#shanfics

[jamesholden]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Naomi Nagata is beautiful. And hard to deny or resist when she's laying naked in Drummer's bed, waiting for her after a long work shift on the Behemoth.

Just some Draomi smut. 13 pages long. That awkward moment when i actually finish and post a fic i started a year and a half ago. shoutout to @sugarfey for the beta and for putting up with how long it took me to finish this.

[jamesholden]

upon us all a little rain must fall

I started this like three years ago and then Holden confirmed he loved the rain in "New Terra" so I decided to finally finish it.

Spoilers for the end of Season 4, very minor sexual reference Holden makes about Naomi that you can take however you want, you know the drill.

check it out/review/leave kudos on ao3

“What does rain taste like?”

“I never thought about it.”

Jimmy Holden loved when it rained. He squealed with glee running out into downpours with Rufus, chasing the family dog through the mud and puddles under the watchful eyes of Mother Elise. He’d turn his small, round face to the sky, let his hood fall down to catch droplets on his face. Rufus would push at him and Elise would call for him. But he’d hold still. He’d stick his tongue out to taste the free falling water.

He’d never consider a difference.

Jim Holden hated working in the rain. Getting the animals to shelter, the tools in their various sheds, the sandbags down where needed to avoid flooding. It was a pain. It was a pain to deal with all of it while getting told off by Father Tom for taking too long. It was fucking muddy. What did he want? For Jim to suddenly skate above it like he was on ice? Sure, he still loved the rain as a concept. Still loved watching storms. But not while working. Maybe on the porch or in a tent or curled up by the fire with a book and a hot drink. He’d rather be baking with Mother Elise, playing games with Father Dimitri, or watching the entertainment feeds with Mama Sophie. But there’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done. Endless as the skies emptying out above him. He’d turn his face up to substitute cold rain for the water he’d already finished.

He’d never care if there was a difference.

Dishonorably discharged Lieutenant James Holden was grateful for the rain. He could see the shapes of Mother Elise and Mother Tamara waiting for him by the gate as he trudged up the long, muddy road to the farm. But the driving rain allowed him to take his time. He wasn’t ready to face his family. They knew. They all knew. But he’d only told Elise. And he hadn’t looked her in the eye when he called. She’d wanted him to be free, to forge his own path. He’d fucked it all up. Came limping back to the collective with a disgraced name, no prospects, and just a splint for his still-healing hand to show for it. He still wasn’t sure it was the wrong thing to do, not firing on the Belter ship. Maybe trying to punch his CO was. He didn’t know what he would do next. At least he was home. At least he could rest for a minute, lick his wounds. He turned his face to the sky, let the rain fall on it. It mingled with the tears he had felt itching in the corners of his eyes.

No one would know the difference.

Jim Holden didn’t think about the rain. He had a shuttle to Luna to catch. He’d left the ranch later than intended; each one of his parents had wanted to cram as much life advice into their goodbyes as possible. The decision to leave again had been hard enough to make. To leave his beloved parents to deal with the ranch and the legalities without their only son, again… it left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d wanted to be out of there as quickly as he could, like ripping off a band-aid. Instead he’d bitten at the inside of his cheek to keep from crying and nodded his way to the door. As his shuttle lifted off, burning hard for Luna—and the only officer position he could ever hold again after his discharge—he imagined the clouds falling beneath him, envisioned rising above the rain.

He feared he’d forget any difference.

Third Officer Jim Holden forgot the rain. His ship took ice from Saturn to Ceres and back again. Over and over. Months and months. He saw rationed water, recycled water, water used for food, water used for coffee, water used for alcohol. If water fell, it was a broken pipe on the Cant that he had to call Naomi Nagata for. Or something busted in the poorer parts of Ceres that he had to drag multiple Pur ‘N Kleen employees from to get back in time for their next trip. It was just water. Never rain. Never from a sky.

Was that the difference?

Captain James Holden hadn’t thought about rain at all until Miller lamented never knowing its taste. After he’d said it, dying in the elevator, hoping rescue was still near, it stuck with Holden. For months more, years. After Miller’s death. After his own near misses. Through crisis after crisis. What does rain taste like? Would he ever get to taste it again? Would he even care to? There were new tastes for him to savor, tastes he preferred. The taste of the Roci’s coffee, of Alex’s cooking, Amos’s booze, Naomi’s… well. Naomi. Space became home. The Roci and the crew. Rain didn’t factor into space so rain didn’t factor into his life. Until Miller. Suddenly… he was thinking about it again.

“I wonder what that rain tastes like.”

Jim Holden used to love the rain, when it surrounded him. But his surroundings changed and he changed but he never really forgot, did he? So when it’s time to say goodbye to Miller, finally, for the last time, Holden races to think of what to say, how to say goodbye without saying goodbye. Thank you, without a thank you. Holden remembers his question, his musing.

“Water.” Even Miller looks confused. Fair enough. Until he recognizes what this dumb Earther is saying. And Holden smiles, just a little. “Rain is just water. Doesn’t really taste like anything.”

He would come to regret ending it there. Because he didn’t think it was really his last goodbye at the time. Forgot Murtry in all of it. But later, thinking of what to say at Naomi’s prompting, even if Miller couldn’t hear him anymore… he was grateful. Yeah, this is his home now, for sure, knowing what he knows about Naomi. Yeah, he may never taste Earth’s rains again. Yeah, he might miss it. Maybe.

But briefly… he remembered it. Remembered the rain and a Holden he left behind years ago to become the man he had to be. The man his family, both old and new, loved. Remembered the rain that so defined his way of life on Earth. And thought of it fondly not only because it was held so close in his memory.

But because it would also remind him of his friend.

[jamesholden]

Drummer/Naomi, “I’m not quite sure how it happened, but it did.”

