[open]

[hellsbel]

Who: Bel and whoever
When: December 8-10
Where: Nomo Deck, rec room, various other places
What: Various things that happen while Miles and Loki are missing. And after.
Warnings: at least one instance of sharing body heat because Bel is practical okay


December 8

The ship is slowly freezing from the inside out. Quick thinking and ingenuity among the crew, to say nothing of an encouraging amount of good humor and altruism, have made it more bearable than Bel would have guessed. The library group is lively and friendly, and people are looking out for each other; if no other systems break down, they might get through without any severe effects.

Then two crewpeople go missing. And one -- small, heat-inefficient, deeply hates the cold -- is Miles.

Searching the largely empty ship in the frigid atmosphere, half-expecting to come across a huddled figure around every corner, is made all the more disconcerting by slight movements in the shadows. In the meantime, Bel tries to find out who saw them last, but no good leads are generated.


December 9

As the crew settles into the new social scene prompted by the cold spell, Bel has been all over the ship several times. No sign of Miles -- or Loki, who also seems to be missing. Even Jane's new MID apps haven't been able to locate them.

If they're still on the ship, they must be somewhere unreadable. The deepening shadows, with their now-unmistakable whispers and movements, have everyone pairing up for any activities outside cabins or the library.


December 10

Now that Miles is back, reaction is setting in. Bel cuts down on walking the ship, keeping a careful eye on the MID for any alerts. Otherwise, though, it's time to answer late messages and take care of things closer to home.


[[Sorry for lagging behind on things! Intense thread + heavy workweek. Bel will be jumping into a lot of posts and tagbacks as soon as time and energy coincide; if you'd prefer something not be continued that's fine too. This is a quick catchall for activity during the period when Miles and Loki are missing, and immediately afterward. Please tag with date in subject line; feel free to rope Bel into other ship activities on the 8th, be roped into the increasingly concerned search for Miles and Loki on the 9th, or whatever works!]]

Comments

[forwardmomentum]

"Here we are," Miles agrees, the exhaustion creeping into his voice with a croak. He's quiet a moment, shivering against Bel with a tired sound, though not as violently as before. "No, it should've opened from the inside. Loki should've been able to open it. But for some reason he couldn't."

And what a fun realization that was. After that, any chance of them getting out undetected and without reprimand had dropped dramatically. "I don't know," he sighs, finally, more weariness creeping into his voice than he'd been intending to permit. Damn it. "Captain Cúrre found us a few days later and let us out -- gave us the full medical, of course, along with the reprimands. Don't think she knew what we'd seen -- Loki locked the cabinet right back up. Her body was...damaged, electrical damage, it looked like. She was intact, but -- it didn't look good. I don't know what it means," he finally admits. "Not yet. There's too much I'm still missing."

A few shivers still run through him, and he lets out a slow, controlled breath against Bel's skin, his forehead pressed to their shoulder. It's still damned cold in the room, he's still cold, but it's a tolerable cold, such a dramatic difference that it feels warm by comparison. Bel is like a furnace against his thawing body, their bare skin gently radiating heat. Even with a topic of conversation at hand, it's difficult to distract himself completely from the very here and now, or from the fact that his cheek is pressed against the strap of Bel's bra. He tries to twist his mind away from the dissonance, dizzy from it, but where there isn't physical tension, there is emotional -- he feels a twinge of guilt at not having told Bel about his death himself. He shouldn't have let them hear it from someone else, let alone Ivan. Ye gods, he can only imagine how tactless that was.

That, at least, he can address. That's one tension he can tackle, even if he has to wade through guilt to get to it. Much though Miles' face is pleasantly warm where it is, he figures he ought to look Bel in the eye for a proper apology -- and he does. When he lifts his head from Bel's shoulder he is very looking them in the eye. Well, it's not like Bel designed this blanket cocoon to be roomy. Miles licks at his lips, glad for the relative dark.

"I should have said something sooner." It still feels odd to be speaking to Bel with his Barrayaran accent, but the context of this all is strange, impossible to pin down. Miles looks tired and resigned, but the corner of his mouth tugs down regretfully. "It just seemed a lot to dump on you on your first day here, on top of everything else, and it'd only been a week since I got out of cryo then, so I thought I'd hold off, sit on it, and..." Miles blows out his breath slowly, tension drawing him in taut again, until he realizes it and lets it out with the breath. "I'm sorry you had to hear it from Ivan. No one should ever have to hear that kind of thing from Ivan."

/accidentally a novel?

[hellsbel]

Bel's still absently kneading Miles's back, a light, even motion they're barely even aware of. It's still inexplicable why Cúrre released him into the cold in his condition. No heated blankets even in medbay, for exactly this kind of circumstance? And people resurrected into bodies that no longer existed, but irreversible death waiting behind locked doors.... We're all going to die out here, one way or another. Ha -- but then they bring us back for more. Except Típota? Would they kill one of their own? What wouldn't they do?

