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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐑. ⊹₊⟡⋆ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

astronaut!ellie x astrobotanist!reader.

summary. to be in close proximity with an adversary is already a shitty ordeal. to be trapped alone in space, though, is unlucky on a completely different plain. and yet, here you are. 4.6k wc notes. fair warning, i unfortunately dk everything abt astronomy! i looked into it as a career then decided i don't like math enough so i gave up,, that being said, if there are inaccuracies, look away <3 also, for any of my space nerds out there, firefly is inspired by planet HD 189733 b warnings. strong language & kissing (will be waaaay more in part two dw!)

"The term 'astronaut' derives from the Greek words meaning 'star sailor', and refers to all who have been launched as crew members aboard a spacecraft bound for orbit and beyond. The term 'astronaut' has been maintained as the title for those selected to join the NASA corps of astronauts who make 'star sailing' their career profession."

That is a rather poetic way to say "fucked".

Had you known the name of your assigned partner prior to launch, you perhaps would not have been so eager to sign your name on that sheet. Okay, that's a lie. Even if you did know Williams was to be your partner, you wouldn't have passed this up. Not in a million years.

What you're tasked with doing will irrefutably change history. Your name will be in history books until the end of time—which would be a dream if it weren't destined to be inscribed right beside Williams'.

You curl your knees up to your chest, grip tightening around the paperback book in your hands. The chair shifts sightly as you move, its wheels rolling easily across the thick white tiles beneath. Your eyes scan the words, though they don't fully register in your mind. You've been reading the same paragraph about terminology and aviation for the past twenty minutes. See, if it were up to you, you'd be reading a book that pertains much more interesting contents. However, seeing as everything in this stuffy shuttle was chosen by aerospace engineers and other boring old men, their choice in literature is lacking.

With a huff, you place the book face-down on the surface in front of you, turning your gaze back to where it's meant to be.

On the white metal table, an abundance of plants and roots are organized into individual squares, labelled by species and genus. You spent days sorting them and frankly feel a bit of pride at the sight of them—all living, breathing organisms trusted to be under your care.

It's the entire reason you're even on this journey. You and Williams are tasked with voyaging to FRFLY 4387236 b, or, as the astronomers have conveniently nicknamed it, planet Firefly. For the past seven years, you've been helping in the study of this planet in hopes that it could possibly become susceptible to withstanding life. So many sleepless nights spent hunched over textbooks and scribbling on chalkboards. All for this moment. For this trip.

Your job is to take care of these plants until you reach Firefly. There, Williams will exit the shuttle, do some astronaut shit, and bring you back a few samples of Firefly's terrain. Then, on your way back to Earth, you'll use these samples to test if the plants are able to survive in the planet's given conditions.

"Knock knock," You lift your head to see Williams standing in the doorway, her shoulder leaned against the metallic wall. Both of her arms are hidden behind her back. "You hungry?"

"Starving." You respond, rolling your chair backward, putting distance between yourself and the fragile plants.

"Well," She pushes off of the wall and reveals two cans of corn in each of her hands. "Good news for you, I've got food."

You scoot your chair closer to her, pumping your legs as it inches closer to her. She hands you one of the cans, causing a smile to split across your face. You hadn't even realized you were hungry, not to this extent at least. You'd been so occupied watching your plants and reading your boring ass book that the growing ache in your gut had evaded your mind.

"Thanks." You say shortly before rolling back over to your table.

You expect Williams to leave as she usually does, but, instead, she remains in the doorway, watching. You ignore her for a while, cracking open the can and tipping the pasty corn into your mouth.

Everyone back at the center knew of your rivalry with Williams. The two of you hadn't made it all that secretive, though, what with your screaming matches and harsh insults. Due to this, it was a shock to everyone that you'd coincidentally signed up for the same month-long mission to study Firefly. In fact, most of your coworkers placed bets on who would back out of the mission first upon realizing who their partner was. But neither of you did, much too proud to back down.

Since boarding, these past thirteen days have been an undeniably stark contrast to your time spent at the center. Back on Earth, you would never stop arguing, voices bounding off of the walls as you threw malign words at one another. In space, though, you've barely spoken.

You'll see her around, of course, but seldom will you engage in conversation. You'll tell her how much time is left until arrival and she'll remind you to eat, but that's about it. You sleep in separate cabins and work on separate assignments—you with botany, studying plants and their behavior to certain elements; her with physical exercises, training her body to withstand harsh conditions and lack of oxygen.

Due to this, you're rather confused as to why she hasn't yet left.

Her viridescent eyes flick over to the book on your table, then back to your face. She nods to it. "You've been reading?"