Drummer has to get up for her shift. She doesn’t want to, not with a sleeping Naomi curled up against her. But unlike Naomi, here on shore leave while the Roci’s in the docks, she has work to do. There’s no vacation, no real rest for her. They get a maximum of 16 hours a day together, 16 hours they make the most of. 

Still. Eight hours—at least—of every day belong to Medina. And they start far too soon. 

Drummer sighs, extricates herself from Naomi’s naked warmth, and starts her routine. Shower. Teeth. Face. Hair. Make up. Dress. Boots. Quick and efficient, like any good, hardworking Belter that people relied on. She slips a protein bar into one pocket. No time for breakfast. Maybe her “day off”. When she lets herself work six hours instead of eight. Maybe, while Naomi’s still here.

With a last glance around her cabin, Drummer nods to herself. Ready to go. Her gaze lingers on Naomi, tucked in and still blissfully asleep. Lucky her. Her hand slips into a pocket to grab her hand terminal, to leave a message for Naomi. 

Only to find no hand terminal there. Drummer blinks, looking over at her end table. Nothing. Desk? Nothing. It’s not in the head or in the kitchen area. Not in the lounge area either, though Naomi’s sat on the coffee table. Not under the edge of the bed. The alarm had woken her, she remembers. She rarely uses the room alarm when Naomi’s staying there. It had been on the end table when she’d awoken. She cursed under her breath. She couldn’t leave until she found it. 

“Camina? Everything okay?”

Drummer nearly swears again. Naomi. She hadn’t meant to wake her. It’s easy for a smirk to slip on her face as she turns, despite the frustration. Especially when her eyes fall on Naomi’s bare shoulder peeking above the blankets, her scrunched, sleepy face. 

“Fine,” Drummer states, tone gentle despite the clipped word. “Can’t find my terminal. Go back to sleep.”

“Your hand terminal?” Naomi shifts onto her elbow, the sheets slipping dangerously lower. Drummer’s doing a mental time check to see if she has time to explore underneath them before she even realizes she’s doing it. The things Naomi does to her. “It’s not on the table?”

Drummer shakes her head. “No, but it was there when I…” When Naomi had leaned up, her pillow had moved with her. Only then could Drummer see the glow coming from underneath it. It couldn’t be Naomi’s, still sitting in the lounge. Naomi’s gaze follows hers, and her face becomes the perfect mask of innocence. Drummer scowls. “Naomi… what’s under your pillow?”

“It’s nothing.”

Drummer steps closer, leans over her, lips almost touching hers. “Nothing doesn’t glow. What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, I swear.”

Holding her gaze, Drummer hums. They stare at each other, both unbending. Until Drummer slips her hand under the pillow and finds her hand terminal stuck underneath. The sneaky little brat. As she pulls it out, she sees Naomi’s faux-shocked face. Nearly believes it. “Wow, it was under my pillow? Weird. I’m not quite sure how that happened, but I guess it did.”

“Naomi…”

The innocent mask holds for a few moments more before it finally slips, a shy, apologetic smile taking it’s place. “I’m sorry, I just… wanted a few more minutes with you. You’re the captain, you can spare them.”

Maybe on your ship, where your other captain only leads three people. Words she doesn’t say. They would only cause a hurt she wouldn’t want or mean. She sighs instead. “I did too. But we all have the people we’re responsible for.”

Naomi searches her face for an anger she won’t find. Because Drummer isn’t angry. Not with her. So Drummer closes the distance, kisses her. Slow and sweet, the way Naomi likes being kissed in moments like this. When she pulls away, Naomi whines, soft enough enough to hide, but she doesn’t. Drummer smirks again.

“If you see your crew, tell them I said to have you back in one piece before dinner.”

Naomi smiles back, the one that squishes her face, the one with a hint of pride and mischief that she’d been warned about. That warmed her heart beyond recognition. “They don’t have a choice.”

“Pashang right they don’t,” Drummer whispers as Naomi collapses back into the bed with a laugh, smiles up at her from her pillow. “See you later then.”

Even as she leaves Naomi to her day, to go put up with annoying Inner officers and annoyingly incapable underlings, she feels a little lighter. Because she’ll see Naomi later. Spend another night with her. Wake up beside her another morning. And that can be enough.

send me a prompt!

[jamesholden]

fine furniture

THE EXPANSE EXCHANGE IS COMPLETE (for me anyways). Finished this yesterday but wanted some time to think of a title and fine tune it! I got @trcunning who I can’t... tag for some reason, and had requested Drummer/Naomi/Holden! I combined “home decorating” with “praise” and I REALLY love how it turned out and I hope you do too!

Special thanks to @the-roci for putting this together and finally giving me the kick in the pants I needed to write draolden, and to @silver-89 for helping me put my ideas together and reading it over!

Also on AO3 if you’d like to review!

The air cycler’s gentle humming is just different enough from the Roci that Naomi can tell the difference. She can hear it over the water running in the en suite. Over Jim’s soft breathing in her ear. It’s enough to itch at her mind that she’s somewhere new.

At least she’s in good company.

Jim hums as he snuggles into her. “She promised me a towel ages ago.”

“Maybe she’s just washing some of that Earther sweat off her skin,” Naomi jokes, turning her head to kiss his forehead. He snorts.

“She really said that, didn’t she?”

Naomi’s incredibly grateful—and reassured—to hear the teasing tone in his own sleepy voice. She runs her fingers through his damp, curling hair. “Give her time. You take some getting used to.”

“‘S what I keep hearing.”

