faster than a heartbeat (2/3)
Jun. 16th, 2011 09:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violaceaMaster Post
Part One
It became an erratic routine. Patrick started checking the lounge before he went to bed most nights; every so often, Pete would be lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and Patrick would go in and distract him. They talked about the most random topics - worst childhood dreams, first crushes, the pros and cons of the company-backed candidate for prime minister of Gamma 6 - but the nights always ended with Patrick singing Pete to sleep. They were always alone, but that didn't mean the station gossip system didn't get a hold of the information. "So," Brendon said, perching on the edge of the comm station after Patrick relieved him one day, "what's up with you and Pete?"
"What?" Patrick was distracted enough by his routine system check that he didn't register the question for a few moments. Then, he looked up and narrowed his eyes at Brendon. "Um, nothing?"
"That's not what I hear," Brendon said in a singsong voice.
"Please enlighten me." Patrick sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Hey, it's nothing bad or anything," Brendon said hastily, noticing the expression on Patrick's face. "It's just that you guys have been spending a lot of time together late at night. People talk about that kind of thing. And Pete hasn't been hanging all over Bebe or Mikey or Ryan or anybody, like he usually does. So some people are thinking ..."
"They're thinking wrong," Patrick said. He turned back to the console to hide the flush that he could feel spreading across his cheeks. "We're just hanging out. No big deal."
Later, when Pete came in to suit up for his run to Drill 6, Patrick thought about Brendon's question and had a momentary urge to bang his head against his console. Because yeah, he could lie to Brendon, no problem, but he knew damned well that he was nursing a major crush on Pete. And maybe Pete flirted, or did things that looked like flirting, but ... well, Pete flirted with everyone, and besides, Patrick knew exactly what happened when you misinterpreted a coworker's signals. At his last job, he'd mistaken someone's friendliness for something more. After a surprised "oh, god, I'm sorry, you're a really nice guy, but ...", things were markedly awkward for weeks afterward. She'd worked in a totally different department - if he'd been miserable seeing her once a day, how would it feel to have that awkward dance every time Pete wandered in and out of the control room? No, Patrick had learned his lesson. He wouldn't be making any first moves.
When Pete came over to Patrick's console and rested his chin on Patrick's head, Patrick shoved him backward. "Aww, is someone in a bad mood?" Pete asked, jabbing Patrick's shoulder with a finger.
"Someone is trying to work, asshole," Patrick grumbled.
"Right, patching through the nine million incoming transmissions we get. Because we're the most popular base in the galaxy."
"Drill 7's control room still has a shitty connection. I'm trying to repair it before you idiots head out there, so you don't freeze to death if something goes wrong."
"My hero," Pete said in a singsong voice. "Whatever would I do without you?"
Patrick swiveled around in his chair to find Pete grinning that giant, dopey grin at him, the one that shouldn't be quite as attractive as it actually was. Shit. Patrick found himself grinning, but he turned back around to mask it. "Go take a walk, the freezing cold awaits."
A moment later, Patrick felt Pete's arms encircle his waist, and Pete's chin appeared on his shoulder. "Will you warm me up when I get back?" Pete asked, his mouth too close to Patrick's ear for comfort.
Patrick twisted his head - possibly a mistake, because that put his face close enough to Pete's that he could feel Pete's breath washing over his skin. If he decided to lean just a millimeter closer ... Patrick swallowed. Pete's grin was fading into something softer, less mocking, and Patrick didn't quite know how to interpret the expression.
There was a sudden crash from the other side of the room, and Patrick slid backwards out of Pete's grasp without thinking. They both turned to see William tossing pens at Frank over an overturned - thankfully empty - shelving unit while Frank used his helmet as a shield. "Please go," William said, "before you guys completely trash our control room."
"Hey," Pete protested, "I didn't do anything!"
"This time."
"That's all that matters."
Patrick bent back over his console to hide the flush he could feel on his cheeks. He didn't look up until he heard someone begin to key in the opening sequence for the airlock. Pete was looking in his direction, but with his helmet on, Patrick couldn't see his expression. He figured he was better off that way.
"Guess what day it is!" Gabe practically sang as he skipped - yes, skipped - into the control room.
"If it's the fifth Galactic Day of Cobra Worship of the year," Victoria said as she stripped off her pressure suit, "just remember, if you try to remove any of my clothing again, I will relocate your balls into your throat."
Undaunted, Gabe smiled at her. "Good guess, but no, it's even better. It's Emergency Drill Day!"
The rest of the control room groaned. Patrick just narrowed his gaze. "Why, precisely, does that make it a good day?"
"Because," Ray said from his station in the corner, "it's the day Gabe gets to mercilessly torture us and get paid for it."
"It's the day we all learn station safety, boys and girls!" Gabe clapped his hands together. "Now you have more warning than I should have given you, so be prepared, motherfuckers."
Gabe skipped out, and Victoria sighed. "Oh, good. Okay, folks, I'll start the pot - five credits to get in, how many times does he set off the alarm during our shift?"
"Twelve," Ray guessed, and Victoria tapped something into her hand-held data pad.
"Sixteen," Travis offered from his station across the room.
"I'm going all in and predicting we get to twenty." Ryland held his hand out to Victoria, and she shook it solemnly. "And if we top twenty, someone takes my next kitchen shift."
"I think he's going to psych us all out," Victoria said. She grinned at Ryland. "If we don't get to ten, you get my next kitchen shift."
"Deal."
She looked at Patrick. "What about you?"
He shook his head. "I think I'll stay firmly in the middle, and go with fourteen. And wonder why none of you have killed Gabe yet."
"They'd never send us another engineer, and none of us want to deal with that bullshit," Ray said.
"And I'm half afraid the fucker will come back and haunt me," Ryland added.
In the end, Ray won the pot - they ended up having to secure the control room eleven different times during the course of the shift. By the end, Patrick figured he could do the whole process in his sleep; the alarm would sound, the doors to the control room would seal from the outside, and everyone would man their posts. Patrick sent imaginary distress signals and checked the status of each drill's comm system. Ray and Travis backed up all their work onto data discs that went into an emergency storage box, and Victoria and Ryland spent the day going from drill to drill, making sure the emergency survival kits were fully stocked. "At least we're not on Gabe's crew," Victoria said as she stripped off her pressure suit after the eighth drill.
"Does he torture his own even more than us?" Patrick asked.
"Oh yeah. They all have to take a turn heading outside and climbing onto the station roof to look for cracks or weaknesses."
Patrick shuddered. "Better them than me."
"Exactly. Especially since Gabe sets little traps for them before he does the drills. After the last one, Marshall had welts on his wrists for days." When Patrick raised an eyebrow, Victoria shook her head at him. "Don't ask. You're already phobic about the outside."
"Got it."
After his shift was over, Patrick found Pete in the lounge. "You missed all the fun," he said, sitting down next to him on the couch.
