[fic: Wolf 359] Just Breathe
Sep. 7th, 2017 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frith_in_thornsTitle: Just Breathe (Wolf 359)
Word count: 1700 words
Characters: Renée Minkowski, Isobel Lovelace, Hera
Pairing: Gen-ish, also M/L-ish. However you want to read it I guess.
Content/Tags:Set during early season 4. Friendship, hugs, panic attacks. Fills the "hostile climate" square for hc_bingo.
AO3 link
Summary: Minkowski may have nearly died horribly, but the important thing is that she didn’t. So it’s all behind her now. No underlying trauma. Really.
-
It wasn't something she even considered as she and Lovelace did assignments for the day. Or even as she suited up. Only, finally, when the Hephaestus's air-lock clanked shut and clamped tight behind them.
And she was standing on the hull with… with paper, basically, with nothing between her and the entire, vast, spiralling universe. Barely anything protecting her from hyper-momentum dust clouds, from micro-asteroids, from ion hurricanes and solar tornadoes.
"Lieutenant," Hera said in her ear. She startled at the sound, motion damped by the suit. "I'm getting an alarm regarding your rate of oxygen consumption. Is everything all right?"
"Yes," Minkowski hissed, clamping her jaw shut on the word. Breathing. Breathing too fast. She tried to seize iron control of her lungs, forcing herself not to inhale. Her chest burned with the effort.
Lovelace had been behind her. Was now in front of her. "Minkowski, problem?"
Breathe out. Slowly, not in the rush that her body wanted. "No."
"Okay, can we hurry it up then? Can't leave the kids with no babysitter for long."
She lifted her mag-boot. Stepped, and it slapped back to the hull with a jolt. She could be on flat ground, with just a normal night sky above her. Just stars, from back when stars were distant, background things, not something from a nightmare.
Step, step, step. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
"Captain, I'm a bit worried about the O2 regulation in Lieutenant Minkowski's suit," Hera said.
Hera, I'm going to kill you. "It's fine," Minkowski said.
"What?" Lovelace stopped, and turned right around. "Her suit's faulty?"
"I don't know," Hera said. "Its air supply is depleting slightly faster than it should be."
"That sounds worrying."
"I don't mean she's about to suffocate," Hera hastened to add. "Just that you should cut your safety margin… in half, probably. And inspect it for microleaks when you get back inside."
"Noted." Lovelace's helmet swivelled between their destination and the way they'd come. "Minkowski, your call. Should we abort?"
If she didn't know there was absolutely nothing wrong with the suit she would have. But wasting a day's repairs to the Urania just because she couldn't get a grip? "Keep going," she said, shortly.
"Well, let me know if you change your mind."
Step, step, step. Her eyes were watering, and she realised it was because she had them wrenched so wide open, scouring the black around her for anything coming rushing towards her. She couldn't get the sound of her visor slowly cracking out of her ears.
"Hey!"
She had nearly walked right past the sensor panels they were outside to scavenge. "Ah." She concentrated on exhaling slowly.
Lovelace was looking towards her. "Lieutenant, you're acting weird."
"Am not."
"Are so. Isn't she, Hera?"
"Kind of, yeah," Hera agreed. "Are you worried about your oxygen? It's looking more normal now. Could just be a glitchy meter."
Minkowski gritted her teeth. "Can we just hurry up and get this over with?" she snapped. She had to snap — she didn't want them to hear how her breathing sounded if she had to pause in the middle of the words.
"You're definitely being weird," Lovelace said. "Don't think I won't get to the bottom of it."
Thankfully, she was more immediately interested in the task at hand than in playing detective. They took a panel each and Minkowski crouched down next to hers, fighting the instinct to grab hold of the hull and just cling onto it. Better than than the void surrounding. All impersonal. It wouldn't care as it swallowed her up.
She fought to loosen each bolt, finally prying the panel free. It was pitted and scratched. Microscopic space debris damage.
She fought to keep her breathing controlled.
Lovelace was already finished. Chatting to Hera. Watching her idly.
Minkowski straightened up. "I'm done," she said. It sounded normal.
"Glad to hear it," Lovelace said. "Let's get back inside. Hera, safety margin?"
"Oh, about twenty minutes," Hera said. "Plenty of time for sightseeing."
Step, step, step, back along the hull. Not so bad. And once they were back inside she would —
"Brace!" Hera snapped. "Ion front incoming!"
It hit barely a second later, the force of it nearly knocking her off-balance. She swayed, the magnetic latch of her footing the only thing that saved her from being swept off the station. The static hiss of the ion currents hitting her suit filled her ears, drowning her.
"—Minkowski, what the hell are you playing at?" But she could barely hear Lovelace over the roaring.