The door across from the bed slides open, the dim light inside silhouetting Camina’s lithe form. She gazes at them for a moment, expression hidden in shadow. The light flicks off. And a damp towel lands on Holden’s face. As he jolts up from Naomi’s side, sputtering—to Naomi’s own surprised laughter—Camina slowly crosses to them, taking her time. She’s still going through her PT; her normally sauntering gait when away from her official post of Head of Medina Station still slightly stiff. Jim shakes his head before using the offending towel to finally clean himself up.

“I no forget you, Jimmy,” she singsongs, sitting on the edge of the brand new, big enough for the three of them—and freshly christened—bed. Now that she’s close enough, Naomi can see she’s pulled on a tank top, some panties. All Naomi had thrown on was Jim’s discarded shirt. Camina must pick up on it, given the way her eyes linger on the garment as she hands Naomi a towel of her own, shooting Naomi a pointed look. “Was I gone too long? Was he complaining that I was gone too long?”

Naomi smiles, stretching now that Jim no longer lays on half her body. The shirt inches up over her thighs, and she feels two pairs of eyes watching the movement. She smirks at them before starting to clean herself up. “Just a little.”

Jim huffs and breaks his gaze from her little show to toss his towel into the recycler. “This was fun until I had two people picking on me,” he grumbles, waving a hand between the two of them.

Camina drapes herself over his back, her arms looping around his neck. “Oh come on, Jimmy…” She presses her lips to the hollow behind his ear, Jim sighing—happily, this time—and closing his eyes. She nips the same spot earning a side eye from him. “You know we do it with love.”

Jim glares at her, but Naomi sees his hand rest on her thigh anyway as he turns to meet her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. Even after the last few hours… the last few weeks… seeing two of the people she loves most be as casually intimate with each other as they are with her is still thrilling. She hadn’t been sure this would work… and yet it might.

“Her, I believe,” Jim states, nodding towards Naomi. “You, I think, just enjoy getting under my skin, even when it’s in your own bed.”

“Our bed,” Naomi reminds him, sitting up to turn his face towards her, to kiss him slow and deep. He hums into the kiss and she feels the rumble all the way to her toes. When she pulls back, she sees Camina watching them. Her gaze is not jealous, not sad. Mischievous, smug… and a little hungry. Naomi meets her eyes for just a moment before looking back to Jim, to run a finger down his jaw. “Our very nice bed that you picked out for our new rooms on Medina, right, Camina?”

“Hm?” Naomi shoots her a look over Jim’s shoulder and Camina clears her throat. “Yeah. Course. Thank you for the very nice… bed. It’s very…” She smirks at Naomi, rests her cheek against she side of his head, her mouth right by his ear. “Big.”

Jim blinks, his eyes moving in Camina’s direction, even if he can’t see her. “We’re… still talking about the bed… right?”

Camina simply hums low and long into his ear, and Naomi sees him shiver as his eyes fall closed again. She lays back down, content to watch whatever Drummer has planned for their Earther. She takes one of Jim’s hands in hers. He gives her fingers a light squeeze.

“Mmhm, still talk about bed,” Camina whispers, trailing a hand up to his hair. She tangles her fingers in his dark almost-curls, and he leans into her touch. “And the pillows, blankets… soft and luxurious and perfect for grabbing.”

Jim’s eyebrows draw together, but his eyes don’t open. Naomi can read the confusion all the way into his inner monologue. He’s always been an open book to her. To anyone. Still, she’d been surprised when he’d responded to her opening up to him about lingering feelings for Camina with telling her about attraction of his own. When he’d suggested they give this a try. Giving Drummer what she’s wanted. Encouraging Naomi to have what she’s realized she wanted. Maybe he has some pages she should read more closely.

Introspection doesn’t stop Camina from complimenting the… furniture.  

Her free hand trails down Jim’s arm. The one Naomi also holds. “The frame is sturdy and strong. Can support all three of us.”

The corner’s of Jim’s mouth twitch. “Can try anyway. The way you go at it, it might—”

Camina nips the shell of his ear, stopping his teasing in its tracks. “Need to learn how to shut your pashang mouth and listen, Earther.”

Holden cracks an eye open to look down at Naomi. She smiles at him, brushes her thumb over his knuckles. “You do, honey.”

He sighs. Closes his eye again. “‘Kay.”

Camina smirks at Naomi. He isn’t getting it.

Naomi shrugs. He will.

Jim shivers as Camina’s fingers trace over his chest, his abs. “Mattress firm, comfortable… great to be on top of…” Naomi watches her hand slowly slip lower. Inching down with every word, Jim leaning back unconsciously. “Mi think it gonna last for a very, very long time…” At the last word, Camina strokes her hand over him, earning a startled hiss.

Taking advantage of Jim’s distraction and her hand in his hair, Camina turns his face to hers and crushes her mouth to his. Naomi pushes up onto her elbows, watching with rapt attention, keeping Jim’s hand in hers. Their kiss is different from the kiss she’d shared with Holden earlier. Where Naomi had poured love into each brush of their lips, Camina drips lust and wanting. It’s still early for them. Still new, like these rooms and the furniture. She wants them to feel the same way for each other that she feels for them. Still… Her heart skips a beat, her body warms. She doesn’t think they’ll actually go again tonight… but she wouldn’t say no, after this little show.

When Jim and Camina finally break apart, they’re panting, flushed, beautiful. Distracting. It takes Naomi a moment to realize that Camina’s hand had shifted back to his stomach. There won’t be another round tonight. Jim gazes at Camina, and she gazes at his lips. All Naomi hears is their breathing and the air cyclers. Until Camina finally blinks and meets Jim’s gaze.

“You did good, Holden,” she whispers with a tiny nod. “It’s good. Thank you.”

Jim smiles. Camina tries not to, and fails. Naomi can’t help but smile. This will work. They will.

