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“The sooner we get off this bleedin’ planet, the better,” Croft complained, and shivered, beneath his sodden raincoat. “Why is everything so-” he stumbled, kicking off his boots, “heavy, here?”
The “luxury private dock” that the Guin had so graciously been permitted to park in during their short hop down to Centrum had, of course, sat right in the middle of the space port, where the confluence of winds and rains shouldn't have been able to crash, but crash they nonetheless did. If Centrum’s skies weren't crying, they were on fire. Cass had expected this, of course, and had warned the others thusly that the trek back from their grand reverie with her father would be marred by rainy weather. She, nor anyone in the Abercross it seems, had expected a tropical storm.
“That would be the natural embrace of gravity. And the rain, I suppose.” Meds threw off her own boots, crowding the airlock with soaked detritus. “You grew up in 0.8g on Towershield. You’ll be fine.”
“Then how are you holding up so well, Miss 0.6g?”
“Marine training gives you a chipper attitude to most situations, come shine or rain.”
“Yeah, right-”
“Stop bickering you two, please.” Cass slunk off her coat, as they all doffed into the barest of their small clothes. Croft in his long johns, and the rest of her crew in various vests and shorts. Their clothes, all potentially covered in viral elements from the plague quarter, had gathered in a messy, mildewed pile under the harsh interlock lights. “Sorry,” she mumbled after a moment, keeping her eyes off of Liz, who had undressed at the first order and done so with gusto. To her credit, her partner leveled a cold, damp hand against her shoulder, and gave her a smile, not expecting Cass to make eye contact.
“It's been a… long, long day,” she said, pulling out her director-cum-quartermasterly voice, “And I for one am not looking forward to a decontamination shower right now, so using the powers invested in me as the new second-in-command of this vessel, please. Let's all shut up, and get on with it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Croft nodded, “sorry skip. Boss too.” his undershirt sleeves were soaked at the tattered ends but he minded none.
“We haven't exactly-” Meds looked at her dirtied nails, then the clothing pile, “forgotten what happened today, yet. All of us. So be as snippy as you like, Cass. I’ll forgive you.”
“Sure. No unwinnable situation ends with you walking away from it alive.” Cass tried a smile on for size, before collapsing onto the raised dressing deck, face in damp hands.
“...We’ll hit the showers first. Don't start coughing on each other - or worse - until we’re out.”
“Solid copy.” Cass patterned.
“What are we gonna do about the clothes, though?” Croft’s voice asked as they passed further into the ship.
Meds shrugged. “Burn them?”, and the door shut behind them, the air cycling. Cass tucked hairs behind both her ears, before pulling her legs into herself, turning into a human turtle shell, or a kid who was hiding away just after breaking something precious, and just before they got a scolding. Though, perhaps, the scolding had already ravaged through like a typhoon across a Centran shore. She wiggled her toes back to life, the hints of emaciation cursing her feet to look half-way zombie-like.
Liz, the most underdressed and yet the least bit bothered by it of the frew, swung her hands against each other absently, making a popping sound with her mouth, before sliding down onto the bench step just beside her partner, not touching but siphoning just a bit of warmth from proximity alone. A rusting smell of salt water lingered in the air.
“Soooo,” she threaded her fingers through the tips of her red hair, “how’d your conversation go with ol’ daddy-o.”
Cass did snort at that, into her hands, and took a sharp breath before saying; “Daddy-o?”
“I don't know what you call him! Is Fleet Admiral his familiar name, or?”
The scoff was weaker but still there as Cass turned away, rocking on her heels from side to side. “Admiral. I think I pretty much exclusively called him that before we stopped talking, even.”
“... Yeesh.” Liz laid back like she owned the place, which she very nearly would have done if things had gone worse earlier that day.
“To be fair. There was a war on.”
“Can I call him dickhead, though?”
“Be my guest. Please do, in fact.”
“Admiral Dickhead it is.” Cass was the taller of the two, and yet could fold down so small, that she was having to look upwards at Liz as her partner joked, eyes flicking back in connection over and over. Her throat was hoarse despite all the water in the air, but with a mighty cough, she said, “Why are you wearing so little, anyways? Red lingerie? In broad daylight?”
“Oh, that,” she glanced herself up and down. “Surprise? I was thinking that… I dunno. We might wear something fancier to this Veteran’s club. So I came prepared in case we were gonna get all dolled up and the moment struck and suddenly we were naked dollies in like, a broom closet or whatever.”
“Right…”
“Silly assumption, I know.”
“No, no. If it was anyone but my father’s- the admiral’s haunt, I would’ve suggested we dress to the nines, even.”
“... Can we go there next time? Wherever that is?”
Cass scoffed, and pushed her shoulder with the gentlest knuckle. “I expect I’m barred from every Veteran’s association except for the Captain’s Union. Which is really more of a pub where old bats go to drink.” Her eyes drifted, lingered, admiring teardrop curves where they formed across Liz’s body. “Where did you get this pair, anyways? I don't remember them in my drawers.”
“Sneaking through my underwear, were you?”
“N-no!” Cass waved her hands. “It wasn’t- I mean, I do our clothes wash, I would’ve seen it, I mean!”
“I know, I know,” Liz placed her hand on Cass’ shoulder this time with a chuckle, “I'm teasing. I stole them back from my dad’s place.”
“Liz!”
“It was mine anyways and you know it! If there’s two things the Provosts certainly can't have, it's my mother’s piano and my nicest lingerie.”
