Chapter Text
2012(ish)
The fluorescent lights of Building 4 were too bright.
Bianca Chapple decided that within thirty seconds of walking through the doors for the first day of Astronaut Candidate training. Not uncomfortably bright. Just clinical enough that every polished floor reflected the ceiling back at you, every wall looked a little too white, and every person standing in the lobby seemed almost unreal.
She adjusted the strap of her backpack, trying very hard to look like she belonged. Everyone else looked like they belonged. A fighter pilot was animatedly explaining something with his hands, and a physician laughed with someone who'd apparently climbed Everest.
Across the room, two engineers were already debating spacecraft propulsion as though they'd known each other for years. Bianca stood alone, not because she was shy, she simply preferred to observe before she spoke. People always revealed themselves if you waited long enough.
"Bianca?"
She turned.
A woman in a blue NASA polo offered her a warm smile.
"They're gathering upstairs."
"Thanks."
She made her way toward the elevators, resisting the urge to smooth imaginary wrinkles from her shirt. This wasn't her first high-pressure environment. She'd worked impossible jobs before. She'd been the youngest person in rooms full of experts. She'd learned long ago that confidence was usually just good acting.
Even so...
Today felt different. Today every person she passed had once looked up at the stars and somehow convinced the universe to let them visit. It was difficult not to feel small.
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The classroom buzzed with nervous conversation. Bianca slipped into an empty seat near the middle. Not too close to the front. Not hidden in the back.
The instructor hadn't arrived yet, so people continued introducing themselves. Military backgrounds, scientific research, medical careers, engineering. One by one, extraordinary people attempted to summarize extraordinary lives in thirty seconds. Bianca listened.
Someone dropped a pen. Someone else admitted they'd gotten lost twice trying to find the building. The tension eased. Good. She liked people better once they remembered they were human.
The door opened, and conversations softened. Not because an instructor had entered, but because another candidate had. She looked almost surprised to find almost every seat occupied. She was short.
Dark hair pulled neatly back. Kind eyes that immediately searched for the one empty chair rather than the people looking at her. She smiled apologetically as she slipped into it, "Sorry."
No one had accused her of being late; however, she apologized anyway. Interesting. Bianca looked away before she was caught staring. The woman unpacked her notebook with practiced efficiency.
She made no dramatic entrance, or attempt to introduce herself to the room. Just used quiet competence. Bianca liked her immediately.
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An hour later, they broke for coffee. The hallway filled with conversation as Bianca poured herself tea. Coffee made her jittery.
She had just found a quiet corner when someone stepped beside her.
"I appreciate seeing another tea drinker."
Bianca glanced up. The woman from the classroom. She held a paper cup with steam curling from the top.
"I was beginning to think I was the only one," Bianca smiled.
"I'd rather not vibrate through the afternoon." The woman laughed. It wasn't loud, or polished. It sounded entirely genuine.
"I'm Christina."
"Bianca."
"It's nice to meet you."
"You too."
Silence settled. Comfortable silence, not the other, weirder kind. Christina looked around the crowded break area.
"So..."
Bianca waited.
"I forgot sugar."
Bianca blinked, and Christina pointed toward her cup.
"I walked all the way over here."
"Mm-hmm."
"And forgot the entire reason I came."
Bianca considered this very seriously.
"I think that's a promising sign."
"For what?"
"It means you're already overwhelmed."
Christina laughed again.
"I was hoping you'd say I'm secretly brilliant."
"I don't know you well enough to lie."
Christina covered a grin with her cup.
"Oh."
"I'll reassess next week."
"Fair."
Someone called Christina's name, so she excused herself with an apologetic smile before disappearing into the crowd. Bianca watched her go for exactly one second, then returned to her tea. Interesting.
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Astronaut Candidate training had an efficient way of destroying first impressions. Within two weeks everyone had seen everyone else exhausted. Within a month they knew who snored during travel. Who forgot equipment or got motion sick. Who cursed at malfunctioning software.
In some inevitable turn of events, the illusion of perfection dissolved, but Bianca enjoyed that. Heroes became people, and people became friends.
The fighter pilot who'd seemed intimidating cried laughing after falling into a swimming pool in full training gear. The physician accidentally microwaved an empty mug. An engineer managed to lose his own badge twice in one morning. Normal, wonderful, human.
Christina was no exception, she misjudged doorframes occasionally. Forgot where she'd left her notebook. Once spent fifteen frantic minutes searching for safety glasses that were already resting on top of her head.
Bianca watched the realization dawn on Christina’s face, but Christina laughed at herself before anyone else could.
"I'd like everyone to know," she announced solemnly, "that NASA's standards have clearly declined."
The room erupted, and Bianca laughed harder than she'd intended. Christina caught her eye.
"There you are."
"What?"
"You don't laugh much."
"I do."
"You smile."
"I laugh internally."
"I'm sure."
Bianca shrugged.
"My internal laugh is very enthusiastic."
Christina looked unconvinced.
"I'll believe it when I hear it."
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Weeks became months, and the class grew closer. Training became harder, days became longer. Bianca discovered that Christina had an annoying habit. She noticed everyone, but not in an intrusive way. Just...
Completely
She noticed when someone seemed unusually quiet, when another candidate skipped lunch or when an instructor looked frustrated. She remembered birthdays without writing them down, she asked support staff about their children, she thanked technicians by name.