"No, I didn't." Pete rolled his eyes. "I spent the day holed up in my office, finishing all the stupid paperwork I never do. Gabe has entire checklists full of things that the company requires us to have available in case of disaster. I don't even bother unless Gabe kicks my ass." He fluttered his eyelashes at Patrick. "I'm exhausted. Take care of me."
"You're exhausted?" Patrick poked him. "I crawled around on the floor for the better part of six hours, checking all the comm connections. And you spent all day sitting at your desk? My heart bleeds."
"Whatever, remember how you sit in a chair all day while I drag my ass around outside? You're due a little physical activity."
"Fuck off, I totally do physical things."
"Like what?"
"Like helping haul Nate's sorry ass into the med bay the other day. He tried to tell me something about a dare and an air duct, but I didn't want to know."
Pete snorted. "Fucker. He lied to me, I'm gonna make him give me my 20 credits back."
Patrick looked sideways at him. "... no, I still don't want to know."
"Come on, you're small, you could totally fit in there."
"Fit in where?" When Pete opened his mouth, Patrick held up a hand. "No. I'm not shoving myself into an air duct for money. Or whatever it is you're doing."
"Well, then, I have other ideas to get you some physical activity." Pete laughed. "Okay, wow, that was a lame pickup line, even for me."
"A pickup ..." Patrick trailed off.
Pete squirmed in his seat, but after a moment, he spread his hands and looked Patrick in the eye. "Listen. If I've been barking up the wrong tree, just tell me, and I'll stop. I'm not the kind of boss who sexually harasses anyone unless they really want it."
"Are you telling me you've been trying to seduce me?"
"Of course I have. You really didn't know? I thought I was doing everything but spray painting 'fuck me, Patrick' on the control room wall." When Patrick simply stared at him, Pete started babbling. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell when I'm not wanted unless someone tells me. Or hits me, that's happened a bunch of times too. Why don't you just punch me and we can go back to normal?"
"Pete?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up, will you?" With that, he took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed Pete.
One moment, Patrick was twisting awkwardly in his seat to reach Pete; the next, he found himself pressed into the back of the couch, Pete looming over him. Pete pulled back from the kiss and looked at Patrick. "For real?"
"Yes, for real." Patrick's voice sounded breathless to his ears. "I didn't think you ..."
"You're an idiot."
"Takes one to know one."
A large, goofy smile spread across Pete's face. "Of course it does."
In another quick move, Pete jumped up and pulled Patrick to his feet. Patrick allowed himself to be dragged into the hallway and, eventually, into Pete's quarters. Inside, Patrick looked around. "Really? This is smaller than my room."
Pete shrugged. "It's the room I was given when I got assigned here. I was too lazy to move when I got promoted. Besides," he added, shoving Patrick toward the bed that took up nearly half the space in the room, "the important part is big enough."
"There's a joke about big somewhere ..." Patrick was cut off when Pete pushed him onto his back and straddled him on the bed.
Pete leaned over him; his hips pressed lightly against Patrick's, and Patrick felt his cock respond to the contact. Pete laughed and nuzzled his ear. "Shit," he murmured. His breath sent shivers down Patrick's skin. "I've been waiting for this."
They spent the next few minutes kissing and touching and pulling frantically at unwanted clothing. Even more of Pete's skin was covered in dark ink than Patrick had previously thought. He rolled Pete onto his back and traced the patterns on his hips with his fingers. Pete made a low, urgent sound at the back of his throat when Patrick's fingers ventured close to the dark hair between his legs. "If you don't start actually touching me," Pete said roughly, "I may punch you. Just a warning."
Grinning, Patrick licked the palm of his hand and wrapped it around Pete's cock. Pete's hips arched up off the bed. Patrick stroked him slowly a few times before letting go and straddling Pete's legs. He scooted close enough that their cocks brushed against each other, sending pleasant shocks up Patrick's spine. In response, Pete reached down and grabbed both their cocks in one hand. Their skin was slick enough with sweat already that when Pete's hand moved up and down, the slight pain of friction was nearly overshadowed by the sensation of being caught between Pete's cock and calloused hands. His vision swam, and he leaned over far enough to put his hands on the bed. "God, Pete. Fuck."
"Is that a request?" Pete's voice was rough; when Patrick looked at him, his eyes seemed nearly black.
Patrick let the mental image wash over him for a moment. "No," he said, more than a bit reluctantly. "Because I don't think I'm going to last long enough for that."
"Me either."
Pete let go and nudged Patrick back down onto the bed. He stretched out on his side and pulled Patrick to him for a deep, filthy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and little moans that seemed to vibrate somewhere inside Patrick's skin. He didn't know when their hips started moving - he was, he thought, so overwhelmed with everything Pete that he didn't realize how hard he was grinding against Pete's hip until his body shuddered an early warning. "Fuck, Pete. I'm about to ..."
"Do it. God, just do it, just come."
Patrick's body didn't need any more encouragement. He buried his face in Pete's neck and let the orgasm take over. When he was done, he looked up to see Pete staring at him with an expression that looked almost hungry. Patrick leaned in to nip at Pete's bottom lip at the same time he reached down and grasped Pete's cock again. It was only a minute or so until Pete spilled all over his hand, his eyes never leaving Patrick's face. Afterward, they both turned over onto their backs to catch their breath. "Shit," Patrick said to the ceiling. "It's been a while. I'm not usually that ... fast."
Pete laughed. "If you want slower, there's always next time."
Patrick turned his head to look at Pete. He was pretty sure the grin that spread across his face was seriously goofy looking, but he was too wrung out to care. "I'll hold you to that."
The bed was disgusting, but Pete wouldn't let him leave. "Just put a blanket down between us and the bed, or something like that." Pete's arms wound around Patrick's waist, and he curled up against Patrick's body. "I sleep better when you're around."
There was no way Patrick could possibly say no to that. So, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of Pete's breath gently huffing in his ear.
One day during breakfast, Mikey sat down next to Patrick. “Hey, did you know Pete’s birthday is next week?”
Patrick blinked. “No.”
“I figured. He sucks at telling people. But then he gets all depressed if his birthday goes by and no one says anything.”
“Even if it’s his own fault?”
“Yeah.” Mikey shrugged, looking sideways at Patrick and grinning. “Welcome to Pete Wentz.”
Patrick thought for a while, but no ideas came to him until he was coming off shift the next day. Pete was just starting his shift, and he groped Patrick’s ass as they passed through the control room. In return, Patrick elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow!” Pete danced away. “That hurt, motherfucker.”
“Don’t pinch my ass, then.”
“But it’s such a nice ass.”
“Grope your boyfriend on your own time, Wentz.” Ryland pushed Pete toward the airlock. “We have three drills to look after.”
“And I have a nap to take,” Patrick added.
“Speaking of sleep …” Pete fluttered his eyelashes at Patrick as he walked backwards next to Ryland. “Will you sing me a lullaby tonight, Patrick?”