"Lieutenant —"
"— do you understand what brace means —"
sceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
A high-pitched squeal cut through everything else. She jerked violently. The ion front had gone. There was nothing fighting against her.
There wasn't enough air.
"Minkowski!" The hungry void was eclipsed by the globe of Lovelace's helmet. It was close enough to see her face inside. "Can. You. Hear. Me?"
She tried to speak, but she was just gasping in and out, far too fast, and she couldn't control it any more.
"Captain, what's wrong with her?"
"Hera, shut up," Lovelace said. "Minkowski. Lieutenant. Renée. We need to get back to the airlock. Okay? It isn't far."
It was far too far. Light years.
"We are going." Lovelace took a vice-like grip on her upper arm, and pulled. "We are going now."
Step. Pull. Step. Pull.
Airlock. There was the airlock.
In.
The lock cycled, and Minkowski yanked her helmet off the moment the indicator flashed green. She wrenched off her gloves, and tore at the fastenings of the spacesuit. She couldn't grip them. She was choking, gasping, wheezing for breath.
"What's wrong?" Hera demanded. "What's happening to her?"
"Hera, not now." Lovelace did something and suddenly Minkowski's spacesuit was released and she could rip it off, thrust it all the way away from her.
She needed more air. Breathe faster, faster, faster. Not enough. Fasterfasterfaster—
Slap. She froze, her cheek stinging.
"Minkowski!" Lovelace grabbed her shoulders. She'd got rid of her own suit. "Calm. Down."
Minkowski stared at her helplessly.
"You need to relax. Stop panicking."
A mute head-shake. She couldn't.
"Oh, for — Come here."
She hadn't expected for Lovelace to grab her, wrapping her into a tight bear hug. Her own arms came up in reflex, and then somehow her body had decided that holding someone tightly was indeed what she really, really wanted to be doing. She was shaking, she realised, so badly that her teeth were chattering, and Lovelace was warm and incredibly solid. It was so long since she had been held like this. Like being sheltered from a hurricane.
It was also, she began to realise, more than a little embarrassing. "I'm fine now," she whispered, once she had the breath to do so. "You can let go."
"No way," Lovelace said. "I estimate you need at least five more minutes of being hugged while crying."
"I'm not crying," Minkowski said, automatically. Except that she actually was. That was embarrassing too.
"Am I allowed to talk yet?" Hera asked.
"That depends," Lovelace replied. "What do you want to say?"
"Lieutenant, are you all right?"
"That depends on your definition," Lovelace said. "She's not going to die of a panic attack, if you're worrying."
Minkowski cringed. "Do you have to call it that?"
"For heavens' sake, Minkowski. What should I say, a trauma-induced acute hyperventilation event? Does that make you feel better?"
"It does sound less… teenage."
"I think you might be worrying about the wrong things," Hera suggested.
Lovelace carefully released her. Minkowski fought the urge to cling on. She looked around the room instead, grabbing one of her abandoned gloves as it floated past. "Wait. We only brought one panel in?"
Lovelace sighed. "What do you think happened to yours?"
She thought back. "I… actually have no idea."
"You let go of it when the ion front hit."
"Oh. Damn."
"Captain?" Hera said. She sounded worried.
"Yeah, I'm on it." She spun Minkowski back towards herself with a quick tug on one elbow. "I think you need another hug."
"I'm much better — "
"You're still trying to suppress everything. Stop playing tough, come here."
"You could think of this hug as from me, if that helps," Hera suggested.
Minkowski chuckled. Weakly, against Lovelace's shoulder. She would like to insist that she was still definitely not crying, but there was a suspiciously damp patch spreading across the fabric she had her face pressed into.
Not crying lasted a while.
"You're an idiot, Minkowski," Lovelace finally said.
"I —"
"What would you be saying if Eiffel had pulled a stunt like that? Or if I had?"
Unfortunately, Lovelace very definitely had a point. "Fine. I'd yell at him. Or you."
"Why?"
"You're really going to make me say it?" she complained.
"Damn right I am."
Minkowski groaned. She was glad that at least speaking didn't mean making eye contact. "For risking yourself and other people because of stupid macho posturing about not having emotions?"
"Look at that," Lovelace said. "You do know."
It was Minkowski who eventually broke contact, this time. She scrubbed her face.
Lovelace watched her carefully. "You good?"
"Yeah," she said. "I'm good."
"Are you sure?" Hera asked.
"Really," Minkowski said. "I'm good. Thank you. I guess… I needed that."
"You're welcome," Lovelace said. "You're also off duty until after you've had some sleep. Go, I've got a sensor panel to install."
"I can — "
Lovelace turned on her, scowling. "Lieutenant, you are dismissed. That's an order. Hera, report to me immediately if she disobeys."
"With pleasure, Sir," Hera said, smugly.
