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Nastya did not seek attention often. That was what Aurora was for, obviously, but there are some kinds of affection even a cool sentient spaceship cannot give you, and one of them is the comfort of fingers in your hair, and this was the kind of affection Nastya was in need of. She only became so unbearably touch-starved every decade or so (machine-self relations and human-self relations will always be the same in her mind, but the touch of humanoid hands is irreplicable), far less than Jonny. Granted, Jonny had Tim and Brian and memories to keep him warm and loved and touched.
And it wasn’t like Nastya was unloved, but she had never been in possession of that closeness her crew had with other people; never a lover or family who felt comfortable enough to hold her. She wasn’t sure the crew realized that even on mandatory movie nights, she remained the last to be pulled into hugs or a seat on the couch — usually by Jonny — and at meals everyone casually joked and elbowed and pushed and Nastya sat still and untouched, like a cold marble pillar. Even Carmilla had hesitated (only slightly) to draw Nastya into her embrace, preferring to trust her eldest child to care for Nastya. Perhaps Nastya had done it to herself. Universe knows she was a little too comfortable with distancing herself.
Regardless, there was still an entire crew she could have gone to. She knew, at a base level, that any of the crew would have humored her had she requested a hug. But there is a specific, intimate trust between siblings who choose each other, and so Jonny was naturally the only viable option in Nastya’s mind as she roamed the halls.
So what if she got distracted along the way? Her brain was foggy with exhaustion and a desire for touch, and when she felt the smoky warmth pouring from beneath Ashes’ door, she nearly wept. She was always so, so cold. Just for a moment, she told herself, she would lie by the door and soak the heat up so she could find Jonny. Just a moment.
Nastya woke warm and comfortable, sprawled across Jonny’s lap. She almost tried to move, but realized two important facts. First, that she was on Jonny’s bed, in his room, and acknowledging that fact would undoubtedly ruin whatever moment was occurring. Second, and more importantly, Jonny’s hand was gently scratching across her scalp, and it felt so incredible she suddenly doubted she even had the ability to move. His other hand was on her back, his thumb moving back and forth in small half-circles that seemed to radiate just as much pleasant heat as his torso, and she discovered that she was… very relaxed.
She absently wondered how she had found him, for she didn’t remember getting to his room, but she certainly couldn’t have been in front of Ashes’ door for more than five minutes. She had almost managed to stay quiet and still when Jonny’s fingers rubbed the space behind her ear and jaw and she couldn’t help a faint exhale of relief. Still, it was enough for the cowboy to notice, and she could feel his diaphragm move as he chuckled silently.
“Comfy?” he asked coarsely, and she suddenly remembered that it’d been a while since she’d actually seen him (and she was far from extroverted, either) and he likely had hardly spoken in weeks. That made her chest swell with a little bit of pride and certainly some feeling of being loved that she relished. She nodded against his leg, moving slowly so his hand moved through more of her hair.
“Good,” he replied into the quiet — he was unobtrusive, she noticed, when he wanted to be, and he was less the person who broke the silence rather than the person who flowed with it — “You startled Ashes. They opened their door and you were just… laying there. I happened to be in the vicinity.”
“You mean you stood and watched,” Nastya grumbled affectionately, her mouth sticky with sleep. “You let me lay there so you could see Ashes jump.”
“Maybe.” Jonny’s grin was so familiar that even with her eyes closed, Nastya could imagine nearly every microexpression on his face. Still, she appreciated the video feed Aurora began sharing with her so she could see the scene without actually opening her eyes. Jonny’s hair looked a mess (more than usual) and his goggles were lying across the room, but otherwise he was very much her brother as he always was. His rumpled shirt was covered by a carefully-arranged vest, with an assortment of belts decorating his waist and torso and holsters lying against his thighs. He smelled like leather and a specific kind of smoke he claimed was “New Texas unique,” although she was pretty sure (and had been for centuries) that it was just the undertones of burning flesh that he carried with him without fail combining with cigarette smoke and whiskey. It was comforting and familiar, and Nastya drank it in nearly as much as his hand in her hair.
Jonny moved his other hand so his palm was flush with her spine, starting to rub her back in long, even strokes. She could feel her muscles straining into his touch and her vertebrae changing alignments as she twitched slightly, but she was comfortable enough with Jonny to disallow herself the embarrassment that so often stemmed from her outward displays of desperation. She was desperate, wasn’t she? She could be held nearly any time, with Aurora always caring for her, but she could not always have this. Whatever this was.
Perhaps it was time she admitted to herself that she really should go looking for affection more often, if this was how it made her feel and how she would react after avoiding other humanoids for nigh unto a century. Perhaps.
She stretched, although obstinately did not move from Jonny’s lap, and was almost overwhelmed with sudden and frankly uninvited gratitude that he didn’t push her off. Had she really been that deprived? She had thought she was doing well. But every moment with Jonny was another moment of feeling safer and more comfortable than she had in at least a few years.
No, Nastya did not seek attention often.
But she was pretty sure she was going to start.