“Only if you promise to never pinch my ass again.”
“You’re no fun.” Pete stuck his bottom lip out, but a grin marred the expression. “Fine, I promise.”
Patrick was halfway down the hall to his room when inspiration struck. He turned around and headed for engineering. Gabe stood in the middle of his office, draped in wires and turning around in circles. “You okay?”
“Can’t remember where I put my power drill.” Gabe shrugged, and several cables fell from his shoulders. “Oh well. That can wait. What can I do for you, my impossibly short friend?”
“Do we have any recording equipment stashed around here?”
“Video or audio?” Gabe waggled his eyebrows. “If you want video, I have a great setup that might suit your purposes.”
“My purposes … oh. Fuck off, that’s not what I was asking you for.”
“Too bad. The word is you and Pete have an awesome sex life, at least by the sound of it.”
“The sound …” Patrick felt himself flush red. “Who’s heard us?”
“William lives next door to Pete, remember?”
“Right. Remind me to punch him, will you?”
“He’s twice your size. He would pound you into the ground.”
“We are talking about William, right? Looks like he would break in a heavy wind?” Despite himself, Patrick laughed. “No, seriously, I’m actually looking for audio equipment.”
“I might have a piece or two hiding around here somewhere. What are you going to use it for?”
“Recording.”
“Well, that’s not vague at all.”
Patrick shrugged. “It’s a surprise. For Pete. His birthday’s coming up, or so I hear.”
“Oh, yeah! Nearly forgot about that. Time to drag out the good tequila and the old Earth movies.” Gabe nodded. “All right. I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and guess you’re recording vocals of some sort?”
“Good guess.”
“I have something for you. The quality kinda blows, but it gets the job done. We frankensteined something together last year to pull a prank on Greta. We made her believe her room was haunted for a little while. It was awesome.”
“I can only imagine how she got back at you.”
“Swiftly and viciously.” Gabe grinned. “I have to say, it was almost awesome to see all my underwear tied to the rafters in the cargo bay. I think one of my pairs of boxers might still be out there.”
“Oh, is that what that blue thing is over by the exit?”
“Yep. It seems like it belongs there by now.”
Gabe fetched a large box; inside, a comm system speaker had wires looped all around the back, as well as a smaller box attached at the bottom. “We just fed it back into itself, so instead of broadcasting to someplace else, it goes into a portable drive. Just stick some memory in there and you’re good to go.”
Patrick took the device back to his room. He played with it for four days straight, whenever he had time to himself without the threat of a Pete interruption. By the time Pete’s birthday rolled around, he had something he wasn’t totally ashamed of. It wasn’t as good as he wanted it to be, but … well, he was out of time, and it was something, anyway.
They shared a shift that day; afterward, Patrick bumped his shoulder into Pete. “Hey, let’s take some food back to my room and hang out.”
“Can’t wait to get your hands on me, is that it?” Pete grinned and put an arm around Patrick’s waist.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Back in his room, Patrick dug a small data stick out of his bedside drawer and frowned at it for a moment. Pete noticed him. “What’s that?”
“It’s …” Patrick shrugged. He tossed it in the air and caught it once. “Oh, what the hell.” He threw it to Pete. “Happy birthday.”
“What?” Pete caught the stick and held it between his fingers. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, and how did you know?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“Huh.” Pete looked at the stick. The corners of his mouth began to turn upward. “What is it?”
“Put it into the comm. Or,” Patrick suggested hastily, “you can do it when you go back to your room. Maybe that’s better.”
“No way, now I’m all curious.” Pete rolled his chair over to Patrick’s comm unit and started fiddling with it. Patrick sat on the bed and tried not to freak out. It was dumb, his brain decided, why did he think that this was a good gift idea?
A moment later, music poured out of the comm’s speaker. Patrick had talked Brendon out of the guitar he kept stashed in his room (and had sworn him to a rare week of secret-keeping). It had been forever since he’d played a guitar, but after a few missed notes, the memories of old songs came flowing back. Those songs filled the room now - some songs that had been popular on the core planets back when Patrick had been regularly playing music, some songs his father had taught him, and even a couple of songs Patrick had written himself. One - the last one on the recording - he’d written hastily in a few hours, just a couple of days before. The lyrics talked about flying, and falling, and maybe they were kind of lame but the words that came out had reminded him of Pete …
… shit. He’d just written a love song, hadn’t he?
Pete didn’t speak while he listened. Patrick twisted his hands in his lap and just watched Pete’s face; he couldn’t properly interpret the expression, which looked either enthralled or shocked. And it was weird, hearing his own voice filling the room. It had been so long since he’d sang … except for Pete. Well, he was just singing for Pete now, wasn’t he? It was just more permanent. And that was a little frightening.
After the music drifted off, Pete stared at the comm for a long time. Finally, Patrick stood up and paced across the room. “I don’t know, I just thought that since you always asked me to sing for you, you might like …”
“Patrick?”
“What?”
“Holy shit.” Suddenly, Pete was on his feet and across the room. He grabbed Patrick’s face and pulled him into a messy kiss that lasted long enough for Patrick to melt into Pete’s body and grab his waist for support. When he pulled back, Pete kept Patrick’s face framed in his hands. “You gave me music.”
“Yeah, well, you always like when I sing for you.”
“Yeah, I do. I really do.” Pete pulled at the hem of Patrick’s shirt. “I also like it when you’re naked. You should be naked now.”
There was a light in Pete’s eyes that made Patrick’s breath catch. He was fucked. Totally, thoroughly fucked, in every way.
… including the physical, which Pete gleefully proved right then and there.
Later, laying sweaty and wrung out in bed, Pete crawled over and draped himself over Patrick’s chest. He rested his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and regarded him. Patrick had to inch backward a bit so his eyes didn’t cross from looking at Pete at such a strange angle. “So,” Patrick said, “you liked the music, then?”
“No, I despised it, I never want to hear you sing again.” Pete pinched him. “Of course I did. It’s amazing. There were a few songs I’ve never heard before. Did you write them?”
“A couple, yeah.”
“What about the last one? I loved that one.”
Patrick looked up at the ceiling. “No,” he lied. “It’s a song I remembered from a while back. I used to play it before I got my job with the company.”
“It’s amazing. You should sing it again.”
Patrick looked back down at him. “What, now? I think my voice is fucked. Your fault, remember?”
“Yeah, that was awesome.” Pete grinned and kissed the hollow of Patrick’s throat. “The moral of the story is that you have a great mouth, whether you’re singing or …”
Patrick grumbled and flipped Pete onto his back before he could finish the thought. As he kissed Pete silent, he valiantly ignored the voice in the back of his head that kept trying to break free with three words he was absolutely, positively not going to say aloud, not to Pete. Even if he kind of wanted to.
Fucked. He was so, so fucked.
