting if she’d been wearing a stun-proof vest, been able to follow in the fiery trail of her lover, the fallen star? Perhaps it would have made for a better story. But…
But then again, she wouldn’t be able to lean in closer to Vespa now, lightly kiss the look of shock off her face. Chaste, easy, before she pulls back and confesses the truth behind her newly-formed plan. “These last months have been— beyond anything I ever could have imagined, during my years in prison or working at the bar. Every day of mine has been brighter for having you by my side, and I daresay the same is true for everyone in our family, even those who choose not to understand it that way. But I’m afraid that by seeing you as a crewmate and a doctor and a confidante… I’ve been missing the forest for the trees.”
She looks into Vespa’s eyes, now, just for a second, but that’s all she needs. “Darling, I’ve never wished we could have met in more typical circumstances. I wouldn’t trade the seven years we had, nor our family now, for anything in the galaxy. But now, given the choice… I’d rather like to lead a peaceful life with you, if you’ll have me.”
“Bud,” Vespa says, sounding more than a little choked up. “You’d— I— but you love thieving, you love the job! Buddy Aurinko, legendary thief— you’d give that up, give up your dream, just for me?”
Buddy shakes her head. “No, darling. I’d give it up for me. To get to be with you, living a life that keeps us safe, that keeps us happy... that is my dream. All our years apart, I'd agonized over the thought that I'd brought this about, with my poor planning, my impulsiveness. That if only we'd skipped the job..." she shakes her head. No use dwelling on that now. "Never again, love. Will you take a load off my poor heart-" (she winces-) "and retire with me, after this job?"
Vespa takes in a deep breath. "I, uh- but you really still want me around for the Curemother heist? Even after… you know? Everything that happened?"
"More than anything," Buddy tells her, painfully honest. "Not just because I want you with me. But because you're a wonderfully competent thief, and I believe you're selling yourself short. Not one of us on this crew is perfect, Vespa. We have all made mistakes- but let's not forget that it was you who was able to detect the impostor, who was able to refrain from falling for its traps."
"Huh." Vespa raises her eyebrows. "I guess."
"The Carte Blanche needs you, Vespa. Almost as much as I need you." She leans in close, pressing a kiss to Vespa's cheekbone, a light stain of scarlet. "So what do you say? Does that sound like an acceptable proposition?"
"I dunno, Bud." She grins tentatively, a smile finally gracing her face. "You never told me what this gig's retirement plans were like."
Buddy can't help but laugh. "How about the knowledge that you've disarmed four of the most wicked corporations to have ever plagued our galaxy?"
"S'a nice thing to put on a resume, but will it put food on the table?"
" I'll put food on the table, darling. Don't you worry your pretty little head about that."
"Guess we could always send Ransom back down to pluck a few more diamond necklaces out of Zolotovna's bra." She spits Pete's name like a curse, but it's not loaded with her usual venom. "Sounds like a pretty solid plan."
"So that's a yes, then?"
Vespa's smile wavers for just a second. "We gotta talk it over with the rest of the crew."
"Don't tell me how to do business, dear. I'm the captain for a reason. I'll have the whole thing sorted out before we're even off this island."
Buddy watches Vespa's hands closely as she tangles her fingers together, then untwines them, then repeats the action again, a little unconscious tic she recognizes to indicate that Vespa's deep in anxious thought. Her brow furrows, and she opens her mouth, then closes it, and then, finally-
"All right, what the hell." She shrugs, feigning nonchalance for nobody in particular. "Yeah. That sounds… nice."
"Doesn't it just." Buddy grips Vespa's hand a little tighter. Without a hitch, she thinks, and then remembers something. "I presume this is what you'd wanted to talk about, then?"
"Oh, uh." The smile falls from Vespa's face as her eyes go deer-in-the-headlights wide. "No, I. Never mind. It's no big deal."
"Well, now you've got to tell me, or I'll be living in a permanent state of heightened anxiety until the time comes." She scoots back further on the bed, lies down and urges Vespa down next to her into her arms. Vespa follows, a little grudgingly, but settles in with a quiet sigh.
"Fine. Don't freak out, okay?"
"I'll try my best," says Buddy, whose heart is currently beating so quick she can hear a faint mechanical whirr in her ears.
"I was-" she blushes with a little laugh, rolling over to face the windows- "uh, I… put on your robe today, 'cuz it was. You know. Cold and all." (Buddy catches a sudden mental image of Vespa, half-swaddled in her robe, and feels a part of herself melt at the thought.) "And there was… something… in the pocket." She curls away from Buddy, just a little. Almost protectively.
