Work Text:
Haley is on the way to the simulators when she notices that there seems to be a bit of activity in the starfighter bay. Through the plasteel window overlooking the bay, she spots several people wearing the green of a mechanic's jumpsuit, largely grouped around Delta Wing's fighters. But Delta Wing hasn't been in a combat situation recently, have they? Maddie didn't mention anything at breakfast this morning.
Haley decides to investigate.
When she ducks her head beneath Delta 4's wing, she recognizes the mechanic lying underneath. "What's all this, Andy?" she asks.
Andy startles, jerking upwards, just barely avoiding banging his head against the bottom of the starfighter. Once he's got his limbs back under control, he rolls out from underneath the ship and sits up. "Oh, Haley!" he exclaims. "What are you doing here?"
"Noticed you were working on Delta Wing. I didn't know they were in combat."
"They weren't," says Andy. "We're just installing the inertial dampeners."
"The new inertial dampeners?" Haley's blood starts to sizzle. She's heard rumors that those new dampeners can absorb up to 20 Gs. She's been dreaming up new maneuvers for those dampeners for months, waiting for Central to clear up their supply problems and finally deliver the new dampeners. And now, it seems, they have. "I'll have to see if I can swap with Gamma Wing for that patrol this afternoon. Can't wait to try it out."
Andy's face freezes. "Um."
The sizzling feeling in her blood abruptly extinguishes. "Andy?"
"We only got one shipment of them from Central," Andy admits sheepishly. "Four units — just enough for one wing."
Haley blinks. "And George thought Delta Wing needed them most? Dammit, we had a deal." She turns and looks around, trying to spot George. Maybe he just forgot. Maybe she can convince him to take the dampeners out of Delta Wing and get them into Alpha Wing, where they belong. But she's not tall enough to see over the tops of the starfighters nearby.
"Not George," Andy corrects her. "He left for Gemini III yesterday, on the last supply shuttle. New boss made the decision. Sergeant Frost."
Haley frowns. She's pretty familiar with most of the maintenance staff, but the name isn't ringing any bells. "Frost?"
"Just transferred in," Andy explains. "I think she's working on Delta 1, if you want to talk to her."
Haley heads over to Delta 1. She's just going to have to explain to this Sergeant Frost the way that things work around here, and get her to transfer the dampeners to Alpha Wing.
Haley knocks on Delta 1's wing. A woman rolls out from underneath the starfighter and sits up, shading her eyes against the bright overhead lights of the starfighter bay. The green jumpsuit she's wearing is too large for her, making her look shapeless, and her red hair is pulled back into a severe bun. "Can I help you?" she asks.
"Sergeant Frost?" Haley asks.
"Yes, and you are ...?"
"Sergeant Pearce," Haley replies. "I need to talk to you about those dampeners."
"Ah, Sergeant Pearce," Frost says. She grabs Delta 1's wing and hauls herself to her feet. She's taller than Haley — which isn't much of an accomplishment — but only by a few inches. Underneath the sheen of sweat and several smears of grease, it looks like her face is dusted with freckles. "Alpha Wing leader, right? Sergeant Tyler mentioned you."
Haley narrows her eyes. "Did he mention that we had an agreement about that first shipment of dampeners? Alpha Wing was first on the list."
"Were you? Let me check." Frost wipes her greasy hands off on the rag clipped to the belt of her jumpsuit, then pulls a tablet from her breast pocket. "Hmm, my records show you never submitted a requisition form. Delta Wing did. So did Gamma Wing, and Beta Wing of course — but Delta Wing's form is dated a full week before the other two. So they have first priority."
"I didn't submit a requisition form because I didn't need to. George — Sergeant Tyler — knew we wanted it."
Frost presses her lips together. "Well, Sergeant Tyler isn't here anymore. But you're welcome to submit a requisition form now."
Haley grits her teeth. "I don't want to submit a requisition form. I want those inertial dampeners."
"I'm afraid you'll have to wait your turn. There are procedures for this sort of thing. Just because Sergeant Tyler was lax about enforcing those procedures doesn't mean I have to be, too."