Mikey was the comm tech on duty when a rare dispatch from company HQ came in. Patrick was asleep in his quarters; he woke up to the insistent buzz of his door alarm. When he opened the door, he blinked blearily in the light until a vague Mikey sort of shape coalesced in front of him. "Hey," Mikey said, "check your personal comm, you got a message from Gamma 6."
"It couldn't wait a couple of hours?" Patrick grumbled. Then he stiffened. "It's not my family, is it?"
"No, no," Mikey assured hastily. "It's good news ... I think."
"Huh."
When he closed the door again, he turned back to see Pete sitting up in bed, blinking blearily. "What's up?" he asked, yawning?
"I don't know. Mikey said he put a message through to me. Didn't say what it was, though."
"What could be important enough to wake us up at this hour?"
"It's after noon station time," Patrick pointed out.
"And we got off shift at six in the morning, what's your point?"
"The point is, it sounds important." Patrick moved over to his comm and punched in his access code.
To Patrick's shock, the address that popped up was from the Undersecretary's office - no, he realized, reading closer, it was directly from the Undersecretary himself. Patrick had only spoken to the man once in his life, when he was doing his initial job training on Gamma 6. The Undersecretary had come in to one of their orientation meetings to personally congratulate everyone on their employment and wish them luck - an impersonal conversation, nothing that would ever make Patrick think he'd get a personal message from the man. Yet, here it was. The message was short and sweet. I have just been notified of the error in your last placement. I have reassigned you to an open communications position on Heron. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused, and for the time it took to correct the mistake. A transport will arrive to collect you in one week.
Patrick reread the message four times before it sank in. He'd been reassigned. To Heron, Gamma 6's primary moon. It was almost as good as getting an assignment directly to the planet, or so everyone thought. Heron had breathable atmosphere. He'd be close enough to his family to hop a transport home for dinner after his shift, if he wanted. And Heron was close enough to the system's sun that the temperature never warranted so much as a heavy jacket. It was one of the most coveted assignments for any company employee. It was exactly what Patrick had wanted.
"What's up?" Pete asked. Patrick heard the blankets rustle behind him, followed by Pete's footsteps. "Something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Um. Well." Patrick closed his eyes as Pete leaned over his shoulder. A moment later, he felt Pete retreat. "Yeah. That wasn't what I was expecting."
"Congratulations, I guess."
"Um. Wow." Patrick didn't turn around. He just stared at the screen blankly. "I mean, Heron … everyone wants a job on Heron. Open comm positions only come up once every few years."
“So, you’re going?”
“I guess. I’d be a fool not to.”
Patrick regretted the words the minute he said them. There was a brief silence. "Then that's great. I'm happy for you." Pete sounded anything but happy.
Patrick finally turned around to see Pete rummaging around on the floor for his clothes. "Hey, Pete ..."
"It's cool." Pete didn't look up. "I mean, we joke about nobody ever making it out of here alive, but really, you're only the third person I've ever seen get promoted from here. That's good, right?"
"Well ... yeah, I guess."
Pete finished pulling on his clothes and finally turned around. His blank stare made Patrick's stomach turn over. "Trust me," he said softly, "once you get home, this whole place will seem like a bad dream to you."
"Pete, I ..."
"I should go. I have work to do."
"You're not on shift for another four hours."
"I'm behind on paperwork."
"Pete ..."
Pete straightened his shoulders and fastened an obviously fake smile on his face. "No, really, Patrick. I'm happy for you. I know you wanted to go home."
When Pete disappeared through the door, Patrick was no longer sure what he actually wanted.
“Give him a few days,” Bebe advised as she and Patrick worked on inventory in the med bay supply closet. “Pete always gets stupid and dramatic when one of his affairs ends. But he always comes around in the end.”
“Maybe,” Patrick said doubtfully. For the last day and a half, Pete had been turning and walking the opposite direction every time he saw Patrick coming.
“Trust me. You should have seen him when he and Mikey first broke up. He sat up in the lounge for days, barely talking to anyone.”
Patrick sighed. “You’ll make sure he sleeps at some point, right?”
“I’ll attack him with a hypo-needle full of sedative, if necessary.” Bebe put an arm around Patrick’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you, dollface.”
“Likewise.” He pulled Bebe in for a hug, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I hate starting new jobs, you know,” he said. “Trying to figure out where you fit in with new people, learning the unwritten rules, all of that. Quite frankly, this has been the easiest job I’ve had when it comes to all that.”
Bebe laughed. “I know what you mean. When I started, I was so used to having to prove myself - all the other places I worked, so many people assumed that because I was small and pretty, I couldn’t be a competent medic. I hated that trial period, working twice as hard to earn what little respect I could muster. I never had to do that here.” Bebe pulled back and shrugged. “I know people think this place is a nightmare, a punishment, but I wouldn’t work anywhere else.”
Patrick thought about that statement for the rest of the day. Clandestine was, by his count, the sixth assignment he’d been on. Prior to this job, the happiest he could remember being was on Elezed II, where the work had been kind of shitty, but the team he worked with had been close enough to go out drinking after every shift. He spent a lot of time on that job hung over, but the relationships made up for the problems the work had presented. Even there, though, he couldn’t remember anyone who hugged him goodbye before he left. They toasted him the last night of drinking, but no one had sought him out to say a personal goodbye.
He ended up in Gerard and Frank’s room after his shift that day, playing a video game on the giant console Gerard had somehow managed to bring to the station with him. “I built this thing back at my last job. Mikey and I had been separated to stations on opposite sides of the planet, and the people I worked with sucked.” Gerard made a face. “So, I spent all my free time scavenging parts from the electronics graveyard and building something to play the games Mikey and I used to play when we were kids. When we got reassigned here, I spent all my savings buying cargo space on the shuttle to take it with me.”
“Why?” Patrick asked.
“Because it meant something to me.” Gerard shrugged. “And because I wanted to play games with Mikey again.”
“And I just muscled my way into one of your games on your third night here,” Frank said cheerfully.
“Yeah. I hadn’t even worked with Frank yet,” Gerard told Patrick, “but he and Mikey worked a couple of shifts, and Mikey brought him back to my room one night. I was pissed. I was sorta in bad shape back then, and didn’t want to talk to anyone who wasn’t Mikey.”
“I wore you down.”
“You did. Motherfucker.”
Patrick looked away when Frank leaned over and nipped at Gerard’s ear. The weight in the pit of his stomach, which he’d been trying to ignore since his reassignment came, threatened to make him puke. Instead, he focused on the console screen and started killing blue aliens. It wasn’t as satisfying as he wanted it to be.
During a break in the game, Frank scooted closer to Patrick and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
“Me either.”
“But it’ll be good, right?” Frank’s eyes searched Patrick’s face. “You’ll be near your family. That means a lot.”
“It does. My mom’s been sending me messages daily, talking about all the things that have changed, things she wants me to see. And I’ll get to eat her cooking again, which beats everything around here for sure.” Frank laughed, and Patrick managed a smile. “It’s going to be good.”
Patrick just wished he could convince himself of that.