Camina takes one last chance to stretch her legs, retrieving Jim’s briefs for him—so he’s not the only naked one—before the three of them shuffle around and settle in for the night. They end up where they’d been: Jim in the middle, Naomi culled up against his front while Camina spoons him. All of them able to touch each other, their legs tangled together in a way that’s slightly strange but entirely right. After a chorus of good nights, kisses to various body parts, and a few moments, all Naomi can hear again are those air cyclers. Jim and Camina’s breathing. She closes her eyes, lets herself be lulled into a doze by the combined sounds of life.

Until Jim yelps, jolts, startles Naomi awake. She raises an eyebrow, and he glares over his shoulder. Camina’s head appears behind his, grin smug and pleased.

“Forgot to tell him about this ass. How you keep your hands off it?”

Naomi snorts. “Can’t say it’s not a challenge.”

Jim scoffs. “She pinched me.”

“You’ll live, inya baby,” Camina teases. But there’s an affection in her tone that takes out any bite. She kisses his temple before settling behind him. “Got more planned for that ass than a pinch.”

Jim scoffs again, shakes his head. Naomi catches the ghost of a smile as he too settles back in. Naomi snuggles close against him, nuzzling his neck as she reaches over him to brush her fingers over Camina’s hip. She feels Camina rest a hand on Jim’s side under her arm. Jim’s arm drapes over Naomi, fingers tracing shapes on her back. They all touch, trying to stay connected even in sleep.

Jim drifts off first, his breath evening out as it brushes her cheek. Camina soon follows him. But Naomi lies in their embrace, relishes in their touches. The two people who loved her and let her go and welcomed her back. The people she loves and never wants to let go of.

If she’s lucky, she’ll never have to. For once, she thinks she’s lucky.

Naomi finally falls asleep minutes later, lulled by new air cyclers and a duet of soft, even breathing.    

[jamesholden]

NOLDEN 22 DO IT.

You know it REALLY troubles me that we transition from happy Mei to Naked Nolden Makeouts and that’s what inspired this little ditty. ENJOY.

22. “How to kill the mood 101.″

There’s only another week before they arrive at Tycho. Another week with their passengers. Another week with Naomi.

And then the Roci will be emptier than before, with his heart. But Holden tries not to think about that.

What he does think about is how much time Naomi seems to want to spend in their bed before she goes. How much time he wants to spend there too. Especially when she’s got him pinned to the wall, lips on his neck and hans scrambling to push his jumpsuit off his shoulders. She nips at his skin, drawing a laugh out of him.

“Is there a reason why you’re in such a hurry, XO,” he breathes, shrugging off the offending top half of his jumpsuit.  “Dinner isn’t for a few hours, we have nowhere to be.”

Naomi makes some sort of a growling, laughing sound in the crook of his neck. “I want you, is that a good enough reason, Captain?”

No better answer really exists, except to agree. “You raise a good point.” He grabs her wrists, turns them and pins her hands to the bulkhead above her head. “And I second it.”

Holden repeats her earlier actions, kissing down her jaw to her neck. Naomi’s breathing is harsh in his ears, and combined with his pulse in his ears, loud enough to drown out everything around him. Including the sound of the door opening. Not loud enough to drown out the surprised, high pitched squeal.

“Ew! Mr. Amos! They’re kissing in here!”

Jerking his face away from Naomi’s neck, Holden looks at the doorway to see a small face of one of the little girls they’d rescued—Zarina—peeking from around the edge. She eeps when their eyes meet, running away down the corridor with ecstatic giggling. Amos appears shortly after, slightly out of breath himself, looking not at all surprised at the position they’re in.

“Sorry, Cap,” is all he manages, sounding not at all sorry, before shutting the door and following her. Holden stares at the door for a long few moments, until Naomi starts shaking under his grip. He turns back to her, eyebrow raised. To find her laughing. He tries to fight his responding smile, but it’s a fool’s errand, and soon he’s laughing too.

“Jim… we’re kissing in here,” Naomi forces out before dissolving into more laughter.

“How to Kill the Mood 101: Interrupting Children,” he jokes, chuckling as he releases her hands and rests his forehead against hers. She drapes her arms over his shoulders, teases her short nails up and down the back of his neck. They stay that way for a while, breathing each other in until she tips her chin up to catch his lips in a kiss.

“I’m sure we’ll revive it somehow.”

Holden hums, brushes his nose against hers and kisses her again. For now, this is fine. He wants to stay in this moment forever. It could be one of their last. It’s perfect, interrupting child or no.

Send me a number and a character/ship.

[jamesholden]

to love, to do, to hope for

I got this idea like TWO DAYS AGO and banged it out today because I’m sure the episode won’t cover it and I wanna let my fic be at LEAST a half hour out of date so here it is! Basically I messaged @thetruecaptain and asked her what she would think of Naomi going into Holden’s cabin and finding that he left the XO badge.

SPOILERS FOR 3.09 AND BEYOND but it may be out of date in like a half hour.

ENJOY! And please leave a review on AO3 if you’re so inclined!

“They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for.” ― Tom Bodett

Naomi hesitates outside the cabin door she once called her own. His. Theirs. She knows he isn’t in there. She’d found his goodbye message for the guys after securing them in the sick bay, while she was working to fix the comms.

It had been the first time she’d been able to look at his face for more than a painful, fleeting moment since he’d watched her walk away on Tycho. She’d looked back, given him a small smile that he returned before she’d let herself disappear into the crowd. His face had been all over the feeds since he brought Avasarala and Mao to Luna. But she couldn’t look at him. It had hurt too much. She’d been moving on, and shutting the pain away in a locked box, every thought of him and her old crew, had been the first step. It always is with her. She’d been afraid to even crack it open. Afraid to face how much she’d known she would miss them.