Haley decides to try a different tack. "Look, Sergeant, you're new here. You don't understand how things work. Alpha Wing? There's a reason we're called that. Whenever the long-range scanners detect signs of pirates? Captain Webb sends us in to stop them. Whenever there's a dangerous mission? Captain Webb sends us in to handle it. Whenever something goes wrong? Captain Webb sends us in to clean up the mess. We have more confirmed kills than the other three wings combined," she boasts.
"And?" says Frost. She almost sounds bored.
Haley blinks. "What do you mean, 'and'? We're the ones who need those inertial dampeners, not Delta Wing."
Frost shrugs. "I dunno, it sounds like you're doing fine without the dampeners. Maybe Delta Wing would perform better with some extra help."
"Extra help?" Haley echoes.
Frost sighs. "Look, Sergeant, if you need some help filling out the requisition form, I'd be happy to walk you through it. Otherwise, I need to get back to work. We need to get these dampeners installed and tested before Delta Wing's patrol tomorrow morning." She doesn't bother to wait for a response before lying back down and rolling underneath Delta 1.
Haley glares at Frost's shoulder, which is the only part of her still visible. "This isn't over," she promises.
*
Haley looks around for a place to sit, tray in hand. There aren't too many people in the mess, this early in the morning. Beta Wing, newly returned from their last patrol, is huddled together at one table, but their plates are almost empty — they're probably about to leave. Lieutenant Mendoza is having what appears to be a very serious discussion with Captain Webb, which Haley figures she shouldn't interrupt.
And Sergeant Frost is sitting alone at a table in the corner.
Haley decides that maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones. Delta Wing did get to keep that first shipment of inertial dampeners, since they were already installed, but Lieutenant Mendoza has promised that Alpha Wing will get the second shipment, when it arrives. "Do you mind if I sit here, Sergeant?" she asks.
"I can't stop you," says Frost.
Haley sets her tray down across from Frost. The clattering feels unnaturally loud in the silence.
"Look," Haley says as she sits down. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."
"No kidding," says Frost drily.
"I'm sorry for going over your head to Lieutenant Mendoza. I hope you didn't get into trouble for it."
Frost shoots Haley a look. "Why would I get into trouble? I was following procedure. You were the one who didn't file the necessary requisition form."
Haley tries not to bristle. She sat here to make amends, not to get mired in another fight. "Look, we're going to end up seeing a lot of each other. We don't need to be friends, or anything, but we need to at least get along. I know that you're a stickler for protocol and I'm ... not. But I'll make you a deal — I'll submit all the forms you want me to, if you'll just tell me what they are."
Frost studies her for several long seconds before extending a hand over the table. "Deal," she says.
Haley shakes her hand.
Frost digs into her food, apparently considering the conversation finished. Haley follows suit. But it only takes her a minute or two to get uncomfortable with the silence, and pipe up with, "So, what made you decide to become a mechanic?"
"I'm good at it," Frost answers.
Haley waits for her to say something more, but that seems to be the only answer Frost is going to give. "That's it?" Haley asks. "So if you'd been good at — I don't know — ballet dancing, you'd be a ballet dancer now, instead?"
"Well, no," admits Frost. "It's not just that."
Haley raises her eyebrows, waiting.
Frost hesitates, but then eventually leans forwards, rests her elbows on the table, and begins to speak. "I like fixing things, I have ever since I was a little kid. Taking things apart, putting them back together again. Repairing or replacing any broken components. Making them better than they were before. It's — a nice feeling, looking at something I've fixed and knowing — that's working because of me. I did that."
Frost smiles, eyes focused on a point somewhere over Haley's right shoulder, and Haley realizes, suddenly, that Frost is actually pretty. Now that she's off-duty, her hair is long and loose, curling gently around her shoulders, and she's wearing a tank top that accentuates her curves (and dips almost low enough to be called indecent).
"What about you?" Frost asks. "Why did you become a pilot?"
Haley pulls her mind out of the gutter, and her eyes out of Frost's neckline. "I'm good at it," she says, teasingly.
Frost gives her a look.
Haley grins. "No — I mean, I am, I'm great at it. But that's not why I became a pilot. There's just — something about flying a starfighter. Especially a fast one. Watching the world fly past at thousands of miles an hour, feeling the kick of acceleration when you throttle up, that clarity you feel when you've lined up the perfect shot — it's exhilarating." Her skin tingles just thinking about it.
"I'll take your word for it, Sergeant," says Frost.
