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“Were you really gonna kill him?” Mickey asked, his voice so soft Nasha almost thought she imagined it.
It was a quiet evening in their room. The TV streamed a flashy syndicated game show from Earth, the volume turned low. Nasha sat at the table mending a hole in her uniform jacket while Mickey took a shower. It felt peaceful. Homey.
When she looked up at him standing there in the bathroom’s warm yellow light, a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes were full of a deep, cautious curiosity. His face was set in a serious expression that always made him look a little sad.
Frowning, she sifted through her memories of everything that had happened over the past couple months. Their trial had come to a close not too long ago, but a sense of normalcy was still nowhere in sight just yet. Her aspirations were set on becoming a council-member, climbing that ladder so that she could build something worthwhile here, not just for Mickey and herself, but for everyone.
After a long moment with no answers coming to mind, she asked, “Who are you talking about?”
“Timo. Before Marshall started interrogating us about the multiples violation.”
Ah, that’s right. The rip of the chainsaw echoed in her ears, the vibrations tingled in her palms. She could recall her rage so vividly, the way it made everything within her absolutely still, the way it gave her perfect clarity. All of her incredulity, her indignation, her hardwired need to protect the man she loved — she channeled it into clean, calculated action. Timo had cried his crocodile tears, claimed he had to do it, he had to kill him, but that meant nothing to her, how could he even think about-
A furious rush of blood pulsed in her temples, and with a small shake of her head, she blinked away the memory. If she thought about it too hard, she might march over to that man’s room right now and-
Nasha cleared her throat, shifting in her seat.
“Of course I wasn’t going to kill him,” she said, turning her attention back to her sewing. “Just wanted to intimidate him a little, that’s all.”
“That’s not what it felt like.” His response was softer than his question had been.
A sly grin tugged at the corners of her lips as she asked, “Are you upset with me? Because you shouldn’t be, he was going to kill you first. Someone had to do something to stop him. Besides, I’ve threatened people for less — in your honor, I might add.”
“I know, I know,” he told her, and the affection she heard there washed away any worries that he might actually be angry. “But he didn’t have to die, right? I’d hate it if you did something you’d regret ‘cause of me. Plus, he’s been my friend basically all my life… His back was to the wall, y’know?”
Nasha sat her jacket and thread aside with a noncommittal hum. It didn’t really matter at this point, did it? Timo’s reckoning with Darius Blank’s associate had come and gone, his trial was over, and he still ate dinner with them every evening. Mickey was alive and well and happy that everything turned out alright, so how could she be angrier than him about the whole ordeal?
She looked up to find him already watching her, leaning against the doorframe. He carried with him the clean smell of soap and the standard-issue shaving cream, the scent pouring into the room on damp air, and it made her shiver.
She stood up, walking over to him as she said, “Well then, it’s a good thing you were there to stop me.” Her fingers found the edge of the towel, loosening it and letting it drop to the floor. “Thank you for keeping me in check.”
“Thank you for loving me so much.” He wrapped his arms around her, gently pulling her against his naked body.
“Of course,” she murmured before capturing his mouth into a slow, heated kiss.