Chapter Text
Christina Koch had always been precise. Measured. Controlled. The kind of person who could spend nearly a year in space and come back with her composure intact. That version of her did not exist when it came to you.
It started small - insignificant, really. A hand hovering at your back when you walked through a doorway. A quiet 'careful' when you stepped off a curb that didn’t need commentary. The kind of things you could brush off as habit.
But habits don’t escalate.
Obsessions do.
“You’re doing it again.”
You stood beside the car, keys already in your hand, eyebrow raised as you reached for the handle.
Christina froze on the other side of the hood. For a split second, she looked like she might let it go. She didn’t.
“Don’t-”
Too late. You had already pulled the handle. The door cracked open maybe three inches before it was abruptly shoved shut again with a solid thunk. You blinked. Slowly turned your head. Christina was already there, hand flat against the door like she’d just prevented a catastrophe instead of… whatever that was.
“Christina.”
Her jaw flexed.
“I had it,” you said, very calmly.
“I know,” she replied, just as calm, but there was something underneath it. Tight. Possessive. “You don’t need to.”
“That’s not the point-”
She opened the door. Properly. Smoothly. Like it hadn’t just been ripped from your control two seconds earlier. Then she stepped back, one hand still holding it open, the other hovering at the top of the frame so you wouldn’t “hit your head”, despite the fact that you never had in your life.
“Get in.”
You stared at her. There was no trace of irony. No hint she thought this was ridiculous. She was dead serious.
“You literally just slammed the door in my face.”
“I corrected a mistake.”
“A mistake-”
“You opening it yourself,” Christina clarified, like that made perfect sense.
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
Her gaze softened instantly at the sound, like even your mild amusement was something she catalogued and stored.
“Maybe,” she said quietly.
But she didn’t budge. Didn’t drop the door. Didn’t step back. Didn’t relax. She was waiting. For you. Like this mattered. Like you mattered. Too much. You sighed, shaking your head as you slid into the seat.
“Insane,” you muttered.
The second you were settled, she closed the door, gentler this time. Careful. Controlled again. For exactly half a second. Because then she was already rounding the car, quick, efficient strides that had nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with not wanting you waiting longer than necessary. She got in, started the engine, and only then - only then - let out a breath. You watched her from the passenger seat.
“Do you hear yourself?” you asked.
Christina glanced over. “About what?”
“You just… you physically cannot let me do basic things.”
“That’s not true.”
“You wrestled a car door away from me.”
“I didn’t wrestle-”
“You slammed it.”
Her lips twitched. Just barely.
“You were about to do it wrong.”
You stared at her.
“…Open a car door wrong.”
She nodded once, completely serious. “Yes.”
There was a beat of silence. Then,
“You’re gone,” you said flatly. “Fully gone.”
Christina didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, she reached over slowly, like she was giving you time to pull away if you wanted and adjusted something invisible near your shoulder. Your jacket. A crease that didn’t matter. Her fingers lingered for a second too long.
“Maybe,” she repeated, softer this time.
Her eyes flicked up to yours. And there it was, that look. The one that made everything click into place. Not control. Not habit. Not even just care. Devotion. Thick. Unapologetic. A little overwhelming. Entirely yours.
“You make it worse,” she added quietly.
Your stomach flipped, annoyingly.
“You being like this,” she continued, almost thoughtful. “Letting me do it.”
“I’m not letting you, you’re just-”
“You didn’t walk away.”
That shut you up. Christina tilted her head slightly, studying your face like she was mapping every reaction, every micro-expression.
“See?” she murmured.
You huffed, looking away toward the window. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re still here.”
There was no arrogance in it. Just certainty. Warm. Steady. Completely unshakable. You tried not to smile. Failed.
“…Next time I’m opening the door,” you said.
Christina started driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting far too close to yours on the center console.
“No,” she said simply.
You glanced at her. She didn’t even look back, just reached over, hooked her pinky around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Not happening.”
And somehow, despite everything, you believed her.