Watching him say goodbye to Amos and Alex, the only support he’d had through everything she’d been gone for… it blew the box wide open again. Amos and Alex are here. They’re alive and recovering. But it’s his absence that keeps her from finding any comfort in being home. The thing that’s missing. She misses him. She hadn’t let herself do so in months. Now months worth of missing him is hitting her at once. This is the next best thing. She takes a breath. Lets it out. And opens the door.

His cabin is nearly immaculate. Bed made in military crispness, strapped down for null-g. The only sign anyone lives there is the bulb of what must have been coffee that’s planted on his desk. She smiles despite herself. He’s always kept a clean cabin—when they hadn’t been throwing clothes around—and the sight of it, with a single sign of his insatiable thirst for coffee comforts her even as his absence weighs on her. She breathes and his familiar scent—and naturally, the scent of coffee—assures her. She’s home. Almost.

She steps in, letting the door close behind her. Shutting her in her own world the way she and he always used to. Together. He’d looked so tired in his message. Exhaustion he carries like he’s trying to hide it, that he’s probably been burying for months. She’s heard about the Roci’s legal troubles from more than just the news feeds. He’d looked sad, too. Regretful. It’s understandable, given what he’d gone off to do, but…

Naomi stands at the edge of his bed. A bunk she’d called theirs. She remembers the loneliness of her old bunk, after she’d told him what she’d done with the sample. Getting used to sleeping alone again. Adjusting to silences. To cold. And then she spent her last nights on the Roci with him, taking all of the things she’d missed and would miss while she could. On the Behemoth, she worked herself to near exhaustion, enough to sleep through the night without even thinking about him most nights.

Is that what he’d done? Spending as much time with the guys as he could in the day shift, finding things to do in the night shift that would keep him from bed or keep him asleep? Is that why he’d looked so tired?

She looks around, picturing him pacing, rummaging through his locker, shaving and washing his face in the head. Things she’d watched him do countless times from this very spot, lounging and teasing him or helping him talk through things. Or listening in on calls to his mother, Elise. Her gaze falls on the desk, where he’d go to work or make calls if she were still sleeping to avoid waking her. Something near the ceiling catches the light. Something she’d missed when she walked in. Naomi heels the controls on her boots and gently pushes herself up, catching the object in her hand. Another gentle push with her hand against the ceiling and she’s floating back down.

As soon as her boots click back on, anchoring her to the floor, she opens her hand to see what she’s found. Her heart stops when the realization hits her. The XO badge Captain McDonnell had saddled him with so long ago, back on the Cant. The badge she’d noticed him fiddling with when something weighs too heavily on his mind. When guilt is on his shoulders. When he feels responsible. She cups it in one hand, reaches out and brushes her fingertips against the cool metal with the other.

He’d left it. He’s carried it with him all this time, always in his pocket, always nearby at hand… and he’d left it. Her breath catches. Why? Had he left it for Alex or Amos as an ersatz Rocinante captain’s badge? A sign that he plans to return despite his message? Something for the Martians if they’d caught the Roci? Or… had he really thought he wasn’t coming back? Had he… left it as one of his only personal effects? To send to his mother? To send to her?

“Jim…” Naomi’s hand flies to cover her mouth, to stifle a sob. She’d given up everything to get back here. To them. To him. It had taken her days, fighting with Martians, nearly ending up like the slingshotter that had opened the gate. And he was long gone. May never come back. I never even got to say—

She takes a few long, deep breaths. Calms her heart. Her racing thoughts. Alex, in his pained daze, had smiled at her when he realized it was her. Muttered something about how “he knew you’d come back”. Alex couldn't have meant himself. He. Jim. Even when she thought she wouldn’t come back to the Roci, had no foreseeable plans to ever see them again outside of the feeds or in passing in some station… he held out hope she’d come back. Throughout her radio silence. Everything that happened to the Roci…

She’s here. She’s finally home. And he’s not. Even in null-g, the weight of that thought threatens to press her to the floor. All she has is this badge. This totem of responsibility for them. For his crew. For her crew. She closes her hand tight around the badge, edges digging into her palm.

“I came back, Jim. So you have to come back, too.”

He can’t hear her. Wherever he is. But if he could hold out hope for her as long as he had… she can easily do the same for him.

Until he cycles back through that airlock, she has a crew to take care of.

[jamesholden]

first aid

I said I would write a fic of Naomi helping Holden clean up after getting his face busted and so here it is. It’s kind of a reflection on where Naomi was and is at over what’s been happening and this beginning of a thaw from him and I missed finishing something about these two that’s short so here we go. it’s a mix between missing scene and changed context of a scene. I also included one of my favorite small Nolden interactions from the books heheheh. 

super special thanks to @thetruecaptain for reading through it and taking many excerpts and giving me insight i didn’t think of to develop some of the internalized bits. Also teaching me what grin actually means.

You can also find it on AO3, where you can leave a review if you so feel.

Thanks! Enjoy!

“Ow.”

Naomi’s heading back to Ops when she hears it. A pitiful groan and a heavy sigh coming from the med bay. Sounds she’s heard before from the same room. In the same voice. Her chest tightens.

A few weeks previously, Naomi wouldn’t hesitate to step into Holden’s least favorite room on the Roci to help erase his pain. After the days of his recovery from Eros, the terrifying hours of unconsciousness after the monster attack… her first instinct had always been to make sure he’s okay. But with this rift between them, hurt she can’t fix with a bandage or medication… there’s a hesitation. She’s a bit ashamed of it, of the small voice telling her not to help him. After everything that happened with the Kittur survivors, it has gotten quieter. But it’s still there. The walls he built between them made it too strong to completely erase.