Haley frowns. It felt like they were starting to get along — but the Sergeant feels like a dampener on things. "You can call me Haley, you know. Everyone does."
Frost bites her lip. She doesn't seem entirely sold on the idea.
"I know it's — a bit more informal than you're used to," Haley admits. "But that's kind of how we do things here."
"All right. Haley, then. And I'm Claire."
"Claire," Haley echoes. It suits her. "So, you've never tried taking a starfighter for a spin?"
"No, I have," Claire says. "Sometimes, when there's a minor problem with the throttle, or the attitude controls, it can be useful to take it out and see how it handles, instead of relying on the computer to diagnose any problems. But I can't handle the speeds you do. With my reflexes, I'd probably crash into the ship and kill myself."
"I could take you out," Haley offers.
"Take me out?" Claire asks, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink, and isn't that interesting?
"In my fighter," Haley clarifies. "I could show you what it's like, to go those speeds."
Claire frowns. "Those fighters are designed for one person."
Haley hesitates for a second, then decides to go out on a limb. "You could sit in my lap," she offers. "Or I could sit in yours."
Claire's flush deepens, spreading from her cheeks to her forehead and down her neck. Haley wonders just how far down it goes. "Absolutely not," Claire says. She grabs for her coffee cup, and takes several deep swallows. By the time she lowers it, the flush has receded, leaving just a hint of pink in her cheeks. "Even if you could get authorization for a — joyride like that, I wouldn't want to."
"You wouldn't?" Haley asks, disappointed.
"No," Claire says firmly. "I don't even like rollercoasters — what makes you think I'd enjoy a starfighter going a hundred times that speed?" She wipes her mouth with her napkin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some maintenance to perform."
Haley watches her go.
*
Haley is pouring herself her third beer when she realizes that Claire hasn't stopped by to congratulate her. It seems like pretty much everyone else she knows has. But not Claire.
Haley gets up on tiptoes, trying to see if she can spot Claire among the crew gathered in the mess hall to celebrate her accomplishment. Surely Claire must be here somewhere. But with Haley's height, it's hard to spot anyone. The only person she can see is Andy, who towers over the rest of the room, swaying gently back and forth like a reed in the wind. She wonders how many beers he's had.
Haley wends her way through the crowd towards him. "Hey, Andy, have you seen Claire?" she asks loudly, trying to make sure she's heard over the din.
"Claire?" he echoes, confused.
"Sergeant Frost," Haley clarifies.
"Oh! She said she was going to assess the damage. Get a head start on tomorrow." He hiccups into his cup. "I told her it was a party, that it can wait a day. But she insisted."
Haley grits her teeth. On the one hand, it's exactly what she's come to expect from Claire — focused on work and protocol, no time for frivolity.
But.
Haley just made double ace, hitting her tenth kill off of a dangerous maneuver using her brand new inertial dampener. The inertial dampener that Claire, personally, installed. They may not be friends, or — anything, really. But Captain Webb managed to stop by for a few minutes to shake her hand, despite his other responsibilities.
Why didn't Claire?
With most of the pilots and mechanics at the party, the starfighter bay is unusually quiet — quiet enough that Haley can hear the clattering of metal on metal, the hiss of compressed air, and the occasional grunt.
Haley follows the noise to her fighter, Alpha 1, and takes a seat on the ground, ducking her head low to try to get a look at what Claire is doing. The panels on the undercarriage have been removed and set aside, and Claire is elbow deep in the innards. She's wearing her green jumpsuit again, the one that doesn't fit properly. But she must have been in a hurry when she put her hair up, because it's looser than usual. There are wisps of bright red hair floating around her face, slanting across her freckles. It makes her look softer, somehow. More vulnerable. (More kissable.)
It only takes a couple of seconds for Claire to notice that Haley has arrived. She turns her head, but doesn't move out from underneath Alpha 1. "Shouldn't you be at your party?"
"Shouldn't you?" Haley retorts.
Claire stares at her for several seconds, then turns her attention back to Haley's fighter. "Didn't feel much like celebrating."
"Why not? I got a double ace! Ten kills!" Haley says. It comes out more like a whine than anything else — she blames the beer. She takes a deep breath before continuing, deliberately pitching her voice lower. "I mean, don't you think that's worth celebrating?"
Claire only spares her a brief look. "Yeah, sure, okay."
