Work Text:
she's starting to dream in melody.
rise, fall, rise again. the cadence of it comes so naturally.
and, in dream, she is not limited to just one line of the song. all of the nuance locked within the confines of one body not made for this is available to her in this great, magnificent space. it's so beautiful, to have found all of the ways to sing all of the things she wants to sing and can't quite figure out. it's so beautiful, she wakes in tears.
always watchful, they trill at her: acknowledgement-sad-query.
she trills back: glad-here-awake.
they are so glad, whenever sleep ends. whenever wakefulness pulls them both into the same sphere, the same existence, the same song.
she rolls her shoulders back and hums out intention-purpose. they chitter in acknowledgement and roll away, eager to start their own tasks. she rises, stretches, and nods at the camera as it watches her. she trills a greeting at it before remembering, but she's caught too deep in the music to find the weight and structure of words. she exhales and proceeds. there is much to be done.
there are more nuances to learn to sing. they're almost at tau ceti e. there's not enough time to linger in words.
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the suit makes so much noise. her breathing makes so much noise. it is an odd thing to be out, in space, in void, in nothingness, within a petrova line, within this great endless thing, and yet be caught in so senseless a noise as breath.
they trill at her through the headset and oh, yes, she must continue to breathe. she cannot cease that function in search of understanding this magnificent, beautiful, wild, expanse. she cannot hear it. she can only hear herself and the whirring of her suit and their increasing staccato chirps in her ear.
she sings herself a quick, jumpy note of bravery and purpose and sets to her task.
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the words have completely left her. she has melody and motion and not mourning. not yet. she sits and she sings and she watches them sleep. her throat is sore: torn open by an atmosphere unsafe for her. it is a small price to pay. all her aching body is not enough sacrifice. too small. should she not have done more? tried harder? been better?
she sings out her needfulness, her loneliness, her desperate plea for them to just wake up.
she is alone, again. endlessly, unbearably alone. a backup, backup pilot, without her scientist, without her engineer, with only the still, sleeping body of her teacher, her problem solving, her rescue, her friend. she does not know how to solve this. even with all of the knowledge buried into her shelter’s systems, she cannot crack it.
the words have gone. she can barely read anymore. all those languages, all distinct and useful and– gone.
she pleads.
she does not know any funeral chants to sing. but that is okay. they're asleep, they're asleep, they're just asleep.
please.
-
they sing together. jubilee-victory-harmony.
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goodbye is hard to vocalize. they skitter out the depth of it and she echoes it back as best she can. they nudge her feet: soft, gentle, understanding. she wonders how poorly she has managed to learn this language, how many sour notes they have tolerated as the spew from her. she wonders what the cost of never hearing it again will be. goodbye, maker-enthusiastic-brave-alone.
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she goes to sleep and does not dream. it is not sleep, this empty, quiet nothingness. yet the melody follows her, warm and familiar and kind. words continue their decided march away.
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she awakes, singing.
she splashes down, singing.
she sees people again, singing.
she is cold.
everyone around her wants her to talk, she thinks, but she can't find the words. all she has to offer is her own language: a poor mirror of the organic symphony that they’d taught her. she apologizes when the words don't come. she begs for information, but they do not understand and she would not understand them in return.
she is, again, remarkably, alone.
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the next person to greet her is someone she recognizes.
she surges up and welcomes him. she offers him the name they’d given to him when she’d told them about him. sunshine-fog-hope-fear.
he says something. he runs his fingers through his hair. he repositions his glasses. he holds open both arms and this, this is also something she recognizes. she surges into him and hums out a benediction of gratitude-success-home.
please don't leave her alone again. please.
he's crying. she's crying. they clutch each other close and, just for a moment, do not feel so cold.
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he stays by her side from then on. they do not have a common language anymore, but he understands the clench of her fingers and dart of her eyes better than any of the myriad of people who surround her. he knows not to get too far away. the third time she looks around and cannot find him, she chitters panic-where-question, he clicks his tongue and she hears it. she knows where he is. that is enough.
after that, he talks, constantly, even though she does not understand him. it is wonderful to always know where he is.
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they go outside. on grass. below blue sky. all she can hear is her own breathing. it is beautiful, she sings. it is so beautiful. grief upwells through the music and she flees for the safety of four walls.
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he plays music for her. she recognizes it. a children's song.
‘t Was over krekeltjes en korenbloempjes blauw, korenbloempjes blauw / 't Was over krekeltjes en korenbloempjes blauw / op die mooie warme dag in september.
she cries.
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slowly, carefully, he hands her words and she clings to them. dutch mostly. some english. she cannot tell the difference. eridian rolls within this new language they develop, something just for the two of them.
he learns her name and it is the first thing he manages to sing: resolute-life-journey-alone. she frowns and corrects her name. resolute-life-journey-home. he sings it back to her, bumbling, without really understanding, but so present and helpful and there.
she sings love at him, because what else is home?
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the predator is sent to venus.
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it is not so cold, to be with sunshine-fog-hope-fear.
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she dreams in symphony.