Jim curses softly, a hiss barely audible over the hum of the Roci. The Pinus Contorta. Still loud enough to drown out that small voice. She takes a breath and steps into the med bay.

He doesn’t notice her. He’s sat in one of the chairs—the one he’s almost died in twice—with a mirror pulled right up to his face, studying the bloody mess of his nose.

When Jim had stepped onto Ops, rifle in hand and cold anger writ plain on his face, worry had battled with relief in Naomi’s mind. His voice had been rough, thick. Blood coated his chin, his lips, the tip of his nose. She’d been held in place by a Martian child as a shield but it had been Jim she was worried about. She’d heard him telling Amos what had happened as he helped Bobbie with Alex in the immediate aftermath. That he’d taken multiple punches to the face grappling with the Martian who had been in the other chair until they moved him to a bunk to get proper rest. Jim had waited until Alex had been tended to until taking care of his bloody, bruised mess of a face.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

It isn’t until Jim pulls the mirror away from his face, staring at her, that she realizes she’d spoken. She swallows, waiting for him to clear his throat, turn away, ignore her. But he doesn’t. He just stares, brows drawing together in confusion. Naomi’s lips twitch and she shrugs.

“Saving people. You just can’t stop yourself.”

Jim blinks, relaxes back into the chair. All the air seems to leave him. All the tension. Naomi’s heart hammers in her chest. She has his attention. He isn’t shrugging her off. He isn’t ignoring her. He’s waiting. Listening. For the first time in weeks, hope unfurls in her heart.

Naomi had been hurt, but not surprised by his outburst in Ops, before the attempted mutiny. His quiet in the weeks since she’d told him had been almost worse than if he’d yelled at her. At least then she would have had an idea of what he had been feeling. From the beginning, he hadn’t done a single thing that threw what she’d done in her face at her, even when he told her to take the Razorback. It had to come to an end eventually. Trust for Jim has become a raw nerve. Nearly as much as the protomolecule had been.

Naomi had scorned Jim on Tycho, back when—unknowingly —he’d done the same thing she had. He’d hidden what Cortazar knew. He’d planned to kill him. His motivation for doing so has been weak. But he’d told her. He’d told her as soon as she knew. She’d projected her anxiety and fear and frustration at him for silencing her, for forcing her to hide the protomolecule, onto an omission he’d owned up to. He had no idea. And he’d promised not to do so again.

Naomi hadn’t trusted Jim with the same truth. She hadn’t trusted him and Alex and Amos to make the right decision with their sample. How could she? They had no idea what it was like to live on the end of the Inner’s gun, waiting for the hammer to fall on the Belters who just wanted to live and work. They’d never understand and they hadn’t even tried to. So she couldn’t trust that he’d been right. She couldn’t trust him. And she hid it.

Naomi had played him a simulation and let him believe that she’d done what they’d agreed on for weeks. She’d deceived him. No matter how justified her reasoning, no matter how strongly she knows she’d made the right decision… She'd deceived him to his face and hid the truth for weeks. That she didn’t tell him any part of what she’d done or why until she’d almost lost him makes it worse for her.

Jim had been so… angry. Determined. Righteous. So set on his course that nothing any of them had done would have set him off it. He’d just rolled over all of them more than once. So many times Naomi thought she could tell him. After Tycho, until he told off Fred and got them kicked off station. As they toured the devastation of Ganymede, until he’d let Amos beat that hacker. When she was planning to leave him to help Melissa, until he let that scientist die. She’d been steamrolled before. She’s been treated like her feelings, her beliefs don’t matter. Even though Jim hadn’t been that man, it sent her back to places she’d never wanted to see again. So she didn’t tell him. In case he was that man.

When she finally got to see the man she’d… When she finally saw the Jim she’d known, it was too late. She’d already done it. And when she’d almost lost him, to a fucking crushed leg and a fucking protomolecule monster—knowing that he almost died alone with the thing he feared most again—and he still hadn’t known… she told him.

That is what hurts him. That’s what exposed the nerve. That Jim doesn’t know if she ever would have told him the truth otherwise. That’s what really hurts her. That she doesn't know either.

Before Naomi can think about it, she’s crossing the room. The coppery scent of his blood and the blood of those Martian kids clogs her own nose. She still walks with a hesitation, slowly moving closer to him. She watches his face. The confusion slips, but he doesn’t move. He still waits. When she’s in front of him, she slips her hands under his jaw, tips his head up. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Naomi’s heart beats faster. She avoids his eyes for the moment, taking in the damage the Martian had done to him.

Despite her pressing that nerve and him snapping at her, when they’d needed him, when she needed him… Jim still came. And when the ensign had let her go, she’d run to him. Stood behind him absorbing every threat he threw at them if they’d hurt Alex. But he hadn’t carried any of them out. He’d let Bobbie get through to them. Part of her wondered if he’d even loaded the rifle, with the alert sent out to Amos. He isn’t the ruthless man he’s played at after Eros. He isn’t a cold murderer. He isn’t manipulative, self-serving. He isn’t the man she was afraid he was becoming. The man that dark voice tried to convince her he is.

He’s still just Jim. He still saved them. Still saved her.

Naomi meets his eyes again. “Thank you.”

Jim gazes up at her. Slowly, he softens. He shoulders relax. Even his mouth—lips colored dark red by flaking blood—relaxes, opening as if he’s about to say something. He tilts his head in her hands, studies her face.

The corners of his lips quirk ever so slightly. Not quite a smile. But something still… tender. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Naomi’s heart stops. Her breath hitches. It’s… more than she expected. She hadn’t expected much at all, but… His words had been barely more than a whisper, but they’d been filled with so much emotion that they resonated in the quiet med bay and her own mind. That dark voice rallies against it. She smiles back at him, just a bit wider than he had.

