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NASA’s Johnson Space Centre smelled like industrial-grade coffee and metal, like circuits being soldered and the ozone tang of something about to launch. The air was crisp with artificial cooling, sterile but buzzing with the hum of bodies in motion, minds churning equations into reality.
Alicent Hightower sat in the back of the orientation room, her tablet balanced against her knee, stylus tapping against the edge in quiet agitation. The room was filling with astronaut trainees, a fresh batch of overachievers about to embark on the gruelling process of learning how to survive in space. She shouldn’t have been here—this wasn’t her job. She was an engineer, a systems analyst who had worked her way up from long nights running diagnostics to a coveted position supporting the control room. But her supervisor had insisted. “Get a feel for the new class,” he’d said. “You’ll be running their simulations soon enough.”
She was just about to tune out the welcome speech when the door at the back of the room swung open with all the grace of an unplanned atmospheric re-entry.
Rhaenyra Targaryen arrived late, but she arrived like she owned the place.
She moved with the kind of loose confidence that came from knowing people were looking at her and expecting her to be impressive. Platinum hair—cut short, military-style, just long enough to be defiant—caught the artificial lighting as she strode to the nearest open chair. Her flight suit was unzipped at the collar, sleeves pushed up, exposing forearms lined with old scars, the kind that came from metal and heat and friction. She didn’t look like the rest of them, the ones fresh from doctoral programs or research labs. She looked like she belonged in the cockpit of something too fast and too dangerous.
Alicent knew exactly who she was.
All the young women at NASA had heard about Rhaenyra Targaryen—Top Gun’s golden child, the youngest pilot to ever land a Hornet on a carrier deck in a combat zone. Callsign: "Syrax." Decorated, cocky, probably reckless. Great in the cockpit and— if the rumours were to be believed—even better in bed. The kind of astronaut who thought she was invincible. The kind that mission control would have to keep from getting herself killed.
Alicent’s jaw clenched. Fantastic.
Rhaenyra flopped into the chair next to another recruit who immediately tried to introduce himself. She didn’t even look at him. Just smirked as she pulled a pen from behind her ear, spinning it lazily between her fingers. “What’d I miss?” she asked, low and amused.
The instructor barely reacted. "Glad you could join us, Targaryen."
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, voice easy, smooth.
Alicent exhaled sharply through her nose. She hated people like this—people who walked into rooms and took up all the air without even trying. She was here to ensure that their systems worked flawlessly, that every equation checked out, every simulation ran perfectly. And this—this hotshot, this overgrown adrenaline junkie—was going to be a problem.
The instructor continued droning on about expectations, but Rhaenyra was already half-distracted, drumming her fingers against the desk in a rhythm Alicent recognized: the tap-tap-tap of a countdown, the kind pilots used before hitting throttle.
Alicent glanced sideways at her before she could stop herself. Rhaenyra’s profile was sharp—strong jawline, high cheekbones, eyes a shade too light to be anything but unnatural. She was smirking slightly, like she could feel Alicent watching her.
Then, without turning her head, she murmured, just loud enough for Alicent to hear, “You writing a thesis on me, sweetheart?”
Alicent stiffened.
She hadn’t been staring. She wasn’t staring.
Her grip on her stylus tightened as she shot back, voice clipped, professional. “Just wondering if you take anything seriously, or if this is all one big joke to you.”
That got Rhaenyra’s attention.
She turned her head slowly, lips twitching at the edges, like she was enjoying this, like she had expected to ruffle feathers but hadn’t anticipated one quite so sharp. “I take plenty of things seriously.” A beat. Then, with mock concern, “You worried about me?”
Alicent’s eyes flashed. “Not in the slightest.”
Rhaenyra grinned. “You will be.”
Alicent inhaled sharply, forced herself to look back at her tablet, her ears burning. This was going to be a very, very long training period.
--
Alicent Hightower did not have the patience for this.
She was standing in the control room overlooking the simulator bay, arms crossed, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves. Below her, in the glass-walled mock cockpit, Rhaenyra Targaryen was sprawled in the pilot’s seat of the training module like she was waiting for a drink order, not preparing for a simulated orbital failure.
"Commander Targaryen," Alicent said, voice crisp over the comms, deliberately omitting the callsign everyone else used, "this is a controlled systems failure drill. You’re expected to respond accordingly."
Rhaenyra stretched her arms behind her head. "Relax, Hightower. I’m just getting comfortable."
Alicent’s eye twitched.
It had been two months since Rhaenyra Targaryen arrived at NASA, and in that time, she had solidified herself as a permanent thorn in Alicent’s side.
There had been the incident in the break room where Rhaenyra had helped herself to Alicent’s coffee mug—her mug, the one with the small chip on the handle and the NASA meatball logo worn from years of dishwashing—and smirked over the rim as she took a long, deliberate sip.
Then, the late-night run-in outside the facility when Alicent had left after a gruelling sixteen-hour shift, only to find Rhaenyra leaning against the hood of a car, laughing into the neck of Mysaria Lys from the public affairs office. Mysaria had red-painted nails and a reputation for leaking just enough information to keep the press entertained. Rhaenyra had looked up, spotted Alicent, and winked, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Alicent had walked faster.
And, of course, there was the near heart attack Rhaenyra had given her last week by deliberately failing the hypoxia chamber test just to "see how long she could go" before passing out. When Alicent had confronted her, livid, Rhaenyra had only grinned and said, "I knew you’d bring me back, sweetheart."
The worst part? She had.
Now, as Rhaenyra slouched in the pilot’s seat, one leg bouncing lazily, Alicent felt her patience fraying to a dangerous edge.
"You’re wasting everyone’s time," Alicent said coolly, adjusting the controls on her tablet. "You don’t get to coast through this just because you think you’re untouchable."
Rhaenyra’s smirk deepened. "You have been thinking about me a lot, haven’t you?"
Alicent’s fingers white-knuckled around her stylus. "Starting the simulation," she bit out, pressing the command.
Immediately, the module’s screens flickered, alarms blaring as the simulated malfunction kicked in.
Rhaenyra didn’t move.
Alicent exhaled sharply. "Targaryen."
Rhaenyra sighed, rolling her neck like this was some incredible inconvenience. "Alright, alright," she drawled, flipping switches with a lazy efficiency that somehow still executed the correct response.
Alicent hated that she was good at this. She hated even more that Rhaenyra clearly knew she was good at this.
"Coolant leak contained," Rhaenyra reported a minute later, unbothered. "Guidance system back online. Anything else, or are we done pretending this is difficult?"
Alicent leaned into the mic, voice saccharine. "You do realize, don’t you, that when you’re actually in space, I am the one who keeps you alive?"
Rhaenyra grinned, flicking a switch. "I think I like the sound of that."
Alicent turned off her mic before she could say something career-ending.
The simulation wrapped up, the training module powering down. Rhaenyra slid out of her seat, grabbed her helmet, and made her way toward the control room. Alicent barely had time to brace herself before the doors opened and Rhaenyra strolled in, still unzipped at the collar, her flight suit sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"That was cute," Rhaenyra said, stopping beside Alicent’s workstation. "You trying to shake me."
Alicent didn’t bother looking up from her tablet. "If I wanted to shake you, I’d have left you in the blackout zone for another five minutes."
Rhaenyra laughed, like that wasn’t a threat but a flirtation.
Alicent wanted to shove her out the airlock.
"You know," Rhaenyra said, tapping idly on the desk, "I graduated from engineering school, too."
That got Alicent’s attention. Her head snapped up. "What?"
Rhaenyra smirked. "Yeah. Aeronautical engineering, Annapolis. But flying’s more fun."
Alicent stared at her, half-disbelieving, half infuriated.