"You'll have to be more specific, love-" she starts to say, and then it hits her. "Ah. Never mind."
"Sorry," Vespa sighs. "You probably had some grand plan, I should've just-"
Buddy laughs, pulling Vespa closer to her, entangling their fingers over Vespa's chest. "Shh, love. I was just about to say. You've taken quite a weight off my mind."
Vespa doesn't reply, seemingly taking a second to puzzle this out, so Buddy continues. "I'd bought the ring a few months ago, when we were planetside. I was very proud of myself for having found one just in your size, one that I think you'll like quite a lot. But... as it turns out, finding the ring was the easy part. I've had a bear of a time trying to find the right moment to propose."
When Vespa rolls over to face her, with the prettiest look of surprise on her scar-crossed face, Buddy can't help but lean in and kiss her. The blood's rushing in her ears as the weight of the moment catches up to her, but Vespa is here in her arms, warm and solid and with a starstruck hint in her gaze. She doesn't regret a thing.
"And what better way to propose to a thief," Buddy says once they break apart, "than to let her steal her own ring? Go get my robe from the door, darling."
"Oh, god," Vespa mutters, "we're doing this now. Are we really- are we doing this right now?"
Hm. Has she miscalculated? "Do you not want to, love? I know we haven't talked about it in several months, and I won't blame you if you've changed your position from what it was back at the lighthouse. Though I'd be delighted to call you my wife, I won't be the slightest bit upset if you-"
She finds her rambling cut off by a kiss. Damn. Vespa's learning some of her best moves.
"I want to," Vespa says, quiet into the space between them. "God. I really do. Right now, even. It's just a lot."
"Take your time, love."
Vespa shakes her head, walks over to the door. Buddy can see the tension in her body, coiled tight like a spring, but the dejected slump of her shoulders is gone, and there's no anger in her tread.
She returns with the little velvet bot, which she hands to Buddy with a smile. "Go on," she says as Buddy closes her hands over the box. "Make me the happiest woman in the galaxy, or whatever I'm supposed to say."
"I'm afraid that position's taken already," Buddy says as she gets down on one knee in front of the bed. "You'll have to settle for second. Now, be quiet and let me propose to you."
Vespa obliges, and as soon as she's silent, Buddy realizes one rather serious problem.
She hasn't got a clue what to say.
Start with the obvious. "Vespa, love. I'm afraid I haven't written a speech, though I've got more than a few first drafts in the trash in my mind. I haven't got a bottle of champagne for us, or a moonlit picnic. I hope you don't mind."
Deep breath. "But even if I'd had all the time in the world to prepare… I don't believe I could've written the perfect speech. I don't believe there are enough words in any language to express the way I feel when I wake up next to you in the morning, or the way I can't draw my eyes from you when you're laughing. The expanse of the rest of our lives lies before us-" (focus, Aurinko, purple prose will get you nowhere-) "and though I can't begin to wrap my head around the concept, it excites me more than any heist's prospect. My darling Vespa, my moonlight, I-"
Words leave her- what else is there to say? "I-"
A part of her is thankful she hadn't had the time to agonize over a speech. "I-"
Vespa's hand comes to rest against her face, thumb stroking over her cheekbone. "Breathe, Bud."
Buddy obeys.
When she's back in control of her own thoughts, she decides to cut to the chase. "Vespa… my love, would you be quite willing to spend the rest of our lives together as my wife?”
Vespa… doesn't answer. Not right away, which gives Buddy's lingering doubts the perfect opportunity to kick into full force. She wonders whether it would ruin the effect, if she made it extremely clear once more that she'll feel no ill will if Vespa isn't ready, that perhaps it's too early-
And then she hears a little bitten-off sound, and looks up, and Vespa's got one hand over her mouth, the other resting against the bridge of her nose. She's crying, maybe, or perhaps laughing- Buddy can't quite tell. And then her hand closes, strong and tight, around Buddy's forearm, and Buddy is hauled up from her knees and into a crushing kiss.
She falls against Vespa, both of them sprawling back onto the bed, and it's a growl, of all things, that comes out of Vespa's mouth before anything else. Then a laugh, and then, "yes, Buddy, god, of course I wanna be your goddamn wife, I cannot believe- "
Another kiss follows. Then another, softer, and Buddy can feel Vespa's nervous energy dissipating as she holds her tight. She's still muttering under her breath, something about how the whole thing's ridiculous, but Buddy knows the look on her face well enough to see right through her bluster.
