» just a little drabble for @leylinesought
Gene’s not really sure how long he’s been awake — time is relative, after all, and it gives him a headache to even really think about — but Gilliam had subtly suggested that he head to bed not too long ago, so Gene’s probably pushing himself at this point. He reaches up to deactivate his portable heads up display, the ship’s overlay fading from his right eye as the device folds back in on itself with a soft hiss. He tugs the earpiece off and slides it back into its container in his seat’s console, dropping his head back against the chair’s headrest with a soft thud and closing his eyes against the dim feedback of the Outlaw Star’s exterior display screens. It takes several minutes for him to blink away the statistics and diagnostics that he’s been staring at for god knows how long, but eventually Gene is able to open his eyes once again and peer out into the dark expanses of space that surround them.
He’s just a blip on the radar. He’s always known it, but seeing the countless stars stretched out before him serves as a humbling reminder. He’s just one man, a drop in the ocean, and sometimes he really needs that reality check. His mother had always claimed he was special, one of a kind she’d said, and she’d sworn it even when she’d passed away so quickly that Gene still has trouble remembering her face. He can’t even remember her voice, in all honesty — he only remembers the words she’d said, not even able to recall the inflection with which she’d said them. He can’t remember her smell or her laugh, can’t remember the sound of her lullaby that his father had taken to singing to him in her stead. Gene can only remember the sound of Norman Starwind’s voice struggling through the melody with a bumbling attempt at anything more than careful advice or yammering off a launch status, can only remember the feeling of his father’s calloused fingers sifting through his hair. He remembers that his dad smelled like laundry detergent and chemicals and that his hugs were warm, warmer than anything else he’d ever experienced. He still hasn’t found a warmth that can compare.
He remembers how much his father loved the stars, loved the feeling of zero gravity to weigh him down. He remembers enough about his father to know Norman Starwind would have loved this view, and it’s with that thought that Gene scrubs his trembling hands down his face. That’s enough of that particular train of thought, after all — better just leave that shit at the station before it can get any heavier. He’ll just have to ask Gilliam to handle things until Jim’s awake or there’s an emergency so that he can run to the safety of his quarters in peace. Maybe he’ll try to chase these memories away with a bottle. Maybe not. He’s not exactly sure just how close to that particular edge he is right now, he’s not sure if these memories will dredge up others that left him littered with scars and enough survivor’s guilt to suffocate him for the rest of his days.
Melfina’s voice is soft, a murmur so delicate that Gene can picture the words themselves crumbling apart in his clumsy hands in much the same way that he worries he’ll do with her heart. Her tone makes him think of oil - stained hands in his hair, the memory a bittersweet lance in his heart, and Gene turns to look up at her with a breathless sort of chuckle falling from his lips. His breath hitches and Melfina rubs the last of sleep from her eyes with an expression of concern painted on her features. His chest clenches and he immediately moves to comfort her in the only way he really knows how, in the only way she lets him, as Melfina somehow sees past every mask he throws up for everyone else: his lips pull up in a trembling approximation of what Gene hopes is an encouraging smile. Judging from the way her gaze darkens and her expression falls, he guesses it’s a blunder. Just like everything else he does, really.
She pads to his side with careful, even steps that send his heart higher and higher into his throat, and finally settles herself down on the armrest of his control seat. She shifts by his side, eyes everywhere but on him, and eventually she finds a comfortable position with her legs dangling off the edge, her back against the chilled metal that encases his seat. An offer to move for her to take his place is on the tip of his tongue when she silences him without a single word, her arm pressing against his shoulder and her body curling around him while still somehow managing to allow him his space. Her head is resting just above his own, leaned back against the frame of his own headrest, and instead of returning his gaze she simply continues staring out at the stars. Her mere presence is so comfortable, so natural, that Gene’s honestly left wondering just when in the hell the two of them had managed to find this sort of balance with one another.
When had she become such a fixture in his life?
Gene takes in the lines of her profile — the slope of her chin, the curve of her lips, the light that never seems to flicker out of existence within the depths of her eyes. She’s ethereal, bathed in the soft glow of the displays; stars dance in her eyes and shimmer in her hair, her skin glowing in the dim light offered from the nighttime - mode of the cockpit. Melfina wonders why she was made, why she was born, because she wants to know her purpose, wants to understand the mystery of herself… but in this moment all Gene can wonder is why is she so beautiful? Gene doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t believe in fated meetings or predetermined choices; he believes that everything that happens is his own choice or random happenstance. Everything including how he’d found her, had awakened her from her cryogenic slumber, and how they’d managed to gravitate around one another from the first day as if it were as simple as breathing, Gene is completely certain it’s nothing to do with destiny. He’s certain of his life, of his choices, of who he is, and he can’t fault Melfina for wanting that for herself, even if he doesn’t necessarily understand it.
He wonders why she isn’t sleeping. Had she woken up for some reason? Had Gilliam called for her? Usually Gil would summon Jim to rain hellfire on him, not soft Mel. Melfina’s the emotional blackmail, the doomsday device they all save for when Gene won’t cave to any of Jim’s tried and true methods for manipulating Gene Starwind into doing what he wants. Gene knows it and lets them anyway, if only because he knows Melfina only goes along with it out of concern for him. So why was she here? What made her seek him out?
When I’m like this, I feel like I can dream.
It feels like a lifetime ago, remembering the night she’d leaned against him and whispered those words against his skin. She’d been so at ease, her hands on his arm, seeking comfort is such an undeniably human moment that had left Gene fumbling with his confusion. Sometimes he forgets that she’s a bio - android, that she’s not human, simply because sometimes Melfina seems more human than he feels. She makes him feel so very vulnerable, a weak spot in his armour, and that makes him want to run as far as he can. He remembers Jim curling up against her, his body so small against hers, and his broken whisper that Melfina reminds him of his lost mother. He’s so fucking vulnerable when she’s around, when she offers a small smile or a soft touch, but it’s becoming harder and harder for him to head for the hills when she does it. For a long, long time Gene had lived in the darkness with nothing but Jim, the one little firefly of light in his life… but then he’d met Melfina, a beam of warm sunlight that had called others to his side with her light, and suddenly Gene’s not so alone. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s right where he should be — like he’s somewhere he belongs. Somewhere he’s wanted.
Closing his eyes, Gene leans to press his cheek against the warmth of her bare shoulder and thinks that maybe he can dream like this, too. Maybe like this, with her soft warmth guiding him, he can have dreams that don’t revolve around launch codes or blood - stained glass or his back slamming against metal, jagged edges shredding his skin in a myriad of disjointed lines, of pulling himself from the wreckage of his escape pod with the knowledge that he’s alone. Maybe like this he can dream of laughter around a full table, of soft fingers in his hair and a nameless, wordless lullaby that leaves him with the distinct image of a red butterfly’s wings fluttering against a dark sky littered with stars.
The last thing Gene feels is Melfina’s head dropping to rest atop his own, her fingers intertwining with his own in a gentle embrace.