He’s just saying that, the voice says, faded more than the whispers off Eros. That’s what they do, charm you back to them. Why are you giving him a chance to hurt you again?

Because I love him. Her tone is defiant. Confident. This is Jim and Jim isn’t him and I love him and I think he still loves me.

The voice shrinks back. And goes away. She can breathe now. She can focus.

“Let’s survey the damage then.”

The Martian Jim had wrestled with had done his best to reconfigure Jim’s face. He hadn’t come out nearly as bloody as Jim, but given that he’d lost the fight, Naomi can forgive it. She carefully turns Jim’s face this way and that, trying to ignore the burn of his eyes on her. His nose is swollen, the dark bruising and blood a macabre contrast to his pale skin.

“How many hits did he land?”

Jim sighs. “Two direct hits. He had good aim for someone punching over his shoulder while getting choked out.”

Aside from the “clogged-nose” quality of his voice, he sounds a little fuzzy, likely a mix of exhaustion and pain medication that she’s heard in his voice before. A pang hits her chest at the thought. Would he ever get to rest without some sort of injury involved? Not that an injury has ever actually stopped him before. Death couldn’t stop him. But she drowns that thought in his current, relatively minor injury.

Naomi hums, her thumbs moving up to press gently against the bridge of his nose. Jim hisses. “Sorry,” she whispers, but Jim shakes his head just enough to not dislodge her hands.

“It’s nothing I haven’t done myself,” he attempts to assure her, another small smile lighting his bloody face. “What’s the verdict?”

Naomi releases him, the med bay air cooling the warmth his skin left behind on her palms. “It’s definitely broken, which I think you’ve likely guessed.” She turns to the table beside his chair, tearing open a pack of cleaning wipes. “It’ll be crooked without some cosmetic surgery. But you were too pretty before anyway. It’ll give your face more character.”

Jim laughs, something he immediately regrets based on the hitch in his breathing and the soft “ouch” he utters under his breath. Naomi smiles. She takes a wipe out of the pack and turns back to him. His eyes are back on her face. She gestures up. “All right, Captain. Let’s get you cleaned up and somewhat presentable.”

Jim gets the hint and tips his head up. Naomi takes his jaw in her hand and starts cleaning around his mouth and chin. She’d rather give the painkillers a little more time to kick in before prodding at his nose again. She’s still careful, mindful of any other bruising or cuts hidden beneath the blood. Pouring every ounce of affection she’s had to hold back into this now familiar routine. She glances up at his face to find his eyes closed, his face completely relaxed.

Trusting her completely.

She resists the part of her that wants to lean in and kiss him, blood be damned. He might not be ready, and pushing it won’t get them anywhere. She’ll take what he’s ready to give, and give him everything he’ll take.

It takes two wipes to clean the lower half of Jim’s face. It’s likely it’ll take a good shower or a fresh shave to get all of it, but she’ll leave that to him. Jim flinches at the first touch to his nose. Naomi shushes him, brushes her thumb along his jawline. He sighs. Nods. She sets to work. She puts absolute care into wiping away the blood without pressing hard enough to hurt. It’s so red that for a moment she scrubs at a spot that’s already clean because she couldn’t tell the colors apart. She uses an extra wipe to dab the lines of both cheeks before pulling back to take a look at her work.

“You’re going to have some nasty bruises and discoloration for a few days,” she muses. He blinks his eyes open, and she gives him a smile and taps his jaw. “But for now, you’re fine. If anything changes...”

Naomi winces and trails off. Let me know. She isn’t sure he will. She isn’t sure he’ll take care of himself at all outside of injecting painkillers and drinking coffee, let alone as her to take care of him. She turns away, tossing the soiled wipes in the recycler and moving to wash his blood off her hands. She nearly jumps when she hears his voice.

“I’ll let you know.”

Naomi takes a breath and glances at him over her shoulder. She catches his eyes on her just as he’s averting his gaze, moving to stand. Caught, even if he doesn’t know it. “Do you… want me to help you to your cabin?” Our cabin.

Jim pauses, considering. But when he looks at her he looks apologetic. “No, thank you. I’m fine. I think Avasarala wants me in the galley for something anyway.”

The expression on his face, the genuineness in his “I’m fine” compared to the hostile, shutting out tone he’d used about his leg, keeps her heart from sinking. It’s still something. There’s still hope. That, and the mention of their VIP passenger raises bitterness in her instead. “Well, when her highness has finished with you, get some rest. Okay?”

She expects him to roll his eyes. To huff and tell her to be nice and leave. But he smiles.

“You got it. I’ll get some rack time in. You do the same.”

With that Jim leaves, his boots scuffing down the corridor to the ladder.

Naomi stares at the spot he’s vacated for a solid minute before actually moving to the sink. Yes, there’s hope. And she’s going to hang onto that for a while. It’s all she has left.

For now.

[jamesholden]

Naomi/Drummer + "I can't stay away"

Drummer grunts as she hits the ball back at the wall. Sweat helps the controlled station air to cool her work-out heated skin. She’s been at it for almost an hour. It’s easier not to think when she’s focused on making sure she doesn’t lose her streak. Left. Right. Up high. The game is harder when you’re alone, but certainly not impossible.

Doesn’t keep her from wishing she wasn’t alone. Or in a certain engineer’s company.

It’s been almost two weeks since the Rocinante left Tycho. Off to Ganymede to take care of errant protomolecule traces. An endless mission, if Protogen had any say in the matter. An endless suicide mission. The way things are between the captain of the Rocinante and the head of Tycho Station, she doesn’t expect to see or hear from them once they’ve accomplished whatever the hell they hope to out there.

So here she is, working out her stress and concern for Naomi in the one of the last places they had fun together.