"You—" Alicent started, then stopped. She inhaled sharply. "You have an engineering degree?"
Rhaenyra shrugged, cocky, effortless. "Could’ve done your job if I wanted."
Alicent’s nails dug into her palm. Even if she had an engineering degree, there’s a lot more to this job than Physics 101.
"Then why didn’t you?" she asked, voice deceptively even.
Rhaenyra leaned in slightly, close enough that Alicent could catch the faint scent of jet fuel, metal, and whatever expensive cologne she used when she wasn’t in flight gear.
"Because," Rhaenyra murmured, "I like when you do it."
Alicent’s breath stilled.
For one, terrifying second, she didn’t have a response.
Then, Rhaenyra’s smirk widened, and she pulled back, knocking twice on the desk before turning toward the door.
"See you at the next one, Hightower," she called over her shoulder.
Alicent stood there, jaw tight, hands clenched.
She was going to kill her.
Or worse.
She was going to let her get under her skin.
Alicent loved her job.
Not in the way people claimed to love their jobs, not in the resigned, bitter way that meant tolerating sixty-hour weeks for a promotion that might never come. No—she loved her job.
She had fought for this. Every late night hunched over equations, every summer internship spent debugging code in frozen control rooms, every condescending look from men twice her age who still asked if she was "just sitting in" on meetings—she had clawed her way up, and now she stood exactly where she had always dreamed: in the heart of Mission Control.
The screens in front of her blinked with telemetry data, flight paths, system diagnostics. This was where the real work happened—not in the flashy astronaut training rooms, not in the polished PR reels NASA pushed to the public, but here. A vast, intricate machine, made up of calculations, redundancies, and fail-safes that kept human bodies alive in the void of space.
Her father, Otto, had wasted no time in boasting.
"My daughter, the rocket scientist," he would announce at every opportunity, as if it had always been his idea. As if he hadn’t sneered at her undergraduate acceptance letter, had not spent the first half of her degree telling her she should switch to something "more practical" or "more suited for women in the field."
"Engineering?" he had balked once, incredulous. "You should consider management, Alicent. The real power is in leadership."
She had gritted her teeth, ignored him, and worked harder.
Now, it was all he ever talked about. He introduced her at events like some prize thoroughbred, beaming with barely contained smugness. "My daughter keeps astronauts alive. The best in her class. The brightest mind in Mission Control."
He did not acknowledge that he had ever doubted her.
Fine. Let him take credit. She wasn’t doing this for him.
She exhaled slowly, focusing back on the control board in front of her. This was what mattered.
Her career was advancing faster than projected—she had expected another year at least before getting Flight Director responsibilities, but the department had recognized her efficiency. This week, she was leading her first major pre-flight systems review. If she performed well, it would cement her reputation as a rising name in the program.
The only problem?
Rhaenyra fucking Targaryen.
Alicent didn’t look up as the door hissed open, but she felt it when Rhaenyra entered the control room, all restless energy and boredom in the shape of a woman.
"Ugh," Rhaenyra groaned, already throwing herself into a seat with none of the discipline that should have been beaten into her by years of military service. "How do you people do this?"
Alicent’s grip tightened around her stylus. "Do what?"
"This." Rhaenyra gestured vaguely at the screens. "Sit here. Stare at numbers. All day."
Alicent finally glanced over, irritated. Rhaenyra was slouched in her chair, flight suit unzipped at the collar, arms crossed like a petulant child forced to sit through a lecture.
"You do understand how spaceflight works, don’t you?" Alicent said coolly. "Or are you just here for the free jumpsuit?"
Rhaenyra’s lips quirked up in a smirk. "I mean, I look great in the jumpsuit, so that’s part of it."
Alicent inhaled slowly through her nose.
Rhaenyra was a capable astronaut. That was the worst part. She was sharp, physically elite, already one of the top candidates for a mission assignment. But she was also impatient. Restless. Wild. The type who hated being chained to the ground, waiting for her first assignment since passing astronaut training 4 months earlier.
"You think all this is boring," Alicent said, nodding toward the control panels.
Rhaenyra didn’t even hesitate. "Yes. Miserable."
Alicent’s fingers twitched. "These numbers are the reason you live when you’re in space," she snapped. "They’re the difference between oxygen flow and suffocation, between a smooth re-entry and a fireball. But I’m so sorry if they bore you, Commander Targaryen."
Rhaenyra groaned dramatically, tipping her head back against the chair. "I know it’s important, Hightower. I’m not stupid."
"Then act like it!"
Rhaenyra stilled. The smirk disappeared.
Alicent regretted it immediately—but only a little.
A tense silence stretched between them, humming with static.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Rhaenyra leaned in, propping her elbow on the console, gaze flicking over Alicent’s face like she was sizing her up.
"You’re stressed," she observed.
Alicent’s jaw clenched.
"First major review, right?" Rhaenyra continued, head tilting slightly. "You really don’t want to mess up."
"Obviously," Alicent said stiffly.
Rhaenyra’s smirk returned. "Relax, Hightower. You’ll do fine."
It was said with genuine confidence, like it was a fact. But coming from Rhaenyra, it only made Alicent more annoyed.
"I am fine," she shot back.
"You’re going to combust if you clench your jaw any harder," Rhaenyra noted idly.
Alicent did not unclench her jaw.
Before she could retaliate, an alarm blared across the control room.
Alicent’s head snapped to the screen. Red flashing across the panels.
"Environmental Control Systems failure."
Her heart plummeted.
"What the—" she swiped furiously at the screen, bringing up diagnostics.
Across the room, a tech cursed. "Pressure values just spiked—oxygen flow is non-responsive—"
"That’s not possible," Alicent said sharply, already typing in commands. This was supposed to be a routine system review, not a—
She stilled.
An extra keystroke in the command line. A deliberate input.
Her head whipped toward Rhaenyra.
The pilot was biting her lip to hide a smile.
"You did not—"
"Okay," Rhaenyra said, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Technically, I may have touched something I wasn’t supposed to."
Alicent saw red.
"You hacked a live review?" Her voice rose with every syllable. "Do you have any idea—"
"It wasn’t hacking," Rhaenyra interrupted. "It was a small override. I was bored, and you were getting all worked up, and—"
"Oh my God," Alicent slammed her tablet down, causing three nearby engineers to flinch. "I swear to God, Targaryen, if I didn’t need you alive for mission viability, I’d have you removed."
Rhaenyra had the audacity to grin. "You do need me alive," she said smugly.
Alicent inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "Get out."
Rhaenyra blinked. "What?"
"Get. Out. Before I actually commit a crime in this control room."
Rhaenyra hesitated, then shrugged, pushing off the console. "Alright, alright. No need to go full tyrant on me."
She started toward the door but paused just before stepping out, turning back with a smirk.
"You know," she said, voice infuriatingly casual, "you’re kinda hot when you’re mad."
Alicent threw her stylus at the door as it closed behind her.
--
The simulation chamber was cold. Too cold. NASA kept it that way to mimic space—because space wasn’t kind, wasn’t forgiving.
Rhaenyra sat in the pilot’s seat of the mock cockpit, her harness biting into her shoulders, her breath fogging the inside of her helmet. The command module around her was dim, sterile, glowing only with the faint hum of waiting instruments. She tapped her fingers against the throttle, restless.
Above her, in the control room, Alicent Hightower’s voice rang through the comms, clipped and professional.
"Commander Targaryen, you are about to initiate an emergency abort sequence at seventy kilometres altitude. Power failure in primary boosters. Communications blackout. Environmental Control compromised."
Rhaenyra smirked, tilting her head back against the seat. "Sounds like a Monday morning to me, Hightower."
"Commander," Alicent bit out. "This is a timed assessment."
Rhaenyra exhaled loudly, deliberately slow. "Right, right. Life or death. So serious."