"Okay?" Haley echoes. That whine is back in her voice again.
"What do you want from me?" asks Claire. "Congratulations. You did great." It's the words that Haley wanted to hear — but there's a mocking edge to them, and Claire still hasn't looked at her.
Haley lurches to her feet and begins pacing next to her fighter. "What's wrong with you?" she demands. "I got a double ace! There are only half a dozen pilots in the entire fleet who have that many kills! It's a real accomplishment! And you're sitting out here moping, instead of joining the party with the rest of us, because — because — I don't even know why. Do you hate me, or something? Want me to leave you alone? Because right now, I'd be happy to do that!"
"I don't hate you," Claire says quietly, and there's something about the tone of her voice that sucks all the air out of the room and makes Haley freeze in her tracks. "I don't."
Haley draws in a long, slow breath. "Then what?" she asks. "What's wrong?"
Instead of answering, Claire thrusts her hands deep inside of Alpha 1, and pulls out a large object. She scoots out from underneath the starfighter, prize clutched tightly in her arms, and then lays it on the wing. "Here," she says, "look at the inertial dampener."
Haley pulls her eyes away from the hint of red in Claire's cheeks. To her, the inertial dampener just looks like a bunch of wires and metal plates. "What about it?"
"Do you see the marks, here and here?" Claire says, pointing to two locations. They do look a little darker than the rest of the machine, but that's about all Haley can see. "That's from a short. That maneuver you pulled, the one you used to get that tenth kill, was probably just a second or two away from completely shorting out your inertial dampener. If it had failed while you were still pulling 40 G's, you'd have been liquified. I'm going to have to rewire half the connections, and add shielding to the other half, just to make sure that won't happen again.
"And look at the underside, here," Claire continues, bending down to gesture towards Alpha 1's left wing. "Do you see those black lines? The way the metal has rippled, there? That's the damage from an energy weapon. They hit you, Haley. More than once. That whole section of the wing will have to be replaced. We may even have to replace some of the components underneath, too — I haven't had a chance to open it up and check for damage yet."
"So, what?" asks Haley. "You're angry because I made a lot of work for you? I thought you said you liked fixing things. You said it made you feel accomplished."
"I do like fixing things! What I don't like is seeing you risk your life just to be able to paint another kill on your fuselage. I watched the recording in the mess hall, before I left — your wingman would have caught up eventually. You could have left her the kill. But you were too greedy for that double ace, and you nearly died because of it." Claire's voice keeps rising in pitch with every word.
"It wasn't that dangerous," Haley argues. "I knew what I was doing."
Claire lets out a noise that's half-shriek, half-growl. She takes a half-step towards Haley, flushed and breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes.
Haley doesn't back away.
But Claire does — turning on her heel, and practically sprinting away.
*
The next few weeks are ... fine. Claire is professional. Haley retaliates by being professional right back at her. But Andy notices that the vibes have shifted, and corners her in the mess hall demanding details — details that Haley doesn't particularly know how to articulate. Were things developing with Claire? Or was it all in her head?
After just a few stumbling sentences, though, Andy nods like he understands, and says, "Roses."
"Roses?" Haley asks.
"Roses," Andy confirms. "They're the perfect gift."
"Andy, where am I supposed to get roses? We're light years from the nearest planet capable of supporting plant life."
Andy hesitates, then pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out. "I was going to grow these and give them to Jordan tonight — it's our five month anniversary. But I think he would agree that you need them more."
Haley takes the package from his hand. On the front, there's a picture of a flower, with the words "Synthetic Roses" in a flowery font. "What is this?" she asks Andy.
"Open it," says Andy, instead of answering.
Haley tears open the top of the packaging. There are three small glass bottles inside, as well as a pair of metal tweezers, and a long white ribbon. One of the glass bottles contains a clear liquid; the second contains an ugly-looking yellow liquid; the third contains what looks to be tiny red roses.
Haley picks up the third bottle and looks at Andy, puzzled. "You think I should give her these?"
"They get bigger," he explains. "I don't know exactly how it works, but they're made out of some kind of special polymer. When you dunk the flowers in this," he says, tapping on the lid of the bottle with the clear liquid, "they expand to ten times their size over the course of about an hour. After about two, maybe three hours, they start to turn to mush. But in the meantime — they're about as close as you can get to roses, out here."
