Chapter Text
Michael, or as his brother and close friends called him; Mikey, had had a long day at the center. Well it had actually only been about 10:30 AM but considering he had stayed up way later the night before, updating the system’s latest software models and re-running simulations, it felt as if the two coffees he had downed from the staff lounge were doing nothing to keep his eyes open. The Johnson Space Center was practically where he spent most of his time, work-life balance virtually non-existent. It’s not like he minded, he did spend his whole life getting to this point, being able to work alongside the greatest engineers, astrophysicists, and astronauts in the world. He couldn’t recall the first time he really fell in love with space, of course not enough to actually be up there, but being able to help those who would eventually see all those stars up close seemed like a good medium.
He went to university for mechanical and aerospace engineering, focusing on spacecraft systems, power grids, and environmental controls. After graduation he eventually landed a junior engineer position at a space research and training facility, working under veteran engineers on simulators for both spacecraft and orbital modules. It felt like a millennium ago. Now he was one of the go-to rookie engineers and system specialists for simulation training. Training actual potential astronauts. It made him feel useful in a way, like he was finally contributing something important to society. Sure, he could never be as great as the guys that got to float around the space station but he sure as hell had a helping hand in making them great in the first place.
Tim, his manager, had told him that he’d be supporting a new astronaut candidate starting Monday. Mikey had always considered himself lucky. His role in the Astronaut Training Program was to work closely with individual astronaut trainees during hands-on simulations, while his coworkers, on the other hand, were stuck managing entire groups through crowded training schedules and technical briefings. Of course, it wasn’t actually one-on-one by any means considering a dozen other specialists were always watching from behind glass making sure nothing went wrong, but being able to focus his attention on one trainee always allowed him to do his best work. Mikey flicked through the file of his new trainee that Tim had given him earlier, trying his best to focus his tired eyes on the words that were most important. Peter K. Wentz. He rolled it around in his head once, twice, like maybe repetition would make it stick in a way that felt useful.
The file was thick, too thick for someone just coming in. He thumbed past the first few pages, skimming flight hours, education, medical clearances. Average. He leaned back in his chair, the low hum of the simulator bay bleeding through the walls, and kept going. Psychological evaluations, team assessments, instructor notes. Words like ‘driven’, ‘confident’, ‘charismatic’ jumped out at him, underlined by someone else’s pen. Mikey’s eyes snagged on the margins instead. The pauses between comments, the careful phrasing. Pushes through fatigue. Tends to internalize stress. Not red flags. Not yet. Just… notes. Something about the Psych-Eval seemed a little strange as well, like it hadn’t really been finished. Mikey paused for a moment before shrugging. Wasn’t his department. Psych signed off; that was what mattered. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand and glanced at the clock. Not even close to lunch break yet. The building was weirdly quiet, he guessed everyone was busy preparing for the upcoming space mission. Well, ‘upcoming’ as in a couple years. Mikey flipped to the training assignment sheet tucked into the back of the file. His name was already there, typed neatly beside this supposed Peter’s. Primary systems specialist. Simulation lead. Michael J. Way.
Mikey still had about a week before actually meeting Peter for their first simulation training session, though it wasn’t like he had much to prepare considering he’d done most of the work the night prior. The procedures were finalized, the failure trees updated, the simulator slot already blocked out in the schedule. There was nothing left to tweak without inventing problems that didn’t exist yet. Which left him with time. He stared at the open schedule on his monitor for a moment, then minimized it and pulled up the training roster instead. Group session that afternoon. Pre-simulation systems overview. Baseline stuff. Classroom-heavy, low pressure. The kind of thing most engineers ignored unless they were assigned to teach it. Mikey hesitated, then grabbed his badge and jacket anyway. It’s not like he had anything better to do.
The training wing was louder than his usual corner of the facility, footsteps echoing down the hallway, voices overlapping in that way they only did when astronauts were clustered together. He slipped into the observation room attached to the classroom, a narrow space with dim lighting and a long pane of glass looking out over the rows of desks. A few other specialists were already there, half-paying attention, laptops open, coffee cups scattered like props. This was a normal thing to do. In fact, they were expected to. But even through years of experience, he still couldn’t help but feel kind of like a stalker each time he sat-in through one of his assigned trainee’s other training courses. It always felt a little intrusive.
Mikey scanned the classroom, candidates filtering in, flight suits unzipped, conversations cutting off as an instructor took the front of the room. He quietly cursed himself once he realized that he never actually bothered to take a look at the picture in Peter’s file. Any one of these guys could be his trainee. Mikey shifted his weight, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he let his eyes move more deliberately now, slower, more careful. He matched faces to the names he half-remembered from the roster, trying to guess which of them might belong to Peter K. Wentz. It was harder than he’d expected. Too many similar haircuts, too many identical expressions, the same mix of nerves and confidence everyone wore in these rooms. Then his gaze caught on one face in particular. The guy looked younger than the rest. Not drastically, but enough that it stood out once Mikey noticed it. Smoother features, less of that worn-in seriousness most candidates carried. Not fresh out of college young, but closer to Mikey’s age than the others, maybe. Mikey tried to remember if he’d seen a birthdate in the file. He came up blank. For all he knew, Peter could be the oldest guy in the room. Or this guy could be Peter. Or not. It didn’t really matter. He’d find out by next week anyway.
