#fff62

Their bodies are stained red, scars from the years of neglect and hate, but sometimes a ray of light shines through, reflecting a single drop of white that pierces the darkness, showing lines on their skins.

Curved lines, straight lines, little circles and waves. Hidden beneath the fur, under the fear and the anxiety, there are words waiting to be shown to the world.

"Let me go", I say, voice pleading. "Let me go and I promise I shall release you from your dark prison."

The wolves stop on their tracks, the world falling silent without their panting, the white waves below crashing on the rocks in far away roars.

I approach the beasts, my hand reaching out. A snarl makes me jump back, but the eyes of the beast soften, giving me the courage to touch him.

It is rough, but no harm comes to my hand. I push through, singing soft words of praise. The wolf sits down, pushing his head towards my hand, making it sink into his fur. The lines on his skin reverberate in golden light, the words coming back to life.

With my other hand, I grab his paw, the words slithering towards my arm. Without a second thought, I throw them into the white ocean. The water gargles, absorbing the words, and its empty depths fill with colors and scents in a little explosion of life.

The wolf is sitting still during all this, wagging his tail at my petting. The words slither from his skin down to the ground, making their way towards the sea, life blooming in the waves.

The other wolf, head hanging low and ears flattened, approaches me. I welcome him into my arms.

In the end, the sea is finally ready to show its true colors, words floating in the waves, connecting with each other in sentences, scenes and emotion.

“Knowing what?”

“When, or whether, to let go. We’re not good at it—some of us err on the side of bolting at the first possible moment, and some of us are too stubborn to see our own downfall.”

“Yeah, and what am I?”

Heat prickled under her skin, gearing up for a fight. He looked at her, gaze steady.

“Only you would know,” he said, turning around.

The heat turned into a raging boil.

“We’ve been working together for damn near a decade! You know me as well as anyone.”

He was back, right in front of her face, with the speed that had saved lives when the panels burst in the greenhouse. She could see the faint freckles on his cheekbones.

“And isn’t that just it? I do know you as well as anyone.”

And as quick, it was ice in her veins instead of fire. His eyes softened, ever so faintly around the edges. “Eight years, and I doubt anyone’s ever gotten closer.”

Even though it was on the other side of the station, she felt the break before the alarms started in. The air sucking out of the room set off a mad dash for the spacesuits. The spacesuits in their lockers too far down the hall, the lack of oxygen already sending colors shimmering around the edges of her vision.

She wasn't sure how far down the hall she made it, but she'd always insist it was further than Kat said.

There was a wonderful rush of oxygen, painful in her lungs as the world seeped back into focus. She let her head loll against the wall, encased in the helmet Kat had snapped into place.

They looked at each other, his eyes an odd shade of green through the tinted faceplate. She sighed, and turned towards the maintenance shaft, the meter on her arm blinking out the breathable air left. This wasn’t the first time, and it was unlikely to be the last.

“I’ll get started on the patch, you turn off the oxygenator and life support.”

“Two years.”

“What?”

“Two years in, I knew I’d never know you better than I did right then.”

He left her standing there. Alone with a sudden burst of murderous intent. So that was probably for the best.

Eight years, she’d lived in what was essentially a canvas tent on the surface of an alien world. The canvas tent had metal patches, leftover bits of ideas about building something more permanent. They were left as markers as the interest ebbed and flowed back on Earth. Personally, she was a little more fond of the canvas. It didn’t burst when weakened, just flexed with the shifting wind. She held the flame steady, running a line down the raw edge of the new metal, welding it to the old.

“Alright, you can turn the life support back on,” she said into the comms and then waited for the telltale rattle of the vents.

“Kat?”

Nothing. She rolled her eyes. The melodramatic shit.

He was on his back, underneath the oxygenator, when she walked into life support. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he grunted, fighting with something.

She picked up a wrench and nudged him with the toe of her boot. He slid over as she lay down next to him, the problem readily apparent.

A distinct pang of loss shot through her chest, and she swore she could feel his warmth bleeding into her arm—if that wasn’t literally impossible given the suits. An image of herself, alone under the blue sky, flashed across her mind.

The communication systems flared to life, a message mingling with the low oxygen alert in her suit. And his.

“That would be for you.”

“It was late, ok? And I may have been a little drunk, and you were being a particular brat.”

Kat got quiet, still struggling with the bolt.

“And command asked if you wanted to leave.”

“Every two years, like clockwork.”

He slammed the wrench against the bolt.

“You’re turning it the wrong direction.”

“I am not.”

“It’s the reverse thread one, you’re turning it the wrong way.”

“Know-it-all.”

“You called me shallow.”

“No,” he gritted, the bolt moving, “I called you closed off.”

The weight of more than one world came crashing down on her shoulders. If she’d spent eight years with the same person, revolving around each other like their own private solar system, and still couldn’t manage some vulnerability. Well. That was that, and this was it.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?” he asked, still fighting with the bolt.

“Everything I’ve ever wanted is fiction.”

“Maybe it just takes some effort.”

“I am! This is me putting in effort—a decade’s worth!”

The screen chirped, insisting on an answer.

“No.”

He rolled his eyes.

“No,” she continued, “You know what? You don’t get to dictate to me who I am.”

There it was. That quiet look it’d taken her a couple years to decode, but he appreciated having a real human next to him, and not the mimicry of a good little soldier.

“I’m letting you go. Gracefully, I might add.”

“And I’m staying,” she hissed.

“Well. I guess I’ll put the kettle on then.”

“Why don’t we start with the oxygen.”