"What's the yellow liquid for?"
"Artificial rose scent," Andy explains. "Just put a couple of drops on the roses after they're finished growing."
Haley takes the synthetic roses back to her quarters, and follow Andy's instructions. Sure enough, after about an hour, she has a dozen not-quite-roses, wrapped up into a bouquet with the ribbon from the package. She probably went a little too heavy on the artificial rose scent — the cork was difficult to remove, and she accidentally ended up spilling a bunch over the rose stems — but the effect is definitely rose-like, even if it's not actually roses.
She ends up finding Claire in the workroom inside the starfighter bay, head bent low over what looks like a maneuvering thruster. She knocks on the doorframe to get Claire's attention. But when Claire looks up, Haley freezes. She was so focused on the roses, and Andy's assurances that roses would solve everything, that she forgot to figure out what, exactly, she wanted to say.
For several long seconds, they stare at each other in silence. Then Haley holds out the bouquet. "These are for you," she says, for lack of something better to say.
Claire crosses the room to take the bouquet from her, giving Haley a long look as she does so. There's a warmth in her eyes that has been missing from their interactions recently, and Haley feels her heart skip a beat.
"How did you get roses, all the way out here?" Claire asks. "It must have cost you a fortune."
"Well, they're not real roses," Haley admits. "They're synthetic."
"Really?" Claire leans down to study the bouquet more closely, raising a hand to run a finger along one of the petals. "They look like real roses." She raises the bouquet to her nose to smell it, but before she can get too close, she turns her head and lets out a sharp cough. "Very strong scent," she remarks, eyes still watering from the smell.
"Yeah, sorry," Haley apologizes. "I spilled a bit too much."
Claire looks down at the roses again, though she seems to be holding them a little farther from her body than she was before. "Well, anyway, they're still beautiful." She looks up at Haley. "Thank you."
"Yeah, of course," Haley says.
This is when she's supposed to say it, she's pretty sure. Ask her out, maybe, or at least declare her feelings. But before she can come up with the right words to say, Claire chimes in with a question: "If they're synthetic, I'm guessing they'll keep without putting them in water?"
"Oh, no, they won't keep at all — Andy said they turn to mush within a few hours," Haley explains. "Just remember to put them in the recycler before they fall apart."
Claire blinks. "Andy?"
"Andy Chen," Haley clarifies. "He was the one who gave me the package of synthetic roses to give to you." Claire doesn't immediately respond, so Haley keeps talking to fill the silence. "He was going to give it to Jordan — Strickland, from Gamma Wing, they've been dating for a couple months now — but he said I needed it more."
"Ah," Claire says flatly. All of the warmth is gone from her voice.
Haley frowns, briefly puzzled. Then her own words catch up to her, and she winces. She definitely should have figured out what she was going to say before she gave Claire the roses. Andy said that roses are the perfect gift — but admitting that the roses were someone else's idea, and that she didn't even make the effort of picking them out herself, was probably not the best plan. Not to mention the issue with the overpowering scent.
Claire sets the bouquet on the table beside her, and runs her hands up and down her face a few times. Then she looks at Haley. "Haley, what do you want?"
Haley grins. That, at least, she knows how to answer. "You."
Claire draws in a breath to reply, and ends up having a coughing fit instead. "I got that," she says, in a croaky voice. She clears her throat a few times, and continues. "But — what are you looking for? A one-night stand? A fling?" She raises a hand to her neck and rubs her throat.
"Um." Haley once again wishes she'd thought this through before showing up in the starfighter bay with a bouquet of synthetic roses. Does she want a fling? Or something a little more serious? "I guess — if that's what you want."
Claire clears her throat again. There are spots of bright pink in her cheeks, which Haley takes as a good sign — she's not entirely unmoved by this conversation. "What makes you think I want that? There are regulations against fraternization," she remarks, voice a little raspy.
"Does that mean you would want — that — if it weren't for the rules?" Haley asks excitedly. "Because if it's just the rules, it's no big deal. No one really cares about that, out here. I mean — look at Andy and Jordan."
"I care," Claire says. Her voice is thin and soft, barely above a whisper. She clears her throat, draws in a rattling breath, and continues. "I like my job. I don't want —" But midway through her sentence, her voice cuts out. She grabs her throat again, and when she sucks in a breath it sounds wheezy and harsh, almost choking.