Part Three
Part One
It became an erratic routine. Patrick started checking the lounge before he went to bed most nights; every so often, Pete would be lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and Patrick would go in and distract him. They talked about the most random topics - worst childhood dreams, first crushes, the pros and cons of the company-backed candidate for prime minister of Gamma 6 - but the nights always ended with Patrick singing Pete to sleep. They were always alone, but that didn't mean the station gossip system didn't get a hold of the information. "So," Brendon said, perching on the edge of the comm station after Patrick relieved him one day, "what's up with you and Pete?"
"What?" Patrick was distracted enough by his routine system check that he didn't register the question for a few moments. Then, he looked up and narrowed his eyes at Brendon. "Um, nothing?"
"That's not what I hear," Brendon said in a singsong voice.
"Please enlighten me." Patrick sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Hey, it's nothing bad or anything," Brendon said hastily, noticing the expression on Patrick's face. "It's just that you guys have been spending a lot of time together late at night. People talk about that kind of thing. And Pete hasn't been hanging all over Bebe or Mikey or Ryan or anybody, like he usually does. So some people are thinking ..."
"They're thinking wrong," Patrick said. He turned back to the console to hide the flush that he could feel spreading across his cheeks. "We're just hanging out. No big deal."
Later, when Pete came in to suit up for his run to Drill 6, Patrick thought about Brendon's question and had a momentary urge to bang his head against his console. Because yeah, he could lie to Brendon, no problem, but he knew damned well that he was nursing a major crush on Pete. And maybe Pete flirted, or did things that looked like flirting, but ... well, Pete flirted with everyone, and besides, Patrick knew exactly what happened when you misinterpreted a coworker's signals. At his last job, he'd mistaken someone's friendliness for something more. After a surprised "oh, god, I'm sorry, you're a really nice guy, but ...", things were markedly awkward for weeks afterward. She'd worked in a totally different department - if he'd been miserable seeing her once a day, how would it feel to have that awkward dance every time Pete wandered in and out of the control room? No, Patrick had learned his lesson. He wouldn't be making any first moves.
When Pete came over to Patrick's console and rested his chin on Patrick's head, Patrick shoved him backward. "Aww, is someone in a bad mood?" Pete asked, jabbing Patrick's shoulder with a finger.
"Someone is trying to work, asshole," Patrick grumbled.
"Right, patching through the nine million incoming transmissions we get. Because we're the most popular base in the galaxy."
"Drill 7's control room still has a shitty connection. I'm trying to repair it before you idiots head out there, so you don't freeze to death if something goes wrong."
"My hero," Pete said in a singsong voice. "Whatever would I do without you?"
Patrick swiveled around in his chair to find Pete grinning that giant, dopey grin at him, the one that shouldn't be quite as attractive as it actually was. Shit. Patrick found himself grinning, but he turned back around to mask it. "Go take a walk, the freezing cold awaits."
A moment later, Patrick felt Pete's arms encircle his waist, and Pete's chin appeared on his shoulder. "Will you warm me up when I get back?" Pete asked, his mouth too close to Patrick's ear for comfort.
Patrick twisted his head - possibly a mistake, because that put his face close enough to Pete's that he could feel Pete's breath washing over his skin. If he decided to lean just a millimeter closer ... Patrick swallowed. Pete's grin was fading into something softer, less mocking, and Patrick didn't quite know how to interpret the expression.
There was a sudden crash from the other side of the room, and Patrick slid backwards out of Pete's grasp without thinking. They both turned to see William tossing pens at Frank over an overturned - thankfully empty - shelving unit while Frank used his helmet as a shield. "Please go," William said, "before you guys completely trash our control room."
"Hey," Pete protested, "I didn't do anything!"
"This time."
"That's all that matters."
Patrick bent back over his console to hide the flush he could feel on his cheeks. He didn't look up until he heard someone begin to key in the opening sequence for the airlock. Pete was looking in his direction, but with his helmet on, Patrick couldn't see his expression. He figured he was better off that way.
"Guess what day it is!" Gabe practically sang as he skipped - yes, skipped - into the control room.
"If it's the fifth Galactic Day of Cobra Worship of the year," Victoria said as she stripped off her pressure suit, "just remember, if you try to remove any of my clothing again, I will relocate your balls into your throat."
Undaunted, Gabe smiled at her. "Good guess, but no, it's even better. It's Emergency Drill Day!"
The rest of the control room groaned. Patrick just narrowed his gaze. "Why, precisely, does that make it a good day?"
"Because," Ray said from his station in the corner, "it's the day Gabe gets to mercilessly torture us and get paid for it."
"It's the day we all learn station safety, boys and girls!" Gabe clapped his hands together. "Now you have more warning than I should have given you, so be prepared, motherfuckers."
Gabe skipped out, and Victoria sighed. "Oh, good. Okay, folks, I'll start the pot - five credits to get in, how many times does he set off the alarm during our shift?"
"Twelve," Ray guessed, and Victoria tapped something into her hand-held data pad.
"Sixteen," Travis offered from his station across the room.
"I'm going all in and predicting we get to twenty." Ryland held his hand out to Victoria, and she shook it solemnly. "And if we top twenty, someone takes my next kitchen shift."
"I think he's going to psych us all out," Victoria said. She grinned at Ryland. "If we don't get to ten, you get my next kitchen shift."
"Deal."
She looked at Patrick. "What about you?"
He shook his head. "I think I'll stay firmly in the middle, and go with fourteen. And wonder why none of you have killed Gabe yet."
"They'd never send us another engineer, and none of us want to deal with that bullshit," Ray said.
"And I'm half afraid the fucker will come back and haunt me," Ryland added.
In the end, Ray won the pot - they ended up having to secure the control room eleven different times during the course of the shift. By the end, Patrick figured he could do the whole process in his sleep; the alarm would sound, the doors to the control room would seal from the outside, and everyone would man their posts. Patrick sent imaginary distress signals and checked the status of each drill's comm system. Ray and Travis backed up all their work onto data discs that went into an emergency storage box, and Victoria and Ryland spent the day going from drill to drill, making sure the emergency survival kits were fully stocked. "At least we're not on Gabe's crew," Victoria said as she stripped off her pressure suit after the eighth drill.
"Does he torture his own even more than us?" Patrick asked.
"Oh yeah. They all have to take a turn heading outside and climbing onto the station roof to look for cracks or weaknesses."
Patrick shuddered. "Better them than me."
"Exactly. Especially since Gabe sets little traps for them before he does the drills. After the last one, Marshall had welts on his wrists for days." When Patrick raised an eyebrow, Victoria shook her head at him. "Don't ask. You're already phobic about the outside."
"Got it."
After his shift was over, Patrick found Pete in the lounge. "You missed all the fun," he said, sitting down next to him on the couch.