None of it seemed performative, she simply paid attention. One afternoon Bianca arrived at the Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory already nursing a headache. She hadn't slept well, she'd spent too long reviewing procedures. By lunch she wanted nothing more than silence, and apparently Christina noticed.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You said that very quickly."
"I'm efficient."
"Hm."
Bianca reached for her water bottle just as Christina slid a granola bar across the table.
"You forgot breakfast."
Bianca stared.
"...How do you know that?"
"You've been drinking tea all morning."
"So?"
"So you only do that when you skip breakfast."
Bianca frowned.
"Have you been conducting behavioral studies?"
"No."
Christina smiled.
"I just pay attention."
That answer should have felt invasive, but coming from her, it felt strangely comforting. Bianca accepted the granola bar.
"Thank you."
"You don't have to eat it."
"I know."
"But I suspect you'll stare at me until I do."
"I wasn't planning on it."
"You were thinking about it."
"...Maybe."
Bianca unwrapped the bar, and Christina returned to her own lunch without another word. No lecture or fuss, just quiet concern. Bianca filed the interaction away somewhere she couldn't quite name.
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They’d become friends almost accidentally. Shared simulations, shared flights, shared frustration when docking software refused to cooperate. The friendship wasn't dramatic, it accumulated. Like starlight. Tiny moments layered over years until suddenly there was enough light to navigate by.
Bianca found herself seeking Christina out after difficult evaluations, not for advice, for perspective. Christina never pretended things were easy, she simply made difficult things seem survivable.
One evening after a twelve-hour systems review, the two of them wandered outside Building 9. Houston's humidity wrapped around them immediately, and the parking lot shimmered beneath yellow streetlights. Bianca leaned against the hood of her car.
"I think my brain has officially stopped functioning."
Christina nodded thoughtfully.
"I noticed."
"You did not."
"You called the Canadarm 'the robot stick.'"
"..."
"..."
"I did?"
"You did."
"I'd like that erased from everyone's memory."
"I'll do my best."
"Can NASA do that?"
"No,” Christina laughed.
"That's unfortunate."
Christina smiled toward the sky. Only a handful of stars pierced the city's glow.
"You ever think about how strange this is?"
Bianca followed her gaze.
"Which part?"
"We're spending years learning to leave Earth."
"Hm."
"And somehow paperwork is still the hardest part."
Bianca laughed. A real laugh this time, and Christina looked delighted.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The external laugh."
"It escaped."
"I knew it existed."
"You'll have to catch it."
"I don't think I want to."
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The admiration crept in so slowly that Bianca couldn't identify its beginning. There wasn't one moment. No revelation or dramatic heartbeat, instead there were hundreds.
Watching Christina stay late to help another candidate study. Seeing her thank the janitorial staff every evening. Listening to her explain orbital mechanics with contagious enthusiasm. Watching her admit mistakes without embarrassment. Learning she read poetry during long trips because "technical manuals are terrible bedtime stories."
Bianca kept waiting for proximity to ruin the image she'd built.
It always did. People became smaller once you knew them. Closer, more ordinary. But somehow, against all odds, Christina became larger. Every answer led to another question, every conversation uncovered another kindness, and eery flaw somehow made the whole picture more complete instead of less impressive.
It irritated Bianca, slightly.
She liked understanding people, but Christina resisted understanding. Not because she was mysterious, because she was genuinely, frustratingly consistent. Kind when no one was watching, patient when there was no reward, brilliant without needing recognition.
Bianca began testing the theory. Intentionally. She disagreed with Christina during technical discussions, but Christina listened. Changed her mind when Bianca was right, and explained herself carefully when she wasn't. No ego, no defensiveness. Just curiosity. Impossible.
No one was that…No. Christina wasn't perfect. She was stubborn, incredibly stubborn. She overworked herself. Forgot to eat when she got focused. Once spent nearly three hours troubleshooting equipment before discovering she'd forgotten to flip a switch.
Bianca never let her live that down.
"You know," Bianca remarked weeks later, "have you tried turning it on first?"
Christina groaned.
"I knew this would become a recurring joke."
"It deserves to."
"I helped put humans in space."
"You also forgot how to use electricity, engineer."
"They cancel out."
"They absolutely do not."
Christina laughed anyway.
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Graduation came before either of them were ready. Blue flight suits, family, photographs, and applause. The ceremony blurred together. Bianca remembered almost none of the speeches. Only fragments of words like: responsibility, discovery, service. The words mattered, just not as much as the people standing beside her.
Afterward they escaped outside while everyone else celebrated. The Texas sunlight warmed the concrete. Someone had handed Christina flowers, and she looked vaguely unsure, if Christina could ever look unsure, what to do with them.
"They're for you," Bianca said.
"I know."
"You have to hold them."
"I am holding them."
"You're holding them like unexploded ordnance." (big word circa my Grey’s Anatomy era)
Christina looked down.
"...I don't know how people carry bouquets."
Bianca reached over, and adjusted Christina's grip.
"There."
"Oh."
"Less likely to alarm civilians."
"I appreciate that."
For a moment they simply stood together. The excitement from inside drifted through open doors. Christina looked at the sky.
"You know..."
"What?"
"We're astronauts."
Bianca smiled.
"We are."
"That's..."
She shook her head.
"I still don't quite believe it."
Bianca looked at her. Then upward, the afternoon sky was empty. No stars visible just endless blue hiding them beyond daylight.
"They're still there," Bianca said quietly.
"What is?"
"The stars."
Christina smiled.
"I know."
Bianca nodded.
"So do I."