Alicent’s voice remained ice sharp. "Starting the sequence."
The cockpit lurched, throwing Rhaenyra forward as the warning klaxons wailed in her ears. Red emergency lights cut through the darkness, casting flickering shadows across the control panels.
"Power failure detected," she recited lazily, pressing buttons with exaggerated slowness. "Attempting restart—oh no, Hightower, I’m panicking," she said, voice thick with mock terror. "I think I’m gonna—oh, look at that, I hit the wrong switch, whoops—"
Alicent’s voice cracked over the headset. "Are you actually joking right now?"
"Bit of a loose definition of ‘joking,’ but sure," Rhaenyra drawled.
"Gods, you are an actual liability," Alicent snapped. "Real lives depend on this—on you. If you want to go kill yourself on your own time, that’s fine, but I will not sign off on a pilot who treats a systems failure like some party trick!"
The control room silenced.
A beat of quiet.
Rhaenyra’s smirk faded.
She rolled her shoulders, gripping the edges of the throttle. She could hear Alicent’s breathing in her headset, sharp and angry. Could hear the control room shifting in discomfort.
Something in her chest twisted.
Then—before she could throw out some easy, flippant reply—the entire module plunged into chaos.
The cockpit pitched violently to one side. A deep, gutting groan echoed through the cabin, followed by the unmistakable sound of circuits shorting out.
Oxygen readouts plummeted.
Temperature controls flatlined.
This was not part of the test.
"…Hightower?" Rhaenyra tried, voice tight, clipped.
Above her, Alicent’s hands flew over her control board.
"That’s not me," Alicent said sharply. "The module’s pressure values just spiked—this isn’t part of the scenario—"
Rhaenyra’s breath hitched.
The alarms wailed.
Her hands hovered over the controls, instinct telling her to move, to react—
But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t in a cockpit at sea level. She wasn’t in a fighter jet, ready to yank hard on a joystick and throw herself into a high-G roll to escape a missile lock.
She was in space.
Or, she would be.
And in space, you didn’t react. You didn’t throw gut instincts at the problem and hope to brute-force your way through. You stopped. You thought.
You solved the problem.
Rhaenyra’s fingers clenched on the throttle.
What would Alicent do?
She inhaled once. Clear head. Do your duty. One step at a time.
"Primary restart locked out," she reported. "No response from ECLSS."
"I see it," Alicent’s voice came over the comms, rapid-fire, her brain already five steps ahead. "Check your backup circuit under the main console."
Rhaenyra reached down, flipped open the latch. "On it."
"Good. Now engage the bypass manually—"
"Already done," Rhaenyra interrupted, flicking the switch.
"Don’t rush—"
The system whined. A groaning hiss of oxygen filled the cabin as the temperature levels spiked back up.
The alarms cut out.
Lights flickered.
The module stabilized.
Rhaenyra exhaled. Slow. Measured.
A beat.
Then, softly, she muttered, "Holy shit."
Above her, in the control room, Alicent exhaled, pressing her palm over her forehead.
"Simulation complete," she said into the comms, voice perfectly even. "Commander Targaryen, report to control for debrief."
There was a long pause before Rhaenyra’s voice crackled through the headset.
"…Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "On my way."
Alicent was still shaking when Rhaenyra stepped into the control room.
She was standing at the main console, arms crossed tight over her chest, her tablet balanced in the crook of her arm. Her jaw was set, her grip white-knuckled.
"You’re fine," Alicent said the second Rhaenyra was in front of her, not looking up from the tablet. "I’ll sign you off."
Rhaenyra’s lips twitched. "I know."
Alicent’s eyes flicked up, sharp. "Then why are you still here?"
Rhaenyra hesitated.
Then, she leaned against the console, tapping her fingers against the edge.
"I came to thank you," she said.
Alicent blinked.
"For signing me off?" she asked, frowning.
Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head. "No," she said. "Well. Yes for that." A pause. Then, quieter, "But mostly for everything else."
Alicent stared at her.
Rhaenyra ran a hand through her hair, eyes flicking toward the monitors. "I’ve spent my whole life getting through things by moving faster. Pushing harder. You know?" She huffed a laugh. "But this? This is different." She turned back to Alicent, something softer in her gaze. "So… yeah. Thanks."
Alicent should have said something. She should have told her not to be reckless, or not to waste her time, or something sharp and practical.
But for once, she didn’t know what to say at all.
Rhaenyra pushed off the console, nodding toward the door.
"I’ll see you from space, Hightower," she said.
Then she was gone.
Alicent stood there, staring after her, until the door slid shut.
Then, slowly, she looked down at the pen in her hand.
It was snapped clean in half.
The Houston morning was already thick with heat, the kind that clung to the inside of a car no matter how high the AC was blasting. Alicent gripped the wheel with one hand, her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder as she navigated the drive to Johnson Space Centre.
"You watched the launch?" she asked, voice distracted as she merged onto the freeway.
"Yeah," Gwayne said through the crackling speaker. "I had some time between meetings, figured I’d see what it is you actually do all day."
Alicent rolled her eyes. "It’s only my entire career, Gwayne, but sure, glad you’re just now getting curious."
Gwayne chuckled. "Hey, in my defence, rockets exploding on TV is way more interesting than you complaining about telemetry data over dinner."
Alicent exhaled sharply, but she was smiling, just a little.
"Anyway," Gwayne continued, "hell of a launch. Smoothest I’ve seen in a while—"
"Since when do you track launch performance?"
"Since I read the highlights on Twitter. You’re welcome."
Alicent shook her head, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel.
Then—too casually—Gwayne added, "Did I hear that was the Targaryen girl on that one? The one you have a crush on?"
Alicent nearly swerved into the next lane.
"I do not—" she sputtered, shifting her grip on the wheel.
Gwayne laughed. "Oh, come on, Alicent. You think I don’t know?"
"There is nothing to know," she said, gritting her teeth. "She’s just—obnoxious."
"Right. Obnoxious," Gwayne drawled. "And definitely not the reason you nearly had an aneurysm watching her climb into a space capsule on live television."
Alicent hated him.
"I was monitoring her mission systems," she snapped.
"You were white-knuckling your desk."
Alicent let out a strangled noise of frustration. "I—she—Gwayne—"
"Look, all I’m saying is, for someone who claims to hate this girl, you sure spend a lot of time talking about her."
"I do not—"
"You do," he interrupted smoothly. "You say Targaryen like it’s a slur."
Alicent glared at the road ahead, cheeks burning. "It’s a correctly stated last name."
"It’s a crush, is what it is."
"It is not—"
Gwayne clicked his tongue. "Lighten up, Ali."
Alicent exhaled sharply, forcing her voice back into something neutral. "I have work to do. Real work. I can’t just sit around making baseless accusations like you."
"You mean correct accusations."
"Oh, look at that," Alicent deadpanned. "I’m going through a tunnel."
"You’re driving on an open freeway—"
"KRRKSHHH—losing—signal—KSSHSHH—" Alicent said into the phone, then immediately hung up.
A beat of silence.
Then, from her dashboard, her phone buzzed with a text.
Gwayne: Coward.
Alicent pressed the gas a little harder than necessary.
Space was everything Rhaenyra had dreamed of.
And nothing she had expected.
She had imagined the adventure, the sheer velocity of it. The feeling of being untethered, truly free. The thrill of defying gravity, of punching through the atmosphere and becoming something other than human—something closer to celestial.
And for a while, it had been just that.
The launch had been electric, the raw force of it pressing her into her seat as the Earth fell away, the sky shifting from blue to black, the whole of the planet curling beneath her feet like something out of a dream.
But now, four months in, the thrill had been replaced by something quieter. Something weightless.
Loneliness.