"Well?" Vespa demands eventually.
"Ah- well what, darling?"
She rolls her eyes, unbearably fond. "You gotta let me see the ring, Bud! Come on, at least let me know what I'm agreeing to."
Buddy laughs, flipping open the ring box to reveal a thin silver band, intricately patterned, with a small green gemstone inlaid in it. Secretly, she's terribly proud of the ring inside, the one she'd commissioned almost on a whim right around the time that the Carte Blanche took off. Finding the right craftsman had been far easier than finding the right words.
She tries her best to keep her hands from shaking noticeably as she slips the ring onto Vespa's finger. The errant thought strikes her that there's a reason that all those ancient poets focused on the beauty of their lovers' hands. Something about seeing Vespa's hand resting on hers, something about the striking contrast of the smoothly polished silver against her scarred knuckles, sends a spark of giddy affection through her.
When they were younger, she'd vowed to hold Vespa's hand tight as their legend ended, as the flames of their final job consumed them. Now, though… she realizes, as she traces her thumb along Vespa's calloused ring finger, that after all the painstaking effort it had taken to lay the groundwork of the moment she found herself in, it would be an awful shame for that to come to pass. An awful shame indeed to let something as precious as two interlocked hands be destroyed in a blaze at all, glorious or otherwise.
She brings Vespa's hand up to her lips, presses a careful kiss right between her first two knuckles. Vespa makes a small sound at the contact, a little whoosh of air, and she scrubs her unringed and unkissed hand down her face, eyes closed tight once again. Then, after a moment, she seems to compose herself, smiling at Buddy with a look in her eyes that makes it clear that any concern about the tears welling up in them would be entirely unneeded.
"It's beautiful," she says, a little thickly.
"It suits you."
Vespa laughs. "No clue what you mean by that."
Buddy'd gone out of her way to dredge up memories of remarks made practically in another lifetime about jewelry taste, measured Vespa's ring size surreptitiously (with great difficulty, she might add), consulted jewelers and gemologists and even an artist in order to find the gem the closest in hue to Vespa's preferred hair dye. Still, she gives the truest possible answer. "You said it yourself. It's beautiful."
"Aw, Bud…" She leans towards her, hits her head lightly against Buddy's shoulder. It's a gesture of affection Buddy's become wonderfully familiar with in the last ten months, one that conveys all the tricky words of thanks and affection that still get stuck in Vespa's throat.
"I love you too, darling."
"Hey," Vespa says, after a moment of endearingly quiet thought. "Let me see your ring?"
"I'm afraid for that you'll have to let me up."
Vespa growls, low in her throat, then yields with a quiet "ugh, fi-ine", and Buddy regretfully disentangles herself from her embrace. She makes her way over to her desk, digging through the smallest drawer until she unearths a matching box.
She turns to return to bed, only to find that Vespa's followed her over, coming to stand right behind her with an eyebrow raised. Her girlfriend's- no, her fiancée's- silent tread, fitting for an assassin, has never deepened in the slightest even in the comfort of their bedroom. Perhaps a lesser woman might find it offputting, but Buddy adores the surprise each time.
"Will you do the honors, dearest?" She hands Vespa the box. Or, aims to hand her the box, at least- her hand shakes at an inopportune moment, and the handoff is almost fumbled entirely. Vespa recovers it at the last second, though, as it dances at the edge of her outstretched fingertips. She opens the box silently, staring more towards Buddy up until the moment the ring is revealed, at which point her attention is swiftly diverted.
Now, to call Buddy Aurinko a vain woman would be a grave mischaracterization. Quite the understatement, in fact- between her remarkable beauty and her remarkable wit, she believes she's indisputably earned the title of remarkably vain. And between the odyssey she's gone through to find potential marital bliss, and the rather significant amount of creds (not even counterfeit!) she's wired into the account of her commissioned jeweler, she has certainly earned a wedding ring suitable for a remarkably vain woman like her.
Polished gold, with a large ruby centerpiece, bright and chunky and gleaming against her dark skin as Vespa carefully fits it onto her, Buddy's ring is as distinct from Vespa's as possible. Almost unrecognizable as two halves of a whole, save for the intricate star-patterned detailing on each, which is precisely the same.