Drummer trusts that she’ll be okay. While the crew of the Rocinante isn’t always the smartest or most capable, they’re skilled at what they each do, and unbelievably lucky. Above all, those men would do anything to protect Naomi. She’s seen it in their eyes and heard it in stories of their actions. If anything, she can trust that crew to do that. If Naomi can’t do it herself, which, of course she can. Doesn’t help to have extra assurance.

But none of them know what’s going on on Ganymede. What fresh hell Protogen will unleash on the Belters next. The Rocinante crew is just running towards it. Naomi is running towards it. As brave as it is stupid.

Drummer cries out as she jumps high to smack at the ball, pulling her stitches. She isn’t supposed to be this active. She’d almost died. She still remembers the pain of the bullet, the strain of trying to breath in wrong air, the press of Holden’s large hand against her side, the satisfaction of shooting the pashang mutineers right between the eyes. Fuck the doctor’s orders. She can’t sit still. She can’t just work. She needs the thoughts to leave her. The worry. The fear. She needs pain, the exertion, the ache, the thirst, the adrenaline… it’ll erase everything else.

Drummer dives when the ball goes low, hitting it back to the wall but hitting the floor hard with a gasp. The ball ricochets, bouncing away with no partner to catch it for her. Drummer stays down, trying to catch her breath. It’s no use. No matter how far she pushes her limits, no matter how much it hurts to move or breathe, the fear still sits in her heart.

The fear that Naomi won’t come back. Won’t come back to her. That Protogen will finish the job they started when they nuked the Cant and sent Naomi on a collision course with her. Emotion wells in her throat and she chokes it down. Not now. Not here.

Drummer had taught herself to keep her emotion in check, or buried deep down. Working with a bunch of bull-headed Earther men her whole career forced her to learn to play tough, to be an unreadable stone of a woman. Any weakness, and someone could swoop in and throw her aside, claiming anything from insubordination to hard-core OPA affiliation to remove her and put someone more malleable in her position. That determination to be stronger, better, had made her Fred Johnson’s right hand on Tycho. The second most powerful person on the station. She’d earned respect through thinly-veiled intimidation and cold efficiency. And all of it built on her ability to control her emotions through focus and compartmentalizing.

Until it becomes too much.

Her breathing slows, her heart and mind slowly calm with each gulp of air. Naomi is smart. Naomi is capable. Naomi is strong and powerful and beautiful and she has to be okay.

Once she’s calmed herself down, Drummer pushes herself to her feet. It takes far more effort than she’d like it to. Her gunshot wound burns. She focuses on it, pushing the last of the unwanted emotions away. She can dig them back up at home, soaking in epsom salt with a bottle of good Ganymede gin.

Fuck doctor’s orders.

She grabs her bag, a small groan slipping from her lips as she straightens back up. The door slides open and boots scuff in behind her. Just in time.

“Yeah, yeah, Grecko. I know. Time’s up. I just have to find my ball, and—”

“It’s right here, I’ve got it.”

Drummer’s breath catches. For a moment, she’s taken back: back to a somehow lighter, freer time. One of success and celebration, when she spent hours and hours with that voice. And when things started to get heavier, that voice was a source of calm, confidence, and reassurance that things would be fixed. She blinks. It takes a few breaths to remember it’s now and it’s new and the voice she hears isn’t in her head. She looks over her shoulder at the open door.

And Naomi Nagata shoots her a sheepish grin, bouncing the ball in her hand.

It still takes Drummer a moment to process that what she’s seeing is real. That the Roci had come back without her knowledge. That Naomi had come back without letting her know. That she’s standing right there, with a duffel bag at her feet and a sad twist in her grin. She’s right here. Everything Drummer wants to say jumbles together in her head—part of her is embarrassed she can’t find her composure and shove her nerves into their box.

“You’re back,” she states, awe and excitement and caution mingling together in her tone. It’s not what she wants to say, but it’s all she can say.

Naomi smiles anyway. It’s beautiful and welcome and still somehow pained. Drummer wants to kiss it away. “Yeah, I am.”

Drummer finds herself moving towards her before she can even think that she wants to. She drops her bag beside Naomi’s, keeping her gaze on her as if she’ll vanish back onto the Roci the second she looks away.

“Why?”

Naomi opens her mouth and snaps it shut again. The sadness flickers through her eyes again, and Drummer notices the shadows beneath her eyes. She takes a breath. Takes Drummer’s hand in her cool, strong fingers. Warmth radiates through her from the touch. Naomi flips her hand over and presses the ball into her palm. She meets Drummer’s gaze, the weariness and pain replaced with what Drummer hopes is affection. She smiles.

“I couldn’t stay away, Camina.”

There’s more to it. There has to be. Her heart sinks and she clears her throat. She doesn’t want to ask. “Is that all?”

This time, Naomi’s face doesn’t falter. Her smile just widens. “No. It isn’t. But it’s not the smallest reason. I was happy with you.” She doesn’t let go of her hand.

“I feel like we should talk.”

“I agree,” Naomi says, letting go of her hand and bending to grab her bag. And Drummer’s. “And you should hydrate.”

Drummer’s lips quirk. “Beers?”

Naomi hums, smile growing a little bit mischievous. “Beers.”

When Naomi heads back out of the room, heading out of the gym itself, Drummer follows her. It’s easy. The coming talk might not be. The explanations of what’s really going on, and what may or may not come after. Drummer may not know what’s going on in Naomi’s incredible mind. But she does know what she wants to happen after she finds out.

No matter why, Naomi’s come back to her. That enough stirs a confidence in Drummer that isn’t built on a facade. The fear is gone, the adrenaline is renewed and new.

And Drummer is going out to grab beers with Naomi Nagata.

five word prompts