She wanted to pretend more reluctance, but following an order released her from the need. So she went, with her crew guarding her back.
-
Word count: 1700 words
Characters: Renée Minkowski, Isobel Lovelace, Hera
Pairing: Gen-ish, also M/L-ish. However you want to read it I guess.
Content/Tags:Set during early season 4. Friendship, hugs, panic attacks. Fills the "hostile climate" square for hc_bingo.
AO3 link
Summary: Minkowski may have nearly died horribly, but the important thing is that she didn’t. So it’s all behind her now. No underlying trauma. Really.
-
It wasn't something she even considered as she and Lovelace did assignments for the day. Or even as she suited up. Only, finally, when the Hephaestus's air-lock clanked shut and clamped tight behind them.
And she was standing on the hull with… with paper, basically, with nothing between her and the entire, vast, spiralling universe. Barely anything protecting her from hyper-momentum dust clouds, from micro-asteroids, from ion hurricanes and solar tornadoes.
"Lieutenant," Hera said in her ear. She startled at the sound, motion damped by the suit. "I'm getting an alarm regarding your rate of oxygen consumption. Is everything all right?"
"Yes," Minkowski hissed, clamping her jaw shut on the word. Breathing. Breathing too fast. She tried to seize iron control of her lungs, forcing herself not to inhale. Her chest burned with the effort.
Lovelace had been behind her. Was now in front of her. "Minkowski, problem?"
Breathe out. Slowly, not in the rush that her body wanted. "No."
"Okay, can we hurry it up then? Can't leave the kids with no babysitter for long."
She lifted her mag-boot. Stepped, and it slapped back to the hull with a jolt. She could be on flat ground, with just a normal night sky above her. Just stars, from back when stars were distant, background things, not something from a nightmare.
Step, step, step. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
"Captain, I'm a bit worried about the O2 regulation in Lieutenant Minkowski's suit," Hera said.
Hera, I'm going to kill you. "It's fine," Minkowski said.
"What?" Lovelace stopped, and turned right around. "Her suit's faulty?"
"I don't know," Hera said. "Its air supply is depleting slightly faster than it should be."
"That sounds worrying."
"I don't mean she's about to suffocate," Hera hastened to add. "Just that you should cut your safety margin… in half, probably. And inspect it for microleaks when you get back inside."
"Noted." Lovelace's helmet swivelled between their destination and the way they'd come. "Minkowski, your call. Should we abort?"
If she didn't know there was absolutely nothing wrong with the suit she would have. But wasting a day's repairs to the Urania just because she couldn't get a grip? "Keep going," she said, shortly.
"Well, let me know if you change your mind."
Step, step, step. Her eyes were watering, and she realised it was because she had them wrenched so wide open, scouring the black around her for anything coming rushing towards her. She couldn't get the sound of her visor slowly cracking out of her ears.
"Hey!"
She had nearly walked right past the sensor panels they were outside to scavenge. "Ah." She concentrated on exhaling slowly.
Lovelace was looking towards her. "Lieutenant, you're acting weird."
"Am not."
"Are so. Isn't she, Hera?"
"Kind of, yeah," Hera agreed. "Are you worried about your oxygen? It's looking more normal now. Could just be a glitchy meter."
Minkowski gritted her teeth. "Can we just hurry up and get this over with?" she snapped. She had to snap — she didn't want them to hear how her breathing sounded if she had to pause in the middle of the words.
"You're definitely being weird," Lovelace said. "Don't think I won't get to the bottom of it."
Thankfully, she was more immediately interested in the task at hand than in playing detective. They took a panel each and Minkowski crouched down next to hers, fighting the instinct to grab hold of the hull and just cling onto it. Better than than the void surrounding. All impersonal. It wouldn't care as it swallowed her up.
She fought to loosen each bolt, finally prying the panel free. It was pitted and scratched. Microscopic space debris damage.
She fought to keep her breathing controlled.
Lovelace was already finished. Chatting to Hera. Watching her idly.
Minkowski straightened up. "I'm done," she said. It sounded normal.
"Glad to hear it," Lovelace said. "Let's get back inside. Hera, safety margin?"
"Oh, about twenty minutes," Hera said. "Plenty of time for sightseeing."
Step, step, step, back along the hull. Not so bad. And once they were back inside she would —
"Brace!" Hera snapped. "Ion front incoming!"
It hit barely a second later, the force of it nearly knocking her off-balance. She swayed, the magnetic latch of her footing the only thing that saved her from being swept off the station. The static hiss of the ion currents hitting her suit filled her ears, drowning her.
"—Minkowski, what the hell are you playing at?" But she could barely hear Lovelace over the roaring.
"Lieutenant —"
"— do you understand what brace means —"
sceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
A high-pitched squeal cut through everything else. She jerked violently. The ion front had gone. There was nothing fighting against her.