A chill slides down Haley's spine. "Claire, are you okay?"
Claire shakes her head, still wheezing. She grabs the table beside her, clinging to it like a lifeline.
The fear in Haley's stomach blooms into full-blown panic. She bolts for the communicator box just inside the door, tapping the medical emergency button to connect her to sickbay. "Help! Claire's having some kind of attack. She's having trouble breathing!"
"We'll be there in two minutes," comes the response.
Haley looks back at Claire. Will Claire even last two minutes?
Just then, Claire's grip on the table wavers, hands clawing for purchase against the metal surface. Haley rushes back to her and catches her around the waist right as she loses her grip entirely. Claire flops against her, nearly a dead weight, and Haley swings her down onto the ground between the tables.
"They'll be here soon," Haley says. She's not sure if she's reassuring Claire, or herself.
Claire's face is bright red, and her eyes are wide and bulging and full of panic. The rasping of her breath seems almost impossibly loud in the quiet of the room.
Haley takes her hand. "Just keep breathing, Claire," she begs. "Just a little longer."
*
Claire looks pale against the white sheets. Her lips are chapped, her hair is tangled and frizzy, her face is covered with hives, and she's wearing frumpy hospital gown.
But when she finally opens her green eyes and looks at Haley, it's just about the prettiest thing Haley's ever seen.
"Hi," Haley says.
Claire swallows. "What happened?" she asks. Her voice still sounds a little weak, but nothing like it was before, when she was gasping and dying on the floor.
Haley grimaces at the guilt gnawing her stomach. "It turns out you're allergic to one of the ingredients in the artificial rose scent." She shakes her head. "I am so, so sorry. I had no idea — if I'd known that they could be dangerous, if I'd known you might have that kind of reaction, I never would have brought them within a hundred feet of you. Hurting you — that's the last thing I want to do."
Claire hums. "I didn't know I was allergic." She presses her lips together. "Well, I guess I'll have to avoid synthetic roses in the future, then."
"Yeah," Haley agrees. "Me, too. I — they were a bad idea in the first place."
"Oh?" Claire asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I should have just told you how I felt. How I feel."
Claire blinks. "And how do you feel?" she asks.
Haley closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath to prepare herself. When she opens her eyes, Claire is watching. Waiting. "I like you," Haley admits. "I care about you. I could maybe grow to —" Haley stops. She doesn't want to go too fast, too soon, and scare Claire off. "But in the meantime, I want to date you. Seriously, not as a fling."
Is that a smile on Claire's face? Whatever it is, it disappears almost as quickly as it appears, replaced by a worried frown. "And the regulations on fraternization?" Claire asks.
Haley's heart pounds faster. Claire hasn't said one way or another what she's feeling, but it sounds like she's at least considering the idea of a serious relationship — if it weren't for the rules.
Haley grins. For once, she's actually come prepared to the conversation. "Actually," she says, reaching over to the table beside the bed to grab the tablet she had been using to entertain herself while Claire was out. "I had some time to look into that, while you were —" Her chest squeezes with leftover guilt. "Anyway, I looked up the regulations about fraternization, and it turns out that two people, of equal rank, in separate divisions — such as, say, the mechanics' division and the pilots' division — are allowed to have a relationship as long as they submit form 1169-A, 'Application for Permission to Commence Inter-Divisional Relations'." She holds out the tablet towards Claire.
Claire sits up in bed, resting on hand on the mattress beside her, and taking the tablet with the other. She frowns down at the form, but as she starts to read through it, the frown gradually softens. She looks up at Haley with dawning wonder on her face. "There's a form," she says.
"There is," Haley replies. "I filled most of it out, but I don't know your ID number."
The warmth in Claire's eyes is nearly incandescent. She sets the tablet down on the side table and reaches out towards Haley, cupping her hand against Haley's cheek. "You filled it out," she says.
"I did," Haley confirms. She places her hand over Claire's, pressing Claire's fingers between her palm and her cheek.
"I'd like to kiss you," Claire says, leaning in closer.
"I haven't submitted the form, yet," Haley warns — though she does let herself drift closer, too, close enough to feel Claire's hot breath against her lips.
Claire smiles. "It can wait," she says, and presses her lips to Haley's.