She floated through the dim, narrow passageway of the station, her fingertips barely grazing the cold metal walls to guide her forward. Everything here was hushed—only the hum of the filtration systems, the occasional click of an instrument, the soft murmurs of her crew as they went about their tasks.
Outside the window, the Earth hung in the void like a blue jewel, breathtaking and distant. Home.
Not that she could feel it.
It was strange. She had spent her entire life trying to outrun gravity, desperate to fly, to escape the dull inevitability of being chained to one place. And yet, now that she had finally broken free, there was a part of her that missed it.
Not the ground.
Not even the sky.
But the people.
Her crew was solid—she had lucked out in that regard.
Harwin Strong, their mission specialist, was impossible to rattle. The kind of guy who could be plummeting toward Earth in a malfunctioning capsule and still find a way to joke about it. He was steady, good-humoured, the kind of presence you wanted on a mission like this.
Criston Cole, their payload commander, was sharp, precise, military to the core. They had flown together in the Navy, knew each other's instincts in a dogfight. He wasn’t the warmest guy in the world, but he was competent, which mattered more.
Erryk Cargyll, the youngest of them, had a quiet ease about him—quick with a joke, reliable in a crisis. His twin, Arryk, was also an astronaut but stuck back on Earth, something about long-term physiological changes in identical genetics. Rhaenyra had caught Erryk staring out the station window more than once, watching the blue planet below, like if he looked long enough, he might spot his brother.
She understood that feeling.
Not that she would ever admit it.
She exhaled, curling her fingers idly around one of the overhead handles.
The thing about space was that it was too quiet.
She had spent her life in the noise—the roar of an F/A-18 Super Hornet, the heavy thud-thud-thud of boots on a carrier deck, the chatter of voices over comms. Space was not that. Space was careful, controlled. The station hummed with life, but it wasn’t alive.
There were only a few things that could make it feel human again.
A familiar voice crackled through the comms.
"Dragon, this is Houston Flight."
Rhaenyra brightened, her head snapping up.
Alicent.
She floated toward the console, flipping the switch to respond. "Houston, this is Dragon, go ahead."
There was a brief pause, then—"Commander Targaryen, status report when you're done lounging around."
Rhaenyra grinned.
The voice was crisp, professional, perfectly measured. But she could hear it beneath the surface—the exasperation, the barely contained sigh.
Alicent.
It had been four months since she had seen her in person, but the sound of her voice sent something warm curling through her chest, grounding her more than any artificial gravity system ever could.
She leaned against the console, flicking a few switches, as if this was just another flight test, another routine drill with Alicent in the control room, waiting to tell her she was wrong about something.
"All systems normal," Rhaenyra reported, keeping her voice casual. "Oxygen levels stable, solar arrays at full output. No unexpected hull damage, unless you count Harwin nearly launching himself into a bulkhead this morning."
A soft chuckle sounded from behind her—Harwin, floating by with a protein bar, shaking his head. "I resent that, Commander."
"You hit the bulkhead," she reminded him.
"Fine," he admitted, peeling back the wrapper. "But I hit it gracefully."
"Uh-huh," Rhaenyra said, smirking, before toggling the comms back on. "You get all that, Hightower? Crew morale is exceptional."
There was another pause.
Then, in a tone so dry it could have been vacuum-sealed:
"Thrilled to hear it, Commander. Just try to keep your head attached to your shoulders before re-entry."
Rhaenyra smirked, tilting her head back.
God, she had missed this.
She didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe just the familiarity—something real in the vast unreality of space. Or maybe it was just Alicent.
"Not the same down there without me, Houston?" she teased, voice light.
A beat of silence.
Then, softly—so soft she almost didn’t catch it—
"Keep the station in one piece, Targaryen."
Rhaenyra’s smirk flickered.
Her fingers tightened on the console.
"Roger that, Houston," she said quietly.
She exhaled, leaning back against the panel as the connection clicked off.
Outside the window, the Earth spun lazily below, a planet full of people she couldn’t hear, couldn’t touch. But for a moment, with that voice in her ear, it felt just a little bit closer.
--
The vast black stretched endlessly before her, swallowing everything but the blinding white glare of the sun off the station’s hull. The Earth hung below, impossibly blue, clouds swirling over the vast oceans like brushstrokes on a canvas.
Rhaenyra adjusted her grip on the rail, feeling the faint pull of her tether as she maneuvered along the exterior of the station. The suit was stiff, cumbersome, every motion a slow, deliberate effort against the lack of gravity.
"Houston, Dragon EVA is proceeding as planned. Targaryen moving to the array now."
There was a crackle over the radio, then—"Copy that, Dragon," Alicent’s voice came through, sharp, clear, steady. "Try not to take all day, Commander. Some of us actually work for a living."
Rhaenyra smirked behind her helmet, the silence of space amplifying her own breath.
"Miss me yet, Hightower?"
A long, long pause.
Then, a sigh—exasperated, put-upon. "I miss the silence before you speak."
Rhaenyra grinned. "Liar."
She could almost hear Alicent rolling her eyes from 250 miles below.
She pushed forward along the station’s spine, methodically moving hand over hand toward the malfunctioning solar array. Harwin’s voice came over the channel, light and amused.
"Play nice, you two. We’re all stuck on this call together."
Alicent ignored him. "Targaryen, status."
"Approaching the panel now," Rhaenyra said, anchoring her boots to the platform. The array stretched out ahead of her, shimmering gold, absorbing energy from a sun that never set.
"Initiating manual reset." She reached for the control latch, fingers tightening around the mechanism.
Then—
A jolt.
A sharp, gut-pulling lurch as her suit jerked backward.
Her body tilted suddenly into the void, boots slipping from their hold.
"Shit—"
She reached for the rail, fingers grasping at nothing. Her tether snapped taut, keeping her from drifting, but her breath hitched as she fought to reorient herself.
In her ear, Alicent’s voice came immediately, sharp as a scalpel.
"Targaryen, report."
Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, forcing a steady inhale. "Bit of a…situation," she muttered, twisting against the suit’s rigidity. "My tether caught on something. Can’t get leverage to reach the panel."
"I’m seeing a suit diagnostic warning," Alicent said, her voice tighter now. "You’re losing stability in your position."
"Yeah, no shit."
"Targaryen."
Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, swallowing back frustration.
Alicent’s voice came again, calmer, more measured. "I need you to listen to me."
That tone—that tone. The one that brokered zero argument.
Rhaenyra closed her eyes for half a second.
"Copy," she murmured.
"Check the tether anchor point," Alicent said. "See if it’s caught on an external latch."
Rhaenyra craned her neck, shifting her body as much as the suit allowed. There—just below her hip, the tether had looped around a stabilizer rod, pinching itself against the panel.
"Yeah, I see it," she said.
"Good. Now, listen carefully."
She did.
She always did.
"You need to rotate counterclockwise, thirty degrees. Use your left thruster, short burst."
Rhaenyra adjusted, trusting. Pressed the control. A soft hiss of gas expelled from her suit, nudging her body just enough—
The tether slipped free.
"That’s it," Alicent’s voice came, and Rhaenyra could hear the tension easing in her breath. "Stabilizing now."
Rhaenyra let out a slow exhale, realigning herself against the station’s surface. "Well, that was fun."
"For whom?" Alicent deadpanned.
Rhaenyra smirked. "Relax, Hightower. You’d miss me if I floated away."
"No," Alicent said, "but I would have to fill out so much paperwork."
Harwin’s laughter crackled over the comms. "Remind me never to go missing on your watch, Houston."
Rhaenyra shook her head, adjusting her grip as she finally reached the panel. "Restarting the system now," she said, flipping the latch. The array realigned itself, the diagnostic screen inside the station registering the fix.