It's fitting. After all, the two of them make an odd matched set as well. Three eyes between them, half a lifetime of scars and traumas and memories that they've yet to have time to truly catch up on. This is, perhaps, what Buddy values the most in the curious romance they've built from rubble and desert sand- the differences between the two have only grown with time, but the space created is almost comforting. There's a distinct loneliness in the solitude of growing so chokingly close to one's lover that there are no secrets to be kept, no arguments to be had, nothing to learn about each other.
She wonders whether Vespa will understand, or whether she'll simply see the mismatched rings as a fashion statement. It doesn't matter to her especially. Perhaps some day, with practice, she'll have the words to explain it right in her mind, right on her tongue.
Today is not that day. Instead, what she comes up with is, "Do you like it?"
"It suits you," Vespa parrots back in a remarkable impression of Buddy's own voice. "But I, uh."
"Yes, love?"
"Never mind. It's nothing."
Buddy can practically see the gears turning in Vespa's head, and decides that this reluctance won't do at all. "What if I asked you very nicely to tell me?"
"Mm, you could give it a shot, I guess."
"Please, love. Nothing you have to say is ever nothing to me."
"I've just… got an idea, is all. It's stupid." Vespa shakes her head. Her hand still rests under Buddy's thumb hovering over the knuckle of her ringed finger.
"I sincerely doubt that. Go on."
"Uh." She coughs. "What's your ring size?"
The question takes Buddy by surprise, but it's not as though she doesn't know the answer. "Ten, roughly. I can't say it hasn't changed, but I didn't bother remeasuring."
"Okay," Vespa nods. "And, uh. What's my ring size?"
"You were a ten as well, surprisingly enough," Buddy tells her. The poetry of the fact hadn't gone over her head. She'd always known their fingers were perfectly fit to intertwine.
Vespa taps her finger absently against the stone of Buddy's ring. "Okay, then. Do you… want to trade?"
"Rings?" Buddy tries her best to keep her face neutral, but is sure she's betraying at least some surprise. After all the trouble she'd gone to-
"I mean, look. You got me a ring that's perfect for me, and I can tell how you feel about yours, too." The corner of Vespa's mouth quirks upwards. "But… every time I look down at my hand, I want to think of you. Every time I mess with the ring, I want to remember that you're-" Real, she doesn't say, but Buddy catches it lingering in the air regardless. "That we have this. With each other. I dunno." She trails off. "Only if you want, you know?"
"Oh, darling." Buddy feels her camera eye shutter rapidly, working double-time with the neurons in her brain to protect against phantom tears that'll never fall. "Oh, Vespa. You're absolutely right, that sounds-" Already, she's removing her own ring, and Vespa mirrors her after an awkward second of uncertainty. "That sounds perfect."
Vespa laughs, a little sound from deep in her throat that Buddy's come to cherish deeply. "Glad you agree." She twists Buddy's ring onto her own finger, then sets her hand palm up on the bed. Buddy knows an invitation when she sees one. She places her hand in Vespa's and lets her fit the ring carefully onto her finger.
As much as Buddy had preened at the sight of her old ring, she has to admit that Vespa's right. Looking down at their hands, she feels a sense of completeness, as though wearing Vespa's ring has settled the deal. She takes a second to bask in the whole thing- in being understood, in being engaged, in being here, right now- until the moment is shattered by Vespa's appraising hum.
"I got the bigger one," she says. "Cool. Bet it'd sell for more, too."
Buddy feigns a deeply wounded sound. "You know, if monetary value was your concern, I'll have you know that though mine may have been gold, yours was made from sterling platinum, not silver."
"Ah, shit," Vespa sighs. "Forget everything I said about wanting to carry a little bit of you with me everywhere I go. I want that one back."
"I'm afraid you should've thought that through beforehand, my dearest," Buddy tells her. "You're stuck with mine now."
"Seems fair." Vespa wraps her arms around Buddy's waist, leaning close into her. "You're stuck with me now."
"And there's nowhere in the galaxy I'd rather be."
Once they've settled back into bed, Buddy catches Vespa with a bit of a faraway look in her eyes. "Cred for your thoughts, darling."
"We're getting married, " Vespa sighs immediately. Buddy can't remember the last time she's heard her sound so excited about anything not categorizable as a "biological phenomenon".
"Oh, really? It'd slipped my mind."
Vespa doesn't rise to the bait. In fact, she doesn't even seem to register it, still just smiling into space. "So do you wanna be the one to carry me over the threshold, or should I do some weight training?"