"Uh." Your eyes narrow. "Yeah."

"Anything interesting?"

"'Course not." You respond, tossing the empty can into the trash under your table. "It all reads like a textbook. Feels like I'm back in college."

She hums. "Yeah, I've tried a few of the crap they laid out for us but it's all shit. The cards are two player, the books are boring, and the music is classical."

"Ahh," You nod slowly, "That's why you're doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Talking to me." You say. "You're bored and need a second player for your game."

She grins as she holds up her can of unopened corn as though to make a toast. "A wise guess."

"Knew it."

"What, are you disappointed that I didn't come to chat?" She asks, allowing her hand to fall back to her side. You shoot her a glare and her grin widens. "Just a question."

You turn your gaze back to your plants. A few of them have already died, their leaves wilted and roots decaying. You're not sure what the cause to that is. They have water, soil, and falsified sunlight. Not to mention they're loved—which some plants would kill to experience—because you treat the damn things like they're your children. What more could an arabidopsis need?

The flakes of their dead corpses litter the white surface of the table, painting the nearly organized surface in a sheet of death and sorrow. Yeah, you could use a bit of a distraction.

You pull your gaze back over to your partner, who remains patiently awaiting your reply. "Consider this your lucky day, Williams. You've got yourself a second player."

Her lips tug into a smile, though she fights it. "Luckiest day ever."

She leads you down the hall to where a large, circular window seat is located at the end of it. Outside, the stars and cosmos watch your shuttle soar through space and time. You lower yourself onto the soft cushion as Williams leaves to grab a deck of cards.

It's surreal, sometimes, the view. Such vast endlessness is withheld out here, such a colossal concept when compared to the insignificance of human life. You can name an immeasurable quantity of stars, galaxies, and cosmos, but you'd be lucky to have knowledge of even one percent of what lies out here.

You turn your gaze away from the window before the idea of endlessness becomes too much to bear. Inside the shuttle is much less interesting, though. With white metal walls and thick ceramic tile floors. The entirety of it is crowded with wires and buttons and cords, each one working together to keep you and Williams alive in this void of nothingness.

Her footsteps patter across the tile as she turns the corner, hand now adorned by an unopened box of cards.

She's dressed casually, which you hadn't ever seen prior to your mission together., considering the center required professional clothing for all workers Since leaving, though, you've seen her in an abundance of states—from messy bed head and only a shirt and boxers, to that same professional uniform required back at the center.

Currently, however, she's wearing a white ribbed tank top and a pair of baggy jeans that sit low on her hips. So low, in fact, that the hem of her underwear peaks above the denim waistband. Her feet are wearing only socks, though, as per your request.

See, after a mere two days into this journey, you learned that Williams is really heavy-footed. On the second night, you found yourself unable to sleep due to the sound of her pacing the halls. Exhausted and irritated, you confronted her. You'd shouted at her, blinking through the darkness of the shuttle. However, much to your shock, she didn't argue back. She simply removed her shoes and agreed to wear only socks. That was the first instance that revealed this trip wouldn't be the agonizing thing you'd deemed it to.

"What do you wanna play?" She asks, settling into the cushion beside you. She begins to shuffle the cards as you think of your response.

"Slapjack." You say.

She chuckles. "Why, you wanna hit me?"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Fine then." She agrees easily, dealing out the deck. "Slapjack it is."

She passes you a stack of cards and you bring them closer, keeping them face down. Williams follows suit once her own hand is amassed. She starts the game via flipping one of them over between the two of you.

The shuttle continues to speed through the void of space as the interior buzzes and hums with lively wires. As time wanes on, you fins yourself enjoying the game you'd begrudgingly agreed to playing. Williams is competitive, in an endearing sort of way. She doesn't slap the cards very hard, but it's clear as day that it takes great effort to avoid doing so.

You've gained beyond triple the amount of cards that she has, the augmenting pile residing securely between your hip and the circular window. Your legs are criss-crossed, elbows on your thighs as you become increasingly immersed. Williams' legs are spread, one foot planted on the floor as the opposite leg is folded to her chest. She rests her left elbow on her bent knee, right hand doing most of the playing.

"Ha!" You bark out a laugh as you slam your hand atop a Jack of spades. Williams' hand comes down only seconds after yours, her palm slapping your knuckles. She groans, tipping her head back in frustration as you slide the cards into your pile. You grin at her misery before speaking in a taunt, "What's wrong, Williams?"

She levels her head, eyes narrowing in disdain. "Nothing. I'm just wishing I had a more tolerable coworker for a partner."

"Don't be a sore loser." You scoff, turning over another card between you.