Alicent’s voice came over the comms again, steady, professional. "Dragon, Houston copies. Good work, Commander."
Rhaenyra exhaled, tension unwinding from her shoulders.
"You’re always right, you know that?" she murmured.
A pause.
Then, dry as ever—"It’s annoying, isn’t it?"
Rhaenyra grinned, unseen. "Deeply."
Back in Houston, Alicent also grinned—unheard.
Alicent watched the descent from the control room, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the console.
The feed on the main screen flickered with grainy footage—Dragon’s capsule tumbling through the atmosphere, fire licking at the edges as it broke into the thickening air. The voice of the senior flight director droned in the background, confirming velocity, altitude, wind resistance. The entire room was a buzz of controlled tension, but Alicent couldn’t hear any of it.
Her pulse matched the rapid-fire numbers on the screen, counting down the kilometres between Rhaenyra and solid ground.
Come on, Targaryen.
The chutes deployed, violent in their unfurling, catching the air with enough force to jolt the capsule hard.
Alicent let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
The descent slowed, stabilizing into a smooth drift. The camera feed switched to infrared, tracking the capsule’s final descent toward the landing zone in the Kazakh steppe.
Then—impact.
Alicent’s knuckles turned white as she watched the craft hit, a puff of dust exploding around it before the capsule settled, rocking once, twice, and then stilling.
Silence.
Then, the call:
"Dragon, Houston copies stable touchdown."
A beat of static, and then—Rhaenyra’s voice, low, hoarse, alive.
"Dragon copies. Hell of a ride."
The control room broke into applause, voices cheering, celebrating.
Alicent sat back, exhaling sharply, pressing a hand over her chest to steady herself.
She should have been there. She should have been at the landing site, should have been one of the first to see the hatch open, to watch them haul Rhaenyra out, suit rumpled, hair a mess, looking smug and exhausted.
Instead, she sat in a dim room, watching from a screen.
Her fingers twitched. She ignored it.
--
By the time Rhaenyra was back on the ground in Houston, the exhaustion had settled into her bones.
Space had been everything—thrilling, impossible, the best damn thing she had ever done. But Earth had gravity, and gravity meant she felt every ache, every pull of muscle that had grown too used to weightlessness.
The medical bay was too bright. Fluorescent lights burned against her retinas as the flight surgeons swarmed, running through their we-have-to-make-sure-you’re-not-dying checklists.
Harwin was on the next bed over, still half-asleep. Criston looked miserable, muttering something about needing a shower and an actual mattress. Erryk was already on the phone with his brother, voice thick with laughter.
Rhaenyra just wanted out.
"You’ll get your release forms once we confirm your blood pressure isn’t catastrophic," the attending physician told her dryly, not looking up from his clipboard.
Rhaenyra groaned, tipping her head back against the pillow. "I survived space. I think I’ll survive standing up."
"You’d be surprised."
The door hissed open, and there she was.
Rhaenyra had spent almost six months surrounded by the same handful of faces, hearing the same clipped voices over comms, but nothing had felt quite as real as this moment—Alicent Hightower standing in the doorway, crisp and composed, like she hadn’t spent the past several months keeping Rhaenyra alive from 250 miles below.
The fluorescent lights sharpened the angles of her face, caught the auburn strands of hair pinned perfectly into place. Same sharp eyes, same tightly pressed lips. Same Alicent.
Rhaenyra grinned, wide and easy. "Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?"
Alicent exhaled sharply, unimpressed. "Now that I can see you’re alive, I can go do the rest of my job."
She crossed the room, heels clicking against the tile, and picked up a file from the desk near the attending physician. She barely glanced at Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra saw the flick of her gaze—quick, assessing, making sure she was really fine.
Criston, sitting on the next exam table, nodded in greeting. Alicent returned the gesture but didn’t linger, flipping open the report as she scanned the notes inside. "Try not to do anything stupid before debrief," she said, tone dry.
Harwin, sprawled on the bed across from Rhaenyra, smirked. "She’s asking the impossible, Commander."
Rhaenyra chuckled. "You love the impossible, don’t you, Hightower?"
Alicent ignored that, shutting the file with a quiet snap. She turned, already heading for the door, all business, all control.
Rhaenyra leaned back on her hands, letting her smirk widen. "Hey, now that I’m back, guess where I’ll be hanging?"
Alicent paused, halfway out the door.
Rhaenyra’s grin turned downright wicked. "See you Monday."
Alicent didn’t react.
Didn’t look back.
But Rhaenyra swore she saw her fingers tighten around her tablet.
Alicent found Rhaenyra in the long-stay observation room, tucked into one of the quieter wings of the Johnson Space Centre. The lights were dimmer here, set to mimic a station environment, the artificial cycle of day and night carefully regulated. It smelled of recycled air, antiseptic, the sharp tang of hospital-grade cleaners.
Rhaenyra would be here for the next month—under observation, her body studied for how well it re-adapted to gravity, her every vital sign tracked for the astrophysiology reports. It was standard for long-term missions, but Alicent knew the idea of being trapped in one place for that long must have been suffocating to her.
She hesitated in the doorway, fingers tightening around her tablet.
Rhaenyra stood by the window, staring out at the city, her fingers curled against the edge of the sill like she needed something solid to hold onto. She hadn’t noticed her yet.
She wasn’t sure why she had come looking for her in the first place.
Maybe it was because she had spent the past six months monitoring her vitals from two hundred and fifty miles below, tracking every breath, every fluctuation in heart rate. Maybe it was because Rhaenyra had been weightless for months, untethered, and now she was back—and gravity had never seemed to sit right on her shoulders.
Or maybe it was because, despite everything, Alicent had missed her.
Rhaenyra turned slightly, catching the movement in her periphery, and grinned—slow and tired. "Hightower," she drawled, tilting her head. "Here to make sure I haven’t floated away?"
"You’re still here," Alicent observed, stepping into the room, her heels clicking softly against the tile.
Rhaenyra exhaled a laugh, running a hand through her short-cropped hair. "Yeah, well. Guess I forgot how to leave places."
The lightness in her voice was too easy, too practiced. Alicent had known Rhaenyra long enough to recognize when she was performing.
She leaned against the opposite wall, crossing her arms. "You’re not sleeping."
It wasn’t a question.
Rhaenyra flexed her fingers against the edge of the windowsill, rolling one shoulder like she was trying to work out something invisible. "Haven’t quite gotten used to it yet."
Alicent watched her carefully. She was different like this—no smirk, no flippant remark, no easy bravado. Just quiet.
It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
"Gravity," Rhaenyra said suddenly, tilting her head back. "It’s the weirdest part."
Alicent frowned slightly. "You’ve lived with gravity your entire life."
"Yeah," Rhaenyra murmured. "But I never noticed it before." She turned her wrist in the dim light, studying the way her own body moved, like it was unfamiliar. "Up there, you don’t carry weight. You just are. You push, and you go. Nothing holds you back. But now—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Everything pulls."
Alicent’s throat tightened.
She knew Rhaenyra had been waiting for this her entire life—for the launch, the adventure, the impossible. But it was the coming back that no one ever really prepared for.
And maybe it wasn’t just her body adjusting.
Maybe it was something else settling back into place.
Rhaenyra turned then, really looking at her, and for the first time since she had stepped off that capsule, there was something real in her gaze—something open, raw.
A beat of silence.
Then, quietly—"I was actually scared up there."
Alicent felt her stomach twist.
Rhaenyra didn’t say things like that. She never admitted to fear.
Alicent knew what had happened during the mission—the details were all in the reports. The system failure on the spacewalk, the oxygen depletion. The moment where, for three full minutes, Rhaenyra had been completely untethered, her stabilizers malfunctioning.
