#shanfics

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

He’d never care if there was a difference.

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

No one would know the difference.

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

He feared he’d forget any difference.

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

Was that the difference?

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

“I wonder what that rain tastes like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naomi shrugs. He will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jim scoffs. “She pinched me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naomi meets his eyes again. “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s survey the damage then.”

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

“How many hits did he land?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trusting her completely.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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