She turns a card of her own, eyes lowering back to the game. "I'm not."

"A loser and a liar?" You chuckle, adding another card. King of hearts. "Pick a struggle, why don't you?"

"I think my biggest struggle at the moment is trying not to strangle you in your sleep." She reveals a seven of diamonds.

"Ah, but then you'd have an even bigger issue at hand." You lift your gaze. Her eyes flick between your face and your hands, afraid you'll somehow distract her from the game.

"Like what?" She indulges.

"Like having to explain to Miller why your partner is dead." You tilt your head. "And, more worryingly, why you didn't return with the plants as he'd instructed."

She tilts her head mockingly, a smirk tugging at her lip. "That's why I'd do it after you collect the samples."

"Mm," You hum, flipping a card. Her eyes dart down to it only to be rendered disappointed. Three of hearts. She looks back up at you and you're looking out the window at the stars whizzing by.

"Run out of retorts?"

"There's more to my job than gathering samples and returning home." You turn back to her, expression amused. "Once we re-board the ship after visiting Firefly, my job will only become that much more difficult. Keeping the samples untouched by things so small as the protons in the air, mixing the cells of Firefly dust and the plants' soil. And you, for one, are incapable of doing those things."

She places a card. Ace of clubs. "I could pour some dust into a bag of dirt."

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much dust is permitted entry into the soil without killing the plant or overriding the dust's adequacy?" You ask.

"Thirty thousand dust particles." She says with unwavering confidence.

"That's—" You blink at her, opening and closing your mouth only to find yourself completely at a loss for words.

She raises a brow at your speechlessness, remaining just as phlegmatic as before. You burst into laughter at the sight, hunching over yourself as you clutch your stomach. Williams' facade of emphaticalness instantly falters at the foreign sound, her eyes widening as you cover your mouth with your hand, eyes shutting.

"Don't laugh at me!" She grouses with a frown, though her eyes never leave your face. Her lower lip juts out into a pout. "I'm not an astrobotanist, how could I possibly know these kinds of things?"

Your laughter dies down as you lift your head. There's a residual smile on your face as you form a response. "That was my whole point."

Williams' expression instantly contorts into one of pitiful realization that she'd just given herself away without having paid any mind to your prior argument. She frowns, crossing her arms. "Whatever."

"The answer," you say with a shit-eating grin, "was .00785 percent of the collected sample."

Her eyes widen as she registers the vastness of her fallacy. Her lips purse. "Okay, asshole. You've proven your point: I might not be able to replace you in carrying out your own job."

"Might?" Your brow raises.

"I mean," She shrugs, "I could always just take a peek into that notebook of yours."

"I don't explain everything I know in my notebook."

"Maybe not, but you write in it enough that I'm sure I could grasp the main idea." She says. "Long enough to return to Earth, at least."

"Yeah, right." You scoff.

Before Williams has the time to formulate a reply, you flip over a card—thus resuming the tense game of slap-jack. The match is palpably nearing its end, though, as the two of you slowly dwindle in attention span. She's instantly drawn back into the game, no longer caring for your previous conversation.

Still, despite the dying investment regarding the game, the two of you continue to play it for nigh an hour more. Exoplanets, nebulas, and astroids pass you by as time fades with ambiguity. It's a funny thing, time. On Earth, it controls everything related to life and the slow passing of humans' existence. Up here, however, it's meaningless. You fly past galaxies in which an hour equates to seconds. Still, you and Williams remain untouched by the time that weighs life and death back on Earth. It's like magic, how it works.

"It's getting late." Williams says as she begins to file the cards back into the manacles of their tiny cardboard box.

"Is it?" You ask. "Because I can't tell."

She huffs a laugh. "I'm getting tired. How's that?"

"Better." You shrug. "More definitive."

She stands to her feet with the box in her hand. Once standing, she rolls her shoulders with a grunt—evidence of that indefinite time you'd spent together at this window. She calls out a haphazard "g'night" before walking down the white wiry hall to her cabin.

You remain at the window for a few more hours, watching in awe of the celestial bodies. You lean back, your head tipping to rest against the frame of the window seat. Space cradles your shuttle as you and Williams make your way through its core. You can see galaxies that look no larger than a gust of fog, though you know well enough to recognize them to be the homes of millions of planets and thereby withhold an insurmountable quantity of possibilities.

It's not long before the sight of it all lulls your mind into a state of slumber. Within it, you dream of everything, yet nothing. Of space and Earth and all of which resides between. Dreams are odd like that—tethering the unconscious mind to illogical things that'd never have been entertained otherwise.