There wasn't enough air.
"Minkowski!" The hungry void was eclipsed by the globe of Lovelace's helmet. It was close enough to see her face inside. "Can. You. Hear. Me?"
She tried to speak, but she was just gasping in and out, far too fast, and she couldn't control it any more.
"Captain, what's wrong with her?"
"Hera, shut up," Lovelace said. "Minkowski. Lieutenant. Renée. We need to get back to the airlock. Okay? It isn't far."
It was far too far. Light years.
"We are going." Lovelace took a vice-like grip on her upper arm, and pulled. "We are going now."
Step. Pull. Step. Pull.
Airlock. There was the airlock.
In.
The lock cycled, and Minkowski yanked her helmet off the moment the indicator flashed green. She wrenched off her gloves, and tore at the fastenings of the spacesuit. She couldn't grip them. She was choking, gasping, wheezing for breath.
"What's wrong?" Hera demanded. "What's happening to her?"
"Hera, not now." Lovelace did something and suddenly Minkowski's spacesuit was released and she could rip it off, thrust it all the way away from her.
She needed more air. Breathe faster, faster, faster. Not enough. Fasterfasterfaster—
Slap. She froze, her cheek stinging.
"Minkowski!" Lovelace grabbed her shoulders. She'd got rid of her own suit. "Calm. Down."
Minkowski stared at her helplessly.
"You need to relax. Stop panicking."
A mute head-shake. She couldn't.
"Oh, for — Come here."
She hadn't expected for Lovelace to grab her, wrapping her into a tight bear hug. Her own arms came up in reflex, and then somehow her body had decided that holding someone tightly was indeed what she really, really wanted to be doing. She was shaking, she realised, so badly that her teeth were chattering, and Lovelace was warm and incredibly solid. It was so long since she had been held like this. Like being sheltered from a hurricane.
It was also, she began to realise, more than a little embarrassing. "I'm fine now," she whispered, once she had the breath to do so. "You can let go."
"No way," Lovelace said. "I estimate you need at least five more minutes of being hugged while crying."
"I'm not crying," Minkowski said, automatically. Except that she actually was. That was embarrassing too.
"Am I allowed to talk yet?" Hera asked.
"That depends," Lovelace replied. "What do you want to say?"
"Lieutenant, are you all right?"
"That depends on your definition," Lovelace said. "She's not going to die of a panic attack, if you're worrying."
Minkowski cringed. "Do you have to call it that?"
"For heavens' sake, Minkowski. What should I say, a trauma-induced acute hyperventilation event? Does that make you feel better?"
"It does sound less… teenage."
"I think you might be worrying about the wrong things," Hera suggested.
Lovelace carefully released her. Minkowski fought the urge to cling on. She looked around the room instead, grabbing one of her abandoned gloves as it floated past. "Wait. We only brought one panel in?"
Lovelace sighed. "What do you think happened to yours?"
She thought back. "I… actually have no idea."
"You let go of it when the ion front hit."
"Oh. Damn."
"Captain?" Hera said. She sounded worried.
"Yeah, I'm on it." She spun Minkowski back towards herself with a quick tug on one elbow. "I think you need another hug."
"I'm much better — "
"You're still trying to suppress everything. Stop playing tough, come here."
"You could think of this hug as from me, if that helps," Hera suggested.
Minkowski chuckled. Weakly, against Lovelace's shoulder. She would like to insist that she was still definitely not crying, but there was a suspiciously damp patch spreading across the fabric she had her face pressed into.
Not crying lasted a while.
"You're an idiot, Minkowski," Lovelace finally said.
"I —"
"What would you be saying if Eiffel had pulled a stunt like that? Or if I had?"
Unfortunately, Lovelace very definitely had a point. "Fine. I'd yell at him. Or you."
"Why?"
"You're really going to make me say it?" she complained.
"Damn right I am."
Minkowski groaned. She was glad that at least speaking didn't mean making eye contact. "For risking yourself and other people because of stupid macho posturing about not having emotions?"
"Look at that," Lovelace said. "You do know."
It was Minkowski who eventually broke contact, this time. She scrubbed her face.
Lovelace watched her carefully. "You good?"
"Yeah," she said. "I'm good."
"Are you sure?" Hera asked.
"Really," Minkowski said. "I'm good. Thank you. I guess… I needed that."
"You're welcome," Lovelace said. "You're also off duty until after you've had some sleep. Go, I've got a sensor panel to install."
"I can — "
Lovelace turned on her, scowling. "Lieutenant, you are dismissed. That's an order. Hera, report to me immediately if she disobeys."
"With pleasure, Sir," Hera said, smugly.
She wanted to pretend more reluctance, but following an order released her from the need. So she went, with her crew guarding her back.
-