Mikey continued to watch as the instructor talked, going over information he’d heard a million times before. He began debating whether sitting through this lecture was any better than passing time on his computer in the other wing, but at this point he was too lazy to move. He tried to focus on the dynamics of each candidate, the way they carried themselves, how they answered questions. Mikey usually had a good idea of who would make it and who would fail, to him it was always pretty obvious. A party trick his coworkers always seemed impressed by. Though, one anomaly that consistently popped up during Mikey’s quick evaluations was the younger trainee. Most candidates were too cautious, too cocky, too rigid, too scattered. It was all there in the posture, the timing of their answers, the way they reacted when they were wrong. This one didn’t. He answered when called on, but not like he was waiting for permission. Sometimes he spoke over the end of the instructor’s sentence, not out of disrespect, just momentum. When he didn’t know something, he didn’t bluff, instead he would redirect, ask a better question, reframed the problem. Usually that was a good sign. And yet. There were moments when his focus fractured. A slide would linger too long and his attention drifted, gaze unfocusing like he’d slipped somewhere else entirely before snapping back in an instant, alert again. He took notes inconsistently, pages of nothing, then suddenly a burst of cramped handwriting like he was trying to trap a thought before it escaped. Interesting. Mikey suddenly felt encapsulated by his behavior, like he was a puzzle Mikey could try to solve. He began trying to predict the young man’s next words or actions like he’d done so easily with the other candidates, but each time Mikey was thrown another curveball. He felt himself frown just slightly, growing more and more frustrated, and yet more and more drawn in.
Before Mikey knew it, the session was over. Most of the other specialists that had been lazily passing time along with him had shuffled out. He finished his coffee that had long cooled-down, picking up his items as he left the room. He kept his eyes on his watch as he made his way down the hall. 12:47 PM. Mikey almost immediately forgot his thoughts as his stomach grumbled. Lunch break. As he lifted his head up again Mikey was quickly stopped short, his eyes meeting a hopeful grin. He stiffened slightly at the sight of the young trainee he’d been examining for the past few hours. Up close, he could make out characteristics he hadn’t noticed before. The man had a much shorter stature than anticipated, haphazardly straightened neatly cut hair, what seemed to be messily wiped-away remnants of eye makeup, and tattoos that just barely peaked underneath his unzipped flight suit. He definitely didn’t look like the typical astronaut. Maybe some sort of rocker that made a few wrong turns and somehow ended up at the facility.
“Uhm,” Mikey choked slightly, “Can I help you?” trying his best to keep a professional composure.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man smiled shyly. “Are you Michael Way?”
Mikey blinked, momentarily thrown by the sound of his own name in someone else’s mouth. It took him a second to answer, like his brain had to catch up to the situation his body had already registered.
“Yeah,” he said finally, straightening a little while clearing his throat.
The trainee’s shoulders eased, like that had been the right answer. “Cool. Uh- good,” he said, letting out a small breath. “Tim told me I should try to track you down if I saw you around. I’m Pete. Peter. Peter Wentz,” he corrected himself.
Of course.
Mikey nodded once, professional reflex kicking in at last. “Right. Yeah. I’m assigned to your simulations. We don’t start until next week, though.”
“I know,” Pete said quickly, almost tripping over the words. “I just,,, figured I’d introduce myself. Put a face to the name and all that.”
Mikey glanced down the hallway, then back at him. For someone who looked so restless in the classroom, Pete suddenly seemed acutely aware of the space he was taking up, hands tucked into his pockets, weight shifting subtly from one foot to the other.
“Well,” Mikey said, after a beat, “I guess we’ll be working together for the next few months.”
Pete smiled again, smaller this time, like he’d been expecting something much worse. “Yeah. Guess so.”
There was a brief, awkward pause. Mikey checked his watch again out of habit, then stopped himself. “Lunch break,” he said, more to fill the space than anything else.
Pete’s eyes lit up just a little. “Same. I was actually-” He cut himself off, then shrugged. “Never mind. I’ll see you next week.”
“Right,” Mikey replied. “Next week.”
Pete stepped aside to let him pass, offering one last nod before heading the opposite direction down the hall. Mikey walked on, trying desperately to brush off the awkward interaction with the sound of his own footsteps.
He found himself at the nearby café he usually frequented during his breaks. Mikey never had a liking for the center’s cafeteria despite what his coworkers said about the food. The café was quieter, tucked just far enough from the training wing that the constant hum of work couldn’t quite follow him inside. He ordered on autopilot. Black coffee, two sugars. A small croissant from the case by the register, the same one he got almost every day, flaky enough to make a mess if he wasn’t careful. The barista nodded like she already knew, slid the cup across the counter without asking his name. Mikey took a seat by the window, setting his badge down beside his coffee, and finally let himself breathe. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet, but the routine helped. He broke off a piece of the croissant, crumbs scattering onto the napkin, and fished his phone out of his pocket, clicking on his brother, Gerard, ’s name in his messages.
On break
I’m so beat. See you tonight for dinner @ my place?
Mikey paused for a moment before typing again.
Got assigned a new trainee.
weird guy