The next time you wake, the hum of conversation greets your ears. You rub at your eyes before swinging your legs over the side of the cushion. The floor is cold beneath your feet, sending a shiver up your spine. You cross your arms to preserve warmth, then you follow the sound of talking until you're standing outside the Space Communications and Navigation (SCaN) room. It lacks a door, as every area of the space shuttle does, allowing you to poke your head into the room easily.

Inside, Williams can be seen hunched over a notebook with a thick pair of headphones over her ears. She scribbles something down on the paper while a muffled voice speaks to her through the headphones. You're about to turn away due to disinterest when you hear the familiar Southern drawl that can only belong to one man: Joel Miller.

You continue to watch for a moment—just to be sure they're not talking about anything too serious—then you're entering the room with a small smile. You crouch down beside Williams, leaning in to hear him through the headphones.

"Miller?" You say.

"Is that...?" His words trail off, too muffled to be fully understood. Then he's saying, "Ellie take ... -damn head- ... off."

With a huff, she obliges, reaching forward to unplug the cord of the headphones from the wall. A distinct popping sound emits from the headphones before Joel's voice is heard from the crackly speakers that are built into the walls.

"—Told ya t'get rid o' those before y'all's trip, anyhow." He's saying. "But ya never wanna listen t' me, do ya?"

"It's for privacy." Williams defends herself with an irritated expression.

"You're in space together." He says. "There ain't a need for privacy."

You laugh, settling down in the chair beside Williams. You brace your elbows on your knees, leaning over to peer at her notebook. The moment you do, she's slamming it shut and shooting you a glare. You frown at her, scowling right back at her defensively as she tucks the notebook away.

"Anyway," Joel says, "How've you two girls been up there? Holdin' up?"

"Ugh, barely." You respond. "Williams is a hard woman to live with. Especially in such close proximity."

Joel laughs. "Y'all still can't get along, huh?"

The two of you begin talking at once, defending yourselves whilst simultaneously blaming the other. Joel laughs, telling you to take turns speaking, reprimanding the two of you like children.

From there, you spend roughly two (Earth) hours talking with Joel. The talk begins casual as you both tell him about your experience up in the ether—from food preferences to sleeping conditions to living quarters. Then, as time wears on, it grows more professional. He's your boss after all, the one in charge of making sure everything runs smoothly.

You end up discussing the more boring topics, then—such as how Williams' breathing exercises are going, quizzing her on where to find the External Tank, and what to do in a hypothetical situation. He then follows that up by directing his attention to you next—asking how your Arabidopsis are doing, how much nutrition each root has required, and inquiring about the replication process within their cells.

The call eventually ends, leaving the two of you in a silent room, buzzing with electronics and wires. Williams has changed since last night, now dressed in a white button shirt with loose shorts hanging from her hips. Her feet are socked, as usual.

"Hungry?" She asks.

You shrug. "Not for anything here."

"What would you want, then?" She asks. "If we were on Earth, I mean."

You pause for a moment. Partially to think of your response and partially to gather your thoughts. This is getting a bit odd, you think, the way Williams has been acting with such a foreign sense of civility. Don't get you wrong, it's nice, just odd. Not her.

"What's in your notebook?"

She tenses a bit. "What?"

"I asked what's in your notebook." You repeat. "You've been acting strangely ever since we boarded this shuttle and I think it has something to do with that journal of yours."

"You have a journal, too." She says defensively.

"Yeah, for work." You say. "I wouldn't have a reason to hide mine from you."

"Oh really? Then let me see it."

"Fine."

You push to your feet and begin walking toward your cabin, Williams residing close behind. You enter the room, refreshed by the scent of soil and leaves. Williams remains in the doorway while you grab your notebook from the table of which you'd left it on. You return to her, pushing it into her hands.

With a scoff, she flips it open. You watch her face, not even looking at the journal's contents. You know what's in there—diagrams of radishes paired with notes on their atoms and composition. Your handwriting ranges from neat cursive, slanted and thin, to messy scribbles that are nigh unintelligible. Williams reads every single one, her eyes flitting through the pages, drinking in every word you'd deemed important enough to write down.

Her interest in the notebook could easily be passed off as mere curiosity, but you know her better than that. Unfortunately, you've grown to know the woman quite well through your plentitude of arguments. Due to this, you know her well enough to know she's biding time. She's reading every word so as to avoid revealing the words within her own journal.

"Cadmium." She suddenly says.

"What?"

"Here," She flips the book around, pointing at a note you'd etched to the side of one of your lengthy paragraphs on elemental reactions. "You wrote 'Arsenic: severely hinders plant growth due to high bioaccumulation' which is true, sure, but cadmium does the same thing and has been found far more often on planet Firefly than arsenic."