"No, I didn't." Pete rolled his eyes. "I spent the day holed up in my office, finishing all the stupid paperwork I never do. Gabe has entire checklists full of things that the company requires us to have available in case of disaster. I don't even bother unless Gabe kicks my ass." He fluttered his eyelashes at Patrick. "I'm exhausted. Take care of me."
"You're exhausted?" Patrick poked him. "I crawled around on the floor for the better part of six hours, checking all the comm connections. And you spent all day sitting at your desk? My heart bleeds."
"Whatever, remember how you sit in a chair all day while I drag my ass around outside? You're due a little physical activity."
"Fuck off, I totally do physical things."
"Like what?"
"Like helping haul Nate's sorry ass into the med bay the other day. He tried to tell me something about a dare and an air duct, but I didn't want to know."
Pete snorted. "Fucker. He lied to me, I'm gonna make him give me my 20 credits back."
Patrick looked sideways at him. "... no, I still don't want to know."
"Come on, you're small, you could totally fit in there."
"Fit in where?" When Pete opened his mouth, Patrick held up a hand. "No. I'm not shoving myself into an air duct for money. Or whatever it is you're doing."
"Well, then, I have other ideas to get you some physical activity." Pete laughed. "Okay, wow, that was a lame pickup line, even for me."
"A pickup ..." Patrick trailed off.
Pete squirmed in his seat, but after a moment, he spread his hands and looked Patrick in the eye. "Listen. If I've been barking up the wrong tree, just tell me, and I'll stop. I'm not the kind of boss who sexually harasses anyone unless they really want it."
"Are you telling me you've been trying to seduce me?"
"Of course I have. You really didn't know? I thought I was doing everything but spray painting 'fuck me, Patrick' on the control room wall." When Patrick simply stared at him, Pete started babbling. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell when I'm not wanted unless someone tells me. Or hits me, that's happened a bunch of times too. Why don't you just punch me and we can go back to normal?"
"Pete?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up, will you?" With that, he took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed Pete.
One moment, Patrick was twisting awkwardly in his seat to reach Pete; the next, he found himself pressed into the back of the couch, Pete looming over him. Pete pulled back from the kiss and looked at Patrick. "For real?"
"Yes, for real." Patrick's voice sounded breathless to his ears. "I didn't think you ..."
"You're an idiot."
"Takes one to know one."
A large, goofy smile spread across Pete's face. "Of course it does."
In another quick move, Pete jumped up and pulled Patrick to his feet. Patrick allowed himself to be dragged into the hallway and, eventually, into Pete's quarters. Inside, Patrick looked around. "Really? This is smaller than my room."
Pete shrugged. "It's the room I was given when I got assigned here. I was too lazy to move when I got promoted. Besides," he added, shoving Patrick toward the bed that took up nearly half the space in the room, "the important part is big enough."
"There's a joke about big somewhere ..." Patrick was cut off when Pete pushed him onto his back and straddled him on the bed.
Pete leaned over him; his hips pressed lightly against Patrick's, and Patrick felt his cock respond to the contact. Pete laughed and nuzzled his ear. "Shit," he murmured. His breath sent shivers down Patrick's skin. "I've been waiting for this."
They spent the next few minutes kissing and touching and pulling frantically at unwanted clothing. Even more of Pete's skin was covered in dark ink than Patrick had previously thought. He rolled Pete onto his back and traced the patterns on his hips with his fingers. Pete made a low, urgent sound at the back of his throat when Patrick's fingers ventured close to the dark hair between his legs. "If you don't start actually touching me," Pete said roughly, "I may punch you. Just a warning."
Grinning, Patrick licked the palm of his hand and wrapped it around Pete's cock. Pete's hips arched up off the bed. Patrick stroked him slowly a few times before letting go and straddling Pete's legs. He scooted close enough that their cocks brushed against each other, sending pleasant shocks up Patrick's spine. In response, Pete reached down and grabbed both their cocks in one hand. Their skin was slick enough with sweat already that when Pete's hand moved up and down, the slight pain of friction was nearly overshadowed by the sensation of being caught between Pete's cock and calloused hands. His vision swam, and he leaned over far enough to put his hands on the bed. "God, Pete. Fuck."
"Is that a request?" Pete's voice was rough; when Patrick looked at him, his eyes seemed nearly black.
Patrick let the mental image wash over him for a moment. "No," he said, more than a bit reluctantly. "Because I don't think I'm going to last long enough for that."
"Me either."
Pete let go and nudged Patrick back down onto the bed. He stretched out on his side and pulled Patrick to him for a deep, filthy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and little moans that seemed to vibrate somewhere inside Patrick's skin. He didn't know when their hips started moving - he was, he thought, so overwhelmed with everything Pete that he didn't realize how hard he was grinding against Pete's hip until his body shuddered an early warning. "Fuck, Pete. I'm about to ..."
"Do it. God, just do it, just come."
Patrick's body didn't need any more encouragement. He buried his face in Pete's neck and let the orgasm take over. When he was done, he looked up to see Pete staring at him with an expression that looked almost hungry. Patrick leaned in to nip at Pete's bottom lip at the same time he reached down and grasped Pete's cock again. It was only a minute or so until Pete spilled all over his hand, his eyes never leaving Patrick's face. Afterward, they both turned over onto their backs to catch their breath. "Shit," Patrick said to the ceiling. "It's been a while. I'm not usually that ... fast."
Pete laughed. "If you want slower, there's always next time."
Patrick turned his head to look at Pete. He was pretty sure the grin that spread across his face was seriously goofy looking, but he was too wrung out to care. "I'll hold you to that."
The bed was disgusting, but Pete wouldn't let him leave. "Just put a blanket down between us and the bed, or something like that." Pete's arms wound around Patrick's waist, and he curled up against Patrick's body. "I sleep better when you're around."
There was no way Patrick could possibly say no to that. So, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of Pete's breath gently huffing in his ear.
One day during breakfast, Mikey sat down next to Patrick. “Hey, did you know Pete’s birthday is next week?”
Patrick blinked. “No.”
“I figured. He sucks at telling people. But then he gets all depressed if his birthday goes by and no one says anything.”
“Even if it’s his own fault?”
“Yeah.” Mikey shrugged, looking sideways at Patrick and grinning. “Welcome to Pete Wentz.”
Patrick thought for a while, but no ideas came to him until he was coming off shift the next day. Pete was just starting his shift, and he groped Patrick’s ass as they passed through the control room. In return, Patrick elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow!” Pete danced away. “That hurt, motherfucker.”
“Don’t pinch my ass, then.”
“But it’s such a nice ass.”
“Grope your boyfriend on your own time, Wentz.” Ryland pushed Pete toward the airlock. “We have three drills to look after.”
“And I have a nap to take,” Patrick added.
“Speaking of sleep …” Pete fluttered his eyelashes at Patrick as he walked backwards next to Ryland. “Will you sing me a lullaby tonight, Patrick?”
“Only if you promise to never pinch my ass again.”