Cass chuckled, and then shivered from the cold of the touch and the general ambiance of the room. It had taken all of four years for Cass to realise how cool the lighting was on the Guin - clinical like a spaceship made of hospital wards, lacking only the dinge that made any other CDF ship liveable. She had long since reasoned that dirt was a necessary part of keeping your sanity in space - a place that is too clean sets the mind on maddening voyages. When had she let her place become so clean? She made a mental note; make a house a home .
The water was still running down the way in the makeshift decom shower Meds had set up, which was really more of a tent stowed away in a side space for privacy, gelled shower head and water pump included. When Cass turned back to her partner’s lovely eyes, expecting some brief contact and maybe a break or two of Meds’ very explicit rules, she followed her gaze instead to a scar on her inner bicep.
“I thought I'd explored like, all of your body by this point.”
Cass sighed. “Do you have to call it “exploring”?”
“I am literally an explorer by trade, Cass. Even if I’m between jobs at the moment.”
“Mhm.”
Liz reached over and, with a tentative nod, pulled the white line of disrupted tissue closer. “Now, I’m no medic, but this looks like a sharps wound.”
“Scars don't tend to form otherwise.” Cass smirked.
“I know that! But the shape, the cragginess…”
“Shrapnel.” Cass stopped her train of thought. “From… you know where.”
“Ah.” Liz let go. “Sorry.”
“At this point you probably know more about me than I do,” Cass sighed, again. “You’re not prying, before you apologise.”
“I guess…”
Cass lingered, then sighed - wistfully this time - before resting her head on Liz’s shoulder. “I should have warned you about what plan I had in mind. Earlier today, I mean.”
Liz scoffed. “Which part? The descent into the plague district or the duel only you agreed to?” She must’ve noticed, or felt against her smooth skin, the tensing in Cass’ jaw as she listed it, as she then apologised. “I didn't mean to jab an open wound.”
“No, it's fine.” Cass levied. “Really, I should be saying sorry too. Wouldn't be an open wound if I hadn't made it myself. Made beds and all that.”
“I never did understand that expression. And you wouldn't have been hurt If Mr. Dickhead hadn't forced you into it first. I will lose no sleep if you shift all the blame for what happened today onto him.”
“I can't just- do that, Liz. You know that”
“You said it yourself; he was testing you! And his test stunk of horseshit. Still need to see a real horse, by the way.”
“Adding it to the list,” Cass tapped her temple.
“And- seriously!” Liz extended her arms like the subject was right in front of her, paralysed and ready to be mocked. “What kind of a dad thinks he even needs to test his own daughter!? Knowing it might get her killed?”
Cass smiled, though it wasn't particularly fruitful. “I made it four years without speaking to him for a reason.”
“Several reasons, I suspect, and they all start with dick and end with head.” Liz sighed, loudly, and crossed her arms. “Never make me talk to that guy again, please. I will sock him in the jaw, whether that gets my funding cut or not.”
This time, Cass let out a little laugh, placing a hand on her partner’s upper arm. There wasn't much bicep to feel, and she was still cold all over. She reached and took a hand in hers instead, blowing warm breath onto it. “I’m afraid there’s a queue forming for that.”
“I’ll fight Meds to get in first, before she kills him.” Cass laughed a little harder. “I’m serious!”
“With cute widdle arms like these?” Cass smiled, “I don't think so.”
“Oh, yeah, don't worry, I know I couldn't beat her. I took a look at her arms.” She whistled, at that thought, “Wowza.”
“Don't start ogling my crew, please. They’re your subordinates now, too.”
“Yeesh. Yeah, you’re right. I will keep my glances chaste and simply appreciative of the human form.”
“Alright Vadric,” Cass pushed herself to her feet, before helping Liz up with her. She kept her hands conjoined with hers, and brushed them back and forth with her thumbs. “You’re still cold. And terribly damp.”
In her usual, silky fashion, Liz slipped herself into Cass’ embrace, close and thankfully starting to warm up. “Well, maybe after the showers we could get very warm and a different kind of damp together?”
Cass, ready to reply, began to yawn. “Nope, not tonight, I am exhausted. All I want is you in my arms and to sleep undisturbed for sixteen bells. In that order.”
“That can certainly be arranged. We’re in charge now, after all. But going undisturbed, I can't promise that.” Liz moved close, her lips brushing just the edge of Cass’.
“Decom shower is free!” Croft shouted from down the hall. “Get ‘em whilst the water’s still warm.”
“And I would really like to spray them down and disassemble them before we take off, please,” Meds shouted too, the briefest glimpse of her massive form passing through in a comparatively tiny towel ahead. “Or I’ll never do it and then they’ll just stay in the spare room taking up space.”
“Are we expecting visitors?” Cass cried.
“It's the principle!”
Liz grumbled, before laying a kiss on Cass’ cheek instead. “Time for a frigid shower, then. Ooh, I will never get used to the cold.”
“Followed by soft towels, and then even softer covers with the heating turned way up. Gotta have a little strain before you release the tension.” Cass put her hands on her hips, though, and leant in. “Besides, if you want to stay warm in the shower, we could always stay close together…”
“And risk getting the plague flushed into the vents by not cleaning ourselves properly? Cass, you danger magnet,” Liz smiled.
In return, the captain smirked at her quartermaster. “So, is that a no, or-”
“I would very much like to shower with you and then cuddle for 16 hours, maybe naked, yes.”
They intertwined fingers, leaving the clothes for someone else to clean up on some other day, heading towards the un-spa-like, but otherwise greatly appreciated decontamination booths.