There seems little to say to the rest of the story. Nothing but unknowns and ominous possibilities, things Miles would have had plenty of time to think about already.

But it doesn't feel so cold in here, anymore.

Eyes closed, slow breaths stirring the air between them, Miles's weight temperate and almost boneless now, Bel almost murmurs We broke the ice in the pool, looking for you. In a way, though, Miles's proactivity is reassuring. It's felt so strange to watch him quietly go about the business of his Moira rank and offices all month, as though he'd simply settled in. Why was it easier to imagine him staggering out of deadly peril, with a jaunty wave and some hot new intelligence to launch the rest of them into action? Say the word and we'll bust this thing wide open..... "I'll hold the door for you next time. Just count me in, will you? About time we get some answers."

Bel makes a small noise of protest as Miles moves, the dim light of their MIDS casting a glow over the blanket behind his head. They'd just begun to warm the place up.... But he isn't letting the chill back in after all. The gentle back-light and side-light picks out the lines of his pain-worn face, and his eyes glint in the dark, some faint reflection finding its way there. They're nearly nose to nose; his breath warms Bel's face.

The accent is a mercy -- the last thing Bel needs is to flash back to this during a mission when they get back home. But the guttural roll of the long syllables and the picture Miles makes, leaning close in the dim light, are definitely going to show up in Bel's dreams. Dammit.

He's tensing again as he gets the words out. Bel wants to do so many things about that, but settles for holding him as lightly as before, and the tension slowly fades. There is no context for this regretful explanation. It wouldn't have happened back home, between Naismith and his captain. A treacherous little corner of Bel's brain adds Then maybe we should hold more briefings in bed.... It's suddenly all too easy to understand why Miles needs to keep his two worlds separate, as ships space themselves apart during wormhole travel so that each might reemerge intact.

"We should work on our communication," Bel answers softly, the habitual irony faltering, impossible here. It's just what I did, on a smaller scale, if death can be measured against identity. "Miles. Thank you." A quiet huff of laughter. "Imagine, someday -- 'remember that time Ivan told me you'd been dead?' It could've been worse."

i love these novels :3c

[forwardmomentum]

Miles laughs hoarsely, a little weakly, but mostly from the physical exhaustion that's really starting to settle in. "You got it," he says, his accent wavering again, but this time he's too tired to catch it. "I could've used some backup there, it's true. Unfortunately, Ivan wouldn't have been good for anything, and Gregor would've just said no. And..." He runs out of steam as he runs out of excuses. Miles looks guilty, almost defeated. Betrayed by his own ego. "And I just wanted to do it myself." Just to prove I could.

A sigh escapes him as his head droops slightly, tipping forward. The last few wisps of his second wind are finally escaping him, his whole body starting to go limp against Bel. Part of him still struggles to hold on, if only on principle, or maybe just habit after these last few days. "Yeah," Miles croaks in diffident agreement, but his chest warms slightly from the inside at Bel's thanks. Miles half-grins but doesn't quite manage to laugh, his eyes half-lidding. "You're right," he agrees in a tired mumble. "I could've stayed dead."

i'm glad~~~

[hellsbel]

"And left me to deal with your relatives alone," murmurs Bel, drawing Miles back down as his strength ebbs, head tipping back to let him rest more comfortably against their neck. "I can understand the temptation." The trapped air has started to feel tolerable. Bel's not shivering anymore, except on one quiet little sigh at that last dry, dark quip. Miles feels... good.

That there are even more ways it could have been worse just goes to show.... something about their priorities, probably? His whole career -- Bel's too -- is about facing situations anyone else would read as cosmic warnings to slow down and live more carefully. Why run when you could fly? Especially when all the world seems designed to keep you crawling?

The thing was, Miles wouldn't have done it back in the fleet. Admiral Naismith does delegate; he's past master at it. If this were a real undercover operation, he would have checked in.

"When Greg gets back from wherever he's gotten to, he's invited to join us. He can't say no to that." Bel waits half a beat, then adds, with perfect deadpan timing, "Too cold even for him."

don't mind me i just wanted to fling one last tag on this

[forwardmomentum]

Miles lets out a hoarse breath of a laugh at that, still shivering faintly, but he's feeling a little less frozen now, finally warming against Bel. It doesn't occur to him that having Gregor join this huddle pile might actually make things less awkward with Bel, although at this point he's too drowsy and comfortable to put up much of a fuss over it.

"Mm," he murmurs in agreement, letting his eyes slide closed. "Too cold even for Ivan, probably."

His voice trails off into a tired mumble as he exhales, going slack against Bel and pressing his face into their neck. The last few days have been such a nightmare, and he's felt like such utter shit, half-wasted away and nearly frozen through, and he's so immensely relieved to be done. He's bone-tired, aching all over, but this is better than he's felt in days, right here. His breathing slows, exhaling out on a drowsy sound as his head goes heavy against Bel's shoulder.