“You’re no fun.” Pete stuck his bottom lip out, but a grin marred the expression. “Fine, I promise.”
Patrick was halfway down the hall to his room when inspiration struck. He turned around and headed for engineering. Gabe stood in the middle of his office, draped in wires and turning around in circles. “You okay?”
“Can’t remember where I put my power drill.” Gabe shrugged, and several cables fell from his shoulders. “Oh well. That can wait. What can I do for you, my impossibly short friend?”
“Do we have any recording equipment stashed around here?”
“Video or audio?” Gabe waggled his eyebrows. “If you want video, I have a great setup that might suit your purposes.”
“My purposes … oh. Fuck off, that’s not what I was asking you for.”
“Too bad. The word is you and Pete have an awesome sex life, at least by the sound of it.”
“The sound …” Patrick felt himself flush red. “Who’s heard us?”
“William lives next door to Pete, remember?”
“Right. Remind me to punch him, will you?”
“He’s twice your size. He would pound you into the ground.”
“We are talking about William, right? Looks like he would break in a heavy wind?” Despite himself, Patrick laughed. “No, seriously, I’m actually looking for audio equipment.”
“I might have a piece or two hiding around here somewhere. What are you going to use it for?”
“Recording.”
“Well, that’s not vague at all.”
Patrick shrugged. “It’s a surprise. For Pete. His birthday’s coming up, or so I hear.”
“Oh, yeah! Nearly forgot about that. Time to drag out the good tequila and the old Earth movies.” Gabe nodded. “All right. I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and guess you’re recording vocals of some sort?”
“Good guess.”
“I have something for you. The quality kinda blows, but it gets the job done. We frankensteined something together last year to pull a prank on Greta. We made her believe her room was haunted for a little while. It was awesome.”
“I can only imagine how she got back at you.”
“Swiftly and viciously.” Gabe grinned. “I have to say, it was almost awesome to see all my underwear tied to the rafters in the cargo bay. I think one of my pairs of boxers might still be out there.”
“Oh, is that what that blue thing is over by the exit?”
“Yep. It seems like it belongs there by now.”
Gabe fetched a large box; inside, a comm system speaker had wires looped all around the back, as well as a smaller box attached at the bottom. “We just fed it back into itself, so instead of broadcasting to someplace else, it goes into a portable drive. Just stick some memory in there and you’re good to go.”
Patrick took the device back to his room. He played with it for four days straight, whenever he had time to himself without the threat of a Pete interruption. By the time Pete’s birthday rolled around, he had something he wasn’t totally ashamed of. It wasn’t as good as he wanted it to be, but … well, he was out of time, and it was something, anyway.
They shared a shift that day; afterward, Patrick bumped his shoulder into Pete. “Hey, let’s take some food back to my room and hang out.”
“Can’t wait to get your hands on me, is that it?” Pete grinned and put an arm around Patrick’s waist.
“Something like that, yeah.”
Back in his room, Patrick dug a small data stick out of his bedside drawer and frowned at it for a moment. Pete noticed him. “What’s that?”
“It’s …” Patrick shrugged. He tossed it in the air and caught it once. “Oh, what the hell.” He threw it to Pete. “Happy birthday.”
“What?” Pete caught the stick and held it between his fingers. “My birthday isn’t until tomorrow, and how did you know?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“Huh.” Pete looked at the stick. The corners of his mouth began to turn upward. “What is it?”
“Put it into the comm. Or,” Patrick suggested hastily, “you can do it when you go back to your room. Maybe that’s better.”
“No way, now I’m all curious.” Pete rolled his chair over to Patrick’s comm unit and started fiddling with it. Patrick sat on the bed and tried not to freak out. It was dumb, his brain decided, why did he think that this was a good gift idea?
A moment later, music poured out of the comm’s speaker. Patrick had talked Brendon out of the guitar he kept stashed in his room (and had sworn him to a rare week of secret-keeping). It had been forever since he’d played a guitar, but after a few missed notes, the memories of old songs came flowing back. Those songs filled the room now - some songs that had been popular on the core planets back when Patrick had been regularly playing music, some songs his father had taught him, and even a couple of songs Patrick had written himself. One - the last one on the recording - he’d written hastily in a few hours, just a couple of days before. The lyrics talked about flying, and falling, and maybe they were kind of lame but the words that came out had reminded him of Pete …
… shit. He’d just written a love song, hadn’t he?
Pete didn’t speak while he listened. Patrick twisted his hands in his lap and just watched Pete’s face; he couldn’t properly interpret the expression, which looked either enthralled or shocked. And it was weird, hearing his own voice filling the room. It had been so long since he’d sang … except for Pete. Well, he was just singing for Pete now, wasn’t he? It was just more permanent. And that was a little frightening.
After the music drifted off, Pete stared at the comm for a long time. Finally, Patrick stood up and paced across the room. “I don’t know, I just thought that since you always asked me to sing for you, you might like …”
“Patrick?”
“What?”
“Holy shit.” Suddenly, Pete was on his feet and across the room. He grabbed Patrick’s face and pulled him into a messy kiss that lasted long enough for Patrick to melt into Pete’s body and grab his waist for support. When he pulled back, Pete kept Patrick’s face framed in his hands. “You gave me music.”
“Yeah, well, you always like when I sing for you.”
“Yeah, I do. I really do.” Pete pulled at the hem of Patrick’s shirt. “I also like it when you’re naked. You should be naked now.”
There was a light in Pete’s eyes that made Patrick’s breath catch. He was fucked. Totally, thoroughly fucked, in every way.
… including the physical, which Pete gleefully proved right then and there.
Later, laying sweaty and wrung out in bed, Pete crawled over and draped himself over Patrick’s chest. He rested his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and regarded him. Patrick had to inch backward a bit so his eyes didn’t cross from looking at Pete at such a strange angle. “So,” Patrick said, “you liked the music, then?”
“No, I despised it, I never want to hear you sing again.” Pete pinched him. “Of course I did. It’s amazing. There were a few songs I’ve never heard before. Did you write them?”
“A couple, yeah.”
“What about the last one? I loved that one.”
Patrick looked up at the ceiling. “No,” he lied. “It’s a song I remembered from a while back. I used to play it before I got my job with the company.”
“It’s amazing. You should sing it again.”
Patrick looked back down at him. “What, now? I think my voice is fucked. Your fault, remember?”
“Yeah, that was awesome.” Pete grinned and kissed the hollow of Patrick’s throat. “The moral of the story is that you have a great mouth, whether you’re singing or …”
Patrick grumbled and flipped Pete onto his back before he could finish the thought. As he kissed Pete silent, he valiantly ignored the voice in the back of his head that kept trying to break free with three words he was absolutely, positively not going to say aloud, not to Pete. Even if he kind of wanted to.
Fucked. He was so, so fucked.