Alicent had been the one talking her through it, had kept her voice steady over the radio even when her hands had been shaking.
She had never once let herself think about what would have happened if Rhaenyra hadn’t regained control.
Now, standing here, she wasn’t sure what to say.
So she didn’t say anything.
She just waited.
Rhaenyra exhaled, shaking her head. "I knew space would be empty. I mean, obviously. But I wasn’t ready for how empty."
Alicent understood.
She had read the accounts before, heard astronauts describe it—how the vastness of space wasn’t just visual, but felt. A complete absence of everything.
"It’s the kind of quiet that gets in your head," Rhaenyra murmured. "No sound, no air, no ground. Just you, floating. It makes you think—" She broke off, exhaling sharply. "Makes you wonder."
Alicent tilted her head. "Wonder about what?"
Rhaenyra hesitated.
Then, softly—"What it all means."
Alicent swallowed, fingers flexing against her sleeve. "Did you come up with an answer?"
Rhaenyra huffed a quiet laugh. "No."
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then—"I heard your voice."
Alicent’s breath caught.
Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked toward her, something unreadable in them. "Every day," she continued, voice quieter now. "When things got bad, when the numbers weren’t good—there was always your voice in my ear. Keeping me focused."
Alicent swallowed hard, not sure where this was going, not sure if she wanted to know.
"It was my job," she said, because it was easier than admitting anything else.
Rhaenyra tilted her head. "Maybe." A pause. Then, softer, "But it was you."
Alicent clenched her jaw.
She wanted to tell her not to say things like that. That it meant nothing. That Rhaenyra had just been looking for something to hold onto in the middle of nothingness.
But the words didn’t come.
Because it wasn’t nothing, and they both knew it.
The silence stretched, taut.
Rhaenyra smirked.
"I mean, obviously, I would’ve been fine without you," she teased, stepping back with a grin. "I’m incredible."
Alicent rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.
And just like that, the moment passed.
The space between them settled again, lighter, easier.
Rhaenyra stretched, groaning. "I should probably go pretend I know how to sleep."
Alicent raised a brow. "That would be advisable."
Rhaenyra started toward the door, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "Have a good night, Hightower."
Alicent exhaled, shaking her head. "Go to bed, Targaryen."
Rhaenyra winked. "Make me."
And then she was gone.
Alicent stood there for a long time after, staring at the empty doorway, feeling everything just a little bit too much.
Rhaenyra had been back on Earth for five months, and it still felt wrong.
She told herself she had adjusted. That she had gotten used to staying put. That the heaviness in her limbs, the pressure of every step, the way her stomach dropped every time she woke up and saw a ceiling instead of the endless sprawl of stars—none of it mattered.
But it did.
She wasn’t meant to be here.
It was why she was skipping scans, blowing off check-ups, dodging the quiet murmurs of the medical team who reminded her, again and again, that returning to space so soon after a mission was medically inadvisable. That it put her at risk for permanent bone density loss, muscle deterioration, heart failure.
Rhaenyra didn’t care.
Or maybe she did, but not enough to stay.
And then, of course, Alicent Hightower had stormed through the Johnson Space Centre and made it her problem.
They were barely in the conference room before the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the sterile space like a gunshot.
Alicent stood across from her, vibrating with tension, fingers curled white-knuckled around the edges of a file.
"You missed your bone density scan," she said, voice tight.
Rhaenyra rolled her shoulders, affecting a lazy grin. "Ah, yeah. I meant to get to that."
Alicent’s eyes flashed. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just incapable of following basic medical protocol?"
Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, rolling her neck, hating the way the gravity pulled at her skin. "Come on, Hightower, what’s one scan gonna tell you that you don’t already know?"
Alicent threw the file onto the table, stepping closer. "It’s going to tell me whether you still have enough bone mass to survive another goddamn launch!"
Rhaenyra smirked. "So dramatic."
"Gods, you are impossible," Alicent snapped. "You don’t think, you don’t plan, you just keep throwing yourself forward and assuming someone else will clean up the wreckage."
Rhaenyra laughed, sharp and humourless. "Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather I sit behind a desk and wait for life to land in my lap?"
Alicent’s expression shattered—her breath catching, something dark flickering behind her eyes.
They both knew she wasn’t talking about a promotion.
Silence buzzed between them, hot and unbearable.
Then—Alicent’s jaw tightened. "You don’t fight for anything," she bit out. "You run."
Rhaenyra’s breath hitched.
Alicent stepped closer, heat radiating off her in waves. "You don’t face things, Rhaenyra, you just keep moving until you convince yourself you’re happy. You think space will fix you? It won’t."
"At least I fight for the things I want," Rhaenyra spat, voice trembling with frustration. "At least I don’t let fear keep me trapped in one place—"
"Fear keeps people alive," Alicent snapped, fire in her voice. "But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You wouldn’t know what it’s like to stay, to be the one left behind, to watch—"
She cut herself off, breathing ragged, her fingers shaking.
Rhaenyra stilled.
She had seen Alicent furious before. Had pushed her countless times, had taken pride in making her snap, in unearthing the heat beneath the ice.
But this?
This was different.
Alicent’s face was drawn tight, her eyes glossed with something dangerously close to breaking. The stress lined her forehead, settled in the creases beside her mouth, coiled in the rigid set of her jaw. Her chest rose and fell, uneven, like she was holding something too big in her lungs, trying so hard not to let it out.
Rhaenyra swallowed. "Alicent—"
"No," Alicent said, shaking her head, voice frayed. "No, you don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who’s lost something."
Rhaenyra’s stomach twisted. "That’s not what I—"
"You think I don’t want to go?" Alicent demanded, voice rising. "You think I don’t want—" She stopped herself, eyes blazing, throat working.
Rhaenyra’s heart pounded.
"Then why don’t you?" she asked, voice quiet, shaken. "Why don’t you fight for what you want?"
Alicent’s lips parted—but no words came.
And that was when Rhaenyra knew.
Knew that she had been right, knew that Alicent felt it too—the pull, the thing between them that had been tightening for years, growing heavier with each conversation, each fight, each moment where neither of them stepped back.
Alicent swallowed, hands still trembling.
Then—
"I have another mission," Rhaenyra blurted.
Alicent’s face cracked.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Rhaenyra shifted her weight, suddenly too hot, too aware of every inch of space between them.
"They approached me," she said. "It’d be next year. A twelve-month rotation."
Alicent inhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.
"Twelve months," she echoed. "Twelve months after you just got back from a mission that nearly killed you—"
Rhaenyra clenched her jaw. "It didn’t kill me."
"Not for lack of trying," Alicent snapped, voice cutting.
Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "It’s what I’m meant to do, Alicent."
Alicent shook her head. "And what am I supposed to do?"
The words were soft. Raw.
And Rhaenyra froze.
For the first time since the fight began, she had nothing to say.
Alicent exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair, fingers trembling. "I spent four months watching you, Rhaenyra. Watching every system glitch, every suit malfunction, every second where I thought—*" She cut herself off, looking away, chest rising and falling too fast.
Rhaenyra felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Alicent finally looked back at her, and gods—gods, it hurt.
Because it was all there now—on her face, in her eyes. The weight, the fear, the unbearable ache.
Rhaenyra swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "I don’t know what you want me to say."
Alicent let out a slow, shaking breath. "Get your damn bone density scan."
Then she turned.
Sharp. Precise.
Leaving.
The door shut behind her, the sound hollow and final.
Rhaenyra stood there, staring at the empty space where she had been, hands still clenched at her sides, untethered. This was the closest she had felt like being in space while still on Earth—a complete lack of gravity, she could just float into the dark, cold unknown.