Buddy bursts out laughing. "It's an excellent question, darling. Perhaps in the interest of fairness, one of us can take the other's name, and whoever didn't get the honor can be carried that night."
"God, I hadn't even thought about that," Vespa groans. "The name changes, I mean. It's not like any of this is gonna be done legally, so…"
"Perhaps that's something we ought to figure out once we have more time to ourselves. In the meantime, I do have a proposition for you."
"Another one?" She grins. "Hit me."
"You mentioned legality, and it reminded me. I think we would be hard-pressed to find anyone ordained to officiate on such a short notice, but if we're doing away with custom in so many ways already… well, I do know one man who has quite a way with words and who would be quite happy with the prospect of seeing the event through."
(Long ago, back at the lighthouse, she'd told Jet all about Vespa. It had taken her the better part of several days, three bottles of hard liquor, and roughly enough unfortunate tears to fill the empty bottles. She remembers, quite clearly, bemoaning the fact that they'd never had a chance to settle down, to center their lives around love rather than duty.
Back then, he'd asked if it had been what she would have wanted. If she had ever planned for their domestic life, or for that matter, their wedding. She had, of course- she'd wanted an afterparty raucous and glamorous enough to make galactic news; she'd wanted a ceremony with just the two of them, for who else was there?
Now, she thinks, she's quite content to increase that number to six.)
"You mean the big guy?" Vespa asks, looking a little taken aback. "Yeah, that, uh. That works. He'll know the right thing to say."
"He always does."
"Steel's going to be insufferable."
Buddy rolls her eyes with a fond smile. "If he hasn't guessed already. Do try and refrain from fighting with him at our wedding, please."
"I'll try, " Vespa says, narrowing her eyes.
"You always do." It's meant as a tongue-in-cheek comment, a little jab at her relationship with the ship's detective, but it lands heavier than she'd planned.
"Yeah," Vespa agrees. " We always do. God, Bud…" she presses a knuckle against the bridge of her nose. "This isn't gonna be easy, is it."
"Of course not," Buddy answers frankly. "When has it been?"
"I guess you're right," Vespa nods. "Means more that way, maybe."
"Certainly," Buddy says, then sighs. She can't quite find the words for what she wants to say, but she tries anyway. "This… this was never what I expected, you know."
"What, proposing in your pajamas right after the biggest fight we've had since I came back from the dead? Funny, I wouldn't have guessed."
"That, of course," Buddy acquiesces. "But more than that, I mean… any of this. All of this. I'd dreamed of a peaceful life with you, love, but I'd never… I'd never expected it could become reality."
"But you're sure it's what you want?"
"It terrifies me," the truth falls out of Buddy's mouth before she can stop it. "But… I want it more than anything."
Vespa nods. "It scares me, too, I think. I… can't really remember any time when I wasn't working for something, or running from something. Settling down… I dunno. I feel like I oughta try it, though, before it's too late."
Somehow, that's something Buddy had never considered. She doesn't come from quite the same past as Vespa, she knows, but she can relate to the feeling of never having had a moment to truly rest. Perhaps that's what scares her so badly- the unknown of it. Still… "You're right, darling. It would be a true shame if we never got a chance to be disgustingly domestic. A quiet life doesn't sound bad at all, now that I think about it."
"Not too quiet, though, right?" Vespa demands. "We still gotta have a museum heist every once in a while. Those were my favorites."
"Oh, thank god," Buddy puts a hand over her heart, "I was worried it was just me. Yes, my love, I'd be more than happy to go on a heist with you every once in a while."
"For special occasions," Vespa says. "And we gotta stop by the Carte Blanche a lot, too, see how these chucklefucks are doing on their own."
"And while we're at it, I'd like to revisit my former father's former prison complex," Buddy adds. "I hear they're housing political prisoners these days, and I'd love to test out whether they've changed the lock mechanisms or the door codes since I was last there."
"Sounds like we might be busier once we retire than we are now," Vespa says with a grin. "If we're just piling stuff on, I've always wanted to learn formal bio, not just field medicine."
"Only on the condition that you let me help you study," Buddy shoots back. Her heart is still pounding, and she can't deny that though the impromptu to-do list creation has set her mind at ease, she still feels like she's standing at the very edge of a cliff. The view is beautiful, of course, but the feeling of breathlessness isn't solely a pleasant one.
Still…
"That sounds nice," Vespa says.
Buddy agrees. It does.