Mikey was the comm tech on duty when a rare dispatch from company HQ came in. Patrick was asleep in his quarters; he woke up to the insistent buzz of his door alarm. When he opened the door, he blinked blearily in the light until a vague Mikey sort of shape coalesced in front of him. "Hey," Mikey said, "check your personal comm, you got a message from Gamma 6."
"It couldn't wait a couple of hours?" Patrick grumbled. Then he stiffened. "It's not my family, is it?"
"No, no," Mikey assured hastily. "It's good news ... I think."
"Huh."
When he closed the door again, he turned back to see Pete sitting up in bed, blinking blearily. "What's up?" he asked, yawning?
"I don't know. Mikey said he put a message through to me. Didn't say what it was, though."
"What could be important enough to wake us up at this hour?"
"It's after noon station time," Patrick pointed out.
"And we got off shift at six in the morning, what's your point?"
"The point is, it sounds important." Patrick moved over to his comm and punched in his access code.
To Patrick's shock, the address that popped up was from the Undersecretary's office - no, he realized, reading closer, it was directly from the Undersecretary himself. Patrick had only spoken to the man once in his life, when he was doing his initial job training on Gamma 6. The Undersecretary had come in to one of their orientation meetings to personally congratulate everyone on their employment and wish them luck - an impersonal conversation, nothing that would ever make Patrick think he'd get a personal message from the man. Yet, here it was. The message was short and sweet. I have just been notified of the error in your last placement. I have reassigned you to an open communications position on Heron. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused, and for the time it took to correct the mistake. A transport will arrive to collect you in one week.
Patrick reread the message four times before it sank in. He'd been reassigned. To Heron, Gamma 6's primary moon. It was almost as good as getting an assignment directly to the planet, or so everyone thought. Heron had breathable atmosphere. He'd be close enough to his family to hop a transport home for dinner after his shift, if he wanted. And Heron was close enough to the system's sun that the temperature never warranted so much as a heavy jacket. It was one of the most coveted assignments for any company employee. It was exactly what Patrick had wanted.
"What's up?" Pete asked. Patrick heard the blankets rustle behind him, followed by Pete's footsteps. "Something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Um. Well." Patrick closed his eyes as Pete leaned over his shoulder. A moment later, he felt Pete retreat. "Yeah. That wasn't what I was expecting."
"Congratulations, I guess."
"Um. Wow." Patrick didn't turn around. He just stared at the screen blankly. "I mean, Heron … everyone wants a job on Heron. Open comm positions only come up once every few years."
“So, you’re going?”
“I guess. I’d be a fool not to.”
Patrick regretted the words the minute he said them. There was a brief silence. "Then that's great. I'm happy for you." Pete sounded anything but happy.
Patrick finally turned around to see Pete rummaging around on the floor for his clothes. "Hey, Pete ..."
"It's cool." Pete didn't look up. "I mean, we joke about nobody ever making it out of here alive, but really, you're only the third person I've ever seen get promoted from here. That's good, right?"
"Well ... yeah, I guess."
Pete finished pulling on his clothes and finally turned around. His blank stare made Patrick's stomach turn over. "Trust me," he said softly, "once you get home, this whole place will seem like a bad dream to you."
"Pete, I ..."
"I should go. I have work to do."
"You're not on shift for another four hours."
"I'm behind on paperwork."
"Pete ..."
Pete straightened his shoulders and fastened an obviously fake smile on his face. "No, really, Patrick. I'm happy for you. I know you wanted to go home."
When Pete disappeared through the door, Patrick was no longer sure what he actually wanted.
“Give him a few days,” Bebe advised as she and Patrick worked on inventory in the med bay supply closet. “Pete always gets stupid and dramatic when one of his affairs ends. But he always comes around in the end.”
“Maybe,” Patrick said doubtfully. For the last day and a half, Pete had been turning and walking the opposite direction every time he saw Patrick coming.
“Trust me. You should have seen him when he and Mikey first broke up. He sat up in the lounge for days, barely talking to anyone.”
Patrick sighed. “You’ll make sure he sleeps at some point, right?”
“I’ll attack him with a hypo-needle full of sedative, if necessary.” Bebe put an arm around Patrick’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you, dollface.”
“Likewise.” He pulled Bebe in for a hug, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I hate starting new jobs, you know,” he said. “Trying to figure out where you fit in with new people, learning the unwritten rules, all of that. Quite frankly, this has been the easiest job I’ve had when it comes to all that.”
Bebe laughed. “I know what you mean. When I started, I was so used to having to prove myself - all the other places I worked, so many people assumed that because I was small and pretty, I couldn’t be a competent medic. I hated that trial period, working twice as hard to earn what little respect I could muster. I never had to do that here.” Bebe pulled back and shrugged. “I know people think this place is a nightmare, a punishment, but I wouldn’t work anywhere else.”
Patrick thought about that statement for the rest of the day. Clandestine was, by his count, the sixth assignment he’d been on. Prior to this job, the happiest he could remember being was on Elezed II, where the work had been kind of shitty, but the team he worked with had been close enough to go out drinking after every shift. He spent a lot of time on that job hung over, but the relationships made up for the problems the work had presented. Even there, though, he couldn’t remember anyone who hugged him goodbye before he left. They toasted him the last night of drinking, but no one had sought him out to say a personal goodbye.
He ended up in Gerard and Frank’s room after his shift that day, playing a video game on the giant console Gerard had somehow managed to bring to the station with him. “I built this thing back at my last job. Mikey and I had been separated to stations on opposite sides of the planet, and the people I worked with sucked.” Gerard made a face. “So, I spent all my free time scavenging parts from the electronics graveyard and building something to play the games Mikey and I used to play when we were kids. When we got reassigned here, I spent all my savings buying cargo space on the shuttle to take it with me.”
“Why?” Patrick asked.
“Because it meant something to me.” Gerard shrugged. “And because I wanted to play games with Mikey again.”
“And I just muscled my way into one of your games on your third night here,” Frank said cheerfully.
“Yeah. I hadn’t even worked with Frank yet,” Gerard told Patrick, “but he and Mikey worked a couple of shifts, and Mikey brought him back to my room one night. I was pissed. I was sorta in bad shape back then, and didn’t want to talk to anyone who wasn’t Mikey.”
“I wore you down.”
“You did. Motherfucker.”
Patrick looked away when Frank leaned over and nipped at Gerard’s ear. The weight in the pit of his stomach, which he’d been trying to ignore since his reassignment came, threatened to make him puke. Instead, he focused on the console screen and started killing blue aliens. It wasn’t as satisfying as he wanted it to be.
During a break in the game, Frank scooted closer to Patrick and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
“Me either.”
“But it’ll be good, right?” Frank’s eyes searched Patrick’s face. “You’ll be near your family. That means a lot.”
“It does. My mom’s been sending me messages daily, talking about all the things that have changed, things she wants me to see. And I’ll get to eat her cooking again, which beats everything around here for sure.” Frank laughed, and Patrick managed a smile. “It’s going to be good.”
Patrick just wished he could convince himself of that.
Part Three