Rhaenyra woke up knowing this was the last time she would ever do this.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the crew quarters, listening to the quiet hum of the ventilation system. She could feel the weight of the day pressing down on her, heavier than the pull of gravity she had fought against her whole life.
She was ready.
But she also knew.
This was it.
The last time she would strap in, the last time she would feel the violent pull of launch, the last time she would see the Earth grow smaller beneath her.
It wasn’t just what the medics had said, though they had made it clear—another long-duration flight this soon was a risk. Bone density, cardiovascular strain, cumulative radiation exposure. The odds weren’t catastrophic, but they were bad enough.
And for the first time in her life, she could feel it.
The slow, persistent drag of an aging body. The stiffness in her spine when she moved too fast. The way her muscles resisted, just slightly, when she stretched.
She pushed herself hard in training, harder than she had ever needed to before.
And it had been fine. Mostly.
Laena Velaryon had been running her training cycle this time—relentless, fast-paced, brilliant. Different.
Not bad, not lacking—good, even. Just… not Alicent.
Alicent had been meticulous, methodical, always three steps ahead of Rhaenyra’s instincts. Laena was sharp, but she was about momentum, about movement, about pushing through obstacles rather than studying them from every angle.
And Rhaenyra had liked it, had needed it, in a way.
Because if she stopped, if she thought too long, she would have had to feel things she had spent the past five months avoiding.
Like the last time she had spoken to Alicent.
Like the way she had spoken to her.
Like the way she had heard, three weeks later, that Alicent had gone to JPL.
Rhaenyra hadn’t known she was leaving, hadn’t heard from her, hadn’t had a single chance to take back—
Well.
Everything.
Rhaenyra had heard about Alicent’s move to JPL in passing—just a casual remark from Laena during a training debrief, something about a super-secret project, something about how they had asked for her specifically.
And Rhaenyra had felt proud—of course they had asked for her. Of course they had recognized what NASA had always known, what Rhaenyra had always known—that Alicent was the kind of brilliant who couldn’t be ignored.
But then the other thought had crept in, insidious and unwelcome. What if it wasn’t them asking for her? What if Alicent had requested to leave? What if this—this distance, this silence—had been a choice? Rhaenyra couldn’t think about that. Because if she did—if she let herself believe, even for a second, that Alicent had left because of her—then maybe she wouldn’t come back from space at all.
She exhaled sharply and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Her knees ached.
She ignored it.
She moved through the morning with quiet precision, dressing in her compression gear first, then the flight suit, zipping it up over her chest.
When she sat down to lace up her boots, she hesitated—just for a second—before reaching for her phone.
No messages. No missed calls.
She could send one, though.
She could.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. But what would she even say?
I heard you left. I wish I had known.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about you today.
No, that’s a lie. I know exactly why.
She let out a sharp breath and switched the phone off. She left it in her locker. She wouldn’t need it for the next year.
--
The launchpad was exactly as she remembered it—industrial, massive, humming with the weight of what was about to happen.
The Dragon capsule loomed above her, gleaming under the morning sun, perched atop the Kings Landing, its engines primed for ignition, its surface glinting beneath the floodlights that still flickered despite the growing daylight. Thick tendrils of vapor curled from the rocket’s base, liquid oxygen venting in steady, ghostly streams as the propellant tanks pressurized.
The metallic scaffolding of the boarding tower stretched high, latticed beams framing the scene like the ribs of some great mechanical beast. Technicians moved with controlled urgency, their voices clipped over radio chatter, boots scuffing against the reinforced walkways as they made their final rounds.
The air buzzed—not just with the whir of machines and the distant hum of cooling units, but with something electric, something alive. The sheer weight of what was about to happen pressed into the atmosphere, thick with expectation, with readiness, with the steady, unshakable beat of countdown clocks ticking toward ignition.
One more time.
She walked across the tarmac with Harwin and Orwyle, their steps measured, slow, as if none of them wanted to acknowledge how final this was.
Harwin nudged her shoulder as they reached the boarding tower. "Nervous?"
Rhaenyra smirked. "No."
He gave her a look.
She sighed. "A little."
Harwin grinned. "Good. Means you’re still human."
The elevator ride up to the crew access arm was quiet. The tower vibrated faintly beneath their feet; the weight of the rocket alive beneath them.
The last-minute checks blurred together—technicians running final diagnostics, flight surgeons confirming last vitals, safety officers securing their helmets.
Then, at last, the Dragon opened before her.
Inside the Dragon capsule, everything was crisp, controlled, tight. The cabin hummed with a low mechanical whir, ventilation systems regulating the flow of oxygen as the soft clicks of switches and the distant murmur of mission control filled the enclosed space.
Rhaenyra settled into her seat, the harness straps tightening across her chest with a firm tug, locking her in place. The technician at her side gave a final check, securing the clasps with a sharp snap before stepping back. She tilted her head as they lowered her helmet into place, the neck ring sealing with a faint hiss of pressurization.
For a moment, the sound of the world outside dulled, reduced to the rhythmic thump of her own pulse. Then, with a low mechanical whine, the seats began to recline, folding back into their launch position, tilting her gaze toward the touchscreen displays overhead. The shift in angle sent a brief wave of disorientation through her—gravity pulling in strange, unfamiliar ways—but she exhaled, steadying herself, fingers flexing against the armrests.
Around her, the crew worked through the final checks, their voices calm, practiced. This was routine. This was everything she had trained for. And yet, as she listened to the last confirmations roll in through the comms, her body vibrating faintly with the latent power of the rocket beneath her, she knew—nothing about this moment would ever be routine.
This was it.
She flexed her fingers, steadying her breath.
"Dragon, this is Launch Control. Commence final flight checklist."
She reached for the first switch.
"Dragon copies. Running pre-flight now."
The motions were automatic, ingrained into muscle memory.
"Main engines start sequence—nominal."
"Copy."
"Auxiliary power units—stable."
"Copy."
And then—
A voice she hadn’t heard in weeks.
"Dragon, this is Houston Flight."
Her fingers froze over the controls.
For a second—just a second—she forgot how to move.
Then, slow, deliberate, she toggled the comms. "Copy, Houston."
"Checklist complete. You’re clear for launch."
A beat of silence.
Then—soft, unreadable—
"Good luck, Commander."
Alicent.
For a second, Rhaenyra had thought she was dreaming. The disorientation of the launch sequence, the press of the harness against her chest, the weightlessness creeping in at the edges—it all blurred together.
But then, there it was again. Alicent’s voice, low and steady through the comms, threading through the static like something she had imagined in the long months leading up to this. It was disorienting but grounding at the same time, sending a sharp pulse of awareness through her, cutting through the hum of machinery and the distant roar of the engines.
Rhaenyra exhaled, gripping the armrests as the final countdown began.
She should say something.
She wanted to say something.
But the clock was already running.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
She closed her eyes.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
She thought about what she should have said.
Four.
Three.
Two.
She thought about her.
One.
Ignition.
Subject: Systems Check & Message for Flight Director
From: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
Date: Mission Day 32
Time: 21:47 UTC
Houston,
Daily systems check completed. No anomalies detected. CO2 scrubbers holding steady. Ran the usual redundancy tests, everything came back nominal. Crews in good shape.
I know you’re busy, but—it's good to have you on the other end of the comms, Hightower.
– Dragon
--
Subject: Re: Systems Check & Message for Flight Director
From: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
To: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
Date: Mission Day 33
Time: 03:12 UTC
Dragon,
Copy all. Numbers match what we’re seeing on our end. No concerns.
Shocking to hear you’re actually listening to protocol. Let’s hope it lasts.
– Houston
--
Subject: EVA Prep & Suit Diagnostics
From: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
Date: Mission Day 57
Time: 14:22 UTC
Houston,
EVA scheduled for 08:00 UTC tomorrow. Harwin and I ran full diagnostics—suits are reading stable, no pressure leaks detected.