"Fuck off." You reach forward to yank the book from her hands, tucking it protectively under your arm. "Lead, beryllium, mercury, nickel, and fluorine do the same thing. I'm not going to write down every single element that's high in toxicity."

"No, but you could write down the most threatening one." She shrugs.

"You stick to your shit and I'll stick to mine." You tell her.

"Doesn't have to be that way." She says. "We could help each other. You're good with botany and chemicals and math, I'm good with astronomy and engineering and atmospheric shit. It doesn't matter that you know every element by memory and how they effect your little radishes—"

"—Arabidopsis—"

"—Whatever." She waves a hand of dismission. "The point is, you can know everything there is to know about chemistry, but it's useless if you're unable to apply it to our situation. I know Firefly like the back of my hand. You could use that."

You frown. "What about you?"

"What?"

"You can do three million breathing exercises, but that doesn't mean space will be any less void of oxygen." You say. "If you quit hiding shit from me, maybe we can help each other."

She glances down at the notebook still in her hand, a frown suddenly tugging her lips downward. With a sigh, she holds it out to you. You smile before opening the journal, fully expecting random career-related shit. You envisioned it to be full of information pertaining to her being an astronaut but, instead, you find that it's a personal journal. Like a diary, almost.

You'd been bluffing when you insinuated hers wasn't for work. You hadn't expected it to actually not be for work.

Inside, she there are sketches of things from around the shuttle such as the deck of cards, the galley, the crackly headphones, the oven that doesn't preheat correctly, the fire extinguisher, and you. God, there are so many pictures of you in here. Your side profile, hunched over a random book; the back of your head as you take a sample from your plants' vials; your eyes as you glare at her from across the hall.

Not only that, but there are small diary entries that tell of her day and her personal thoughts. One reads: "L/n was a complete asshole to me again today. Dunno what I expected, to be honest. For her to just suddenly be my best friend? Yeah right. She hates your guts, Ellie, get over it. Doesn't matter how many shitty cans of artichoke you toss at her." Another reads: "I hate those damn radishes. Not only because they stink up the entire fucking ship but because they're always stealing her attention. She doesn't eat, doesn't sleep. She just studies those fuckers until one dies and then she's scribbling in that notebook until she's fallen asleep on top of it. Call me pathetic, but I kinda wish she'd give me that type of attention."

You lift your head, brows furrowed. Williams isn't looking at you, though, she's looking down at the floor, her fingers fidgeting with one another.

You didn't know she thought of you like this, didn't know she gave so much of a shit. You two have hated one another since the dawn of time, having grown known for your undying rivalry. You'd never even entertained the thought of seeing Williams under any light aside from the one you'd grown accustomed to.

But, right now, seeing her like this—all fidgety and nervous—you can't help but soften a bit at the sight. She's not some mastermind who'd set out to ruin your chance at exploring space. She's not some atrocity placed on the Earth for the soul reason of destroying your day. She's just another human, another being in search of tenderness.

You return the journal to her. When she lifts her gaze to meet yours, her skin is tinted pink under her freckles, lips thinned. A smile spreads across your face and you take a step forward.

"If we do this," You say, causing her bright green eyes to widen, "You have to promise me that you'll stop calling my plants radishes."

"Done." She says, perhaps too quickly.

You let out an airy laugh before you wrap your arms around her shoulders and pull her face down to meet yours. She drops her journal to the floor in an instant. Her breath is a bit shaky when your lips connect, her body suddenly going stiff under your arms.

You laugh against her lips, which only causes her to lean closer as she chases the feeling of your lips on hers. She tastes of artichoke and desire, her hands sliding down your body before settling on your hips, tugging you closer. With each passing second, she grows more and more confident and you find yourself fucking dizzy from the thrill of it all.

Her fingers dig into your skin and she pulls your hips flush against her own. You suck in a sharp gasp, arms tightening around her shoulders. She hums into your mouth, content yet beseeching for more.

You suddenly pull away, tipping your head back a few inches. Williams frowns deeply, her pupils blown and her lips wet. "What?"

"We are not doing this in here." You say, casting a weary glance at the delicate plants within thin glass cases. If anything happens to them, this entire trip will have been proven futile.

Williams lets out a groan. "Damn radishes."

notes. WOOO !! this was so so fun to write, but also so goddamn tedious. if only i could show u guys how many fucking nasa tabs i have open rn. writing this also singlehandedly got me back into considering astrophysics as a career (tho that went away rather quick. i'm super good at math but i hate it so much. yeah, that will not be a job for me ! idts) anyway, stay tuned for part two coming soon !!!

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