Telemetry looks good, but I figured you’d want a second check on my readings. Not that I’d ever question your ability to spot something before I do.
– Dragon
P.S. Before you say anything, yes, I actually ran all the checklists myself. You can hold your applause.
--
Subject: Re: EVA Prep & Suit Diagnostics
From: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
To: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
Date: Mission Day 57
Time: 19:13 UTC
Dragon,
Copy. Running a secondary check on your telemetry now. If I find anything unusual, I’m pulling you back in before you even step outside.
And no, I won’t be applauding you for simply doing your job.
– Houston
--
Subject: Post-EVA Report & Minor Equipment Malfunction
From: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
Date: Mission Day 58
Time: 16:39 UTC
Houston,
EVA 02 completed. Solar array maintenance went fine, but one of the clamps stalled on retraction—took some extra manoeuvring to secure it. Minor delay, nothing major.
Before you say it—I did call it in. Just in time for you to tell me to be careful in that tone of yours. You know, the one where I can hear you rolling your eyes through the comms.
– Dragon
--
Subject: Re: Post-EVA Report & Minor Equipment Malfunction
From: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
To: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
Date: Mission Day 58
Time: 22:01 UTC
Dragon,
Copy. We reviewed the footage. I see you were very careful—if by careful, you mean cutting it far too close before calling in backup.
If your heart rate spikes that high again during an EVA, I’m going to start overriding your mission access myself. Try me.
– Houston
--
Subject: Late Transmission – Crew Status & Personal Request
From: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
Date: Mission Day 112
Time: 02:37 UTC
Houston,
Crew’s good. Systems nominal. No issues.
Couldn’t sleep. Space is quiet, but somehow it still feels loud.
That ever happen to you, Hightower?
– Dragon
--
Subject: Re: Late Transmission – Crew Status & Personal Request
From: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
To: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
Date: Mission Day 112
Time: 07:09 UTC
Dragon,
Space is loud in a way no one tells you about beforehand.
I’d tell you to try and rest, but I know you won’t listen. So instead, I’ll say this—next time you can’t sleep, send your report earlier. At least let me make use of my own sleepless nights tracking your data.
– Houston
--
Subject: Upcoming Return Prep – Timeline Adjustments
From: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
Date: Mission Day 273
Time: 10:14 UTC
Houston,
Re-entry schedule is locked in for next month. Hard to believe we’re already closing in.
I don’t know what’s weirder—leaving Earth for a year, or having to come back to it.
You’ll be in mission control for the landing, won’t you?
– Dragon
--
Subject: Re: Upcoming Return Prep – Timeline Adjustments
From: Houston Flight – Flight Director Alicent Hightower
To: ISS Dragon – Commander Rhaenyra Targaryen
Date: Mission Day 273
Time: 14:22 UTC
Dragon,
You know I will.
– Houston
Rhaenyra’s first breath of the morning was filled with Earth.
The air was fresh, cool, tinged with the faint scent of damp grass and something sweet carried in from outside.
She groggily opened her eyes, blinking against the golden haze of sunlight. For a moment, her mind was somewhere else—floating, untethered, surrounded by the silent black expanse of space.
She had spent so long thinking that was freedom, that the great escape was up there, beyond the clouds, beyond the pull of gravity. But space was empty. Beautiful, yes, but vast and hollow, stretching endlessly without warmth, without colour, without life. Earth, in contrast, was alive. It was loud and messy and vibrant, full of crisp morning air and rustling leaves, the distant hum of city streets, the soft inhale and exhale of someone sleeping beside her.
She had spent years chasing adventure beyond the atmosphere, convinced it was out there, when all along, it had been here. Waiting. And for the first time in her life, she felt grounded.
The breeze tickled at her nose again.
Someone must have left a window open last night.
She exhaled slowly, stretching beneath the sheets, and reached an arm toward the open window, ready to pull it closed before curling back into warmth—before curling back into Alicent.
She exhaled slowly, letting it ground her, before rolling over and reaching an arm out, fingers brushing against the edge of the windowpane. She pushed it closed with a quiet click before sighing, stretching like a cat as she curled back into the warmth of the bed.
Warmth that wasn’t just from the sheets.
Alicent.
Pressed against her, still tangled in the covers, auburn hair spilling messily over the pillow.
For a moment, Rhaenyra just looked.
The early morning light filtered in through the curtains, catching the soft curve of Alicent’s bare shoulder, the slope of her back, the relaxed part of her lips as she breathed deeply, still asleep. There was something so utterly unreal about it—about this, about them, about the fact that she had come back to this instead of another mission, another stretch of months spent untethered.
She had spent so long being weightless.
Now, she was anchored.
She smiled sleepily, shifting forward to press her nose into the crook of Alicent’s neck, breathing her in.
She wrapped herself around Alicent, warm and steady. Her curls were mussed against the pillow, strands of auburn spilling in every direction, a rare moment where she looked completely at ease, without the sharp edges of command or the weight of responsibility pressing into her shoulders.
And gods, Rhaenyra loved her—loved her mind, first and always, the sharp precision of it, the way she could deconstruct a problem in seconds, the way she spoke in equations and calculations but somehow still understood her, no formulas needed.
But she also loved this Alicent, the one no one else got to see, the one tangled in bedsheets, warm and sleep-flushed, utterly gorgeous even in the early haze of morning. She reached up, trailing her fingers through a loose curl, letting it wind around her fingertip before smoothing it back, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Alicent’s forehead. She was home.
Alicent stirred with a quiet hum, shifting slightly before cracking one eye open. "You’re staring," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
Rhaenyra grinned. "You’re hot. Sue me."
Alicent huffed, rolling onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. "Gods, you’re impossible."
"And yet, here we are."
Alicent shook her head, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Here we are," she agreed softly.
Rhaenyra lifted a hand, trailing fingers through the tousled strands of Alicent’s hair before tucking a loose piece behind her ear. "You left the window open," she murmured.
Alicent blinked sleepily. "Did I?"
"Mmhm." Rhaenyra smirked. "I thought I was still in space for a second. Felt like fresh air in the cabin."
Alicent hummed, reaching out to run her fingers down the length of Rhaenyra’s arm, tracing the skin absently. "Wouldn’t be the worst place to wake up."
"No," Rhaenyra admitted, eyes drifting over Alicent’s face, the soft glow of morning against her cheekbones, the barest hint of a smirk still playing on her lips. "But I think I like this one better."
Alicent’s hand stilled, eyes searching hers for a long, slow moment. Then, finally, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to Rhaenyra’s in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, something easy after years of tension and fire.
Rhaenyra sighed against her mouth, curling an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
There was no countdown here. No mission clock running. No weightless drift. Just this.
Just them.
Alicent pulled back slightly, lips barely brushing Rhaenyra’s. "We have to get up," she murmured, though she made absolutely no attempt to move.
"Do we?"
Alicent exhaled a laugh, shifting to press a kiss to Rhaenyra’s jaw, her collarbone, her shoulder. "Yes," she said. "Eventually."
Rhaenyra groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow. "Fine. But I’m warning you, I am ravenous. You better feed me."
Alicent smirked, resting her chin on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. "Breakfast first. Then groceries. Then we have to take Syrax for a walk."
Rhaenyra grinned. "Right. The dog."
Alicent rolled her eyes. "You were the one who insisted on naming her that."
"She was the one who insisted on being a menace, thank you very much."
Alicent huffed, but she was smiling, and Rhaenyra took the moment to tilt forward and kiss her again, slow and lazy, until the need for food—or anything else—was thoroughly forgotten as she licked into her mouth.
Outside, the world was waiting.
But today was a Saturday.
And no one was going to space.