Work Text:
Eva's four hours into reviewing requisition requests in her office when something hits her desk with a dull sound. She places one finger on the paper in front of her to mark her place and looks up.
"Yes?" she asks. "What is it, Ilyukhina?"
Ilyukhina sighs, then nudges the empty glass closer. It bumps up against the edge of the request Eva's reading, and Eva gives her a level look.
"Since you refuse to come drink with us," Ilyukhina says, "I have brought the drinks to you." She pulls a bottle out of her jacket and lifts one eyebrow. It's vodka, of course; Eva wouldn't expect anything else.
A second glass pulled from Ilyukhina's jacket joins the first on Eva's desk. It doesn't take long for Ilyukhina to twist the top off the bottle of vodka and pour the two glasses full.
"I'm good," Eva says, and then, because she tries to be especially polite with the crew that's volunteered their lives: "Thank you." She has work to do, she tells herself.
And it doesn't feel right, to invade the off-time of those she's sending to die.
With a shake of her head, Ilyukhina picks up the second glass, then turns to lean back against Eva's desk. She's half-sitting on the small pile of requests still to be reviewed. The one on top, Eva is pretty sure, is a request for more astrophage from Dimitri.
Eva frowns.
"Come," Ilyukhina wheedles. "You work too hard, Ms. Stratt. It is past midnight. What will we all do if you work yourself to death?" She gives Eva a wink, takes a sip of her vodka, and lets out a contented sigh. "Have at least one drink with me."
"If I have a drink, will you let me get back to work?" Eva asks dryly, amused despite herself, even though she suspects she already knows the answer.
Ilyukhina waves a hand dismissively in the air. "Of course," she lies.
Eva sighs, but she reaches for the glass. The first sip burns in her throat, and Ilyukhina watches her like she's won some kind of victory. It makes Eva feel very, very aware of the glass in her hand—and it makes her very, very aware of the woman standing so close to her.
She takes a second, slow sip, and Ilyukhina tops up her own glass—already miraculously low—and tosses it back. Then Ilyukhina sets her glass down on Eva's desk and holds out a hand.
There's a glint in her eye, and Eva braces herself.
"Come," Ilyukhina says sagain. "Now it is time to dance."
Eva frowns at her again. "I don't dance," she says very clearly. "And you said one drink."
Ilyukhina grins. "But you are not done your drink yet, no?" she says reasonably. She wiggles her fingers at Eva. "Come, Eva."
She thinks maybe it's the first name that does it. It surprises her just enough that she finds herself reaching out without thinking, and once Ilyukina's fingers are wrapped around hers she has the feeling that the engineer doesn't intend to easily let go.
Eva still has her glass in her other hand, but Ilyukhina plucks it away, taking a long sip from it before allowing it to join her own on the desk. Then Ilyukhina is tugging Eva to her feet, and sliding her free hand down to curl around Eva's waist, and Eva tries not to stiffen.
She lives here, on this carrier packed full of people trying to save the planet. She speaks to them every day, works with them every day, knows every name and face among them.
But Eva can't remember the last time someone touched her except to shake her hand.
Probably it was the time Ilyukhina had hugged her so exuberantly the day they'd first met.
"You know," Ilyukhina says conversationally. Her hand is warm against Eva's waist through her sweater. There's no music, but Ilyukhina moves like there is, pulling Eva along with her. "I'm not dead yet."
Eva tilts her head in question. "Yes," she says. In less than a year she will be, at least as far as Ilyukhina's brain will categorize it. "I know."
A year can pass in the blink of an eye. A year can last forever.
She has a feeling she knows which it will be for Ilyukhina.
Ilyukhina shrugs. "Many people act like it is so," she says. "I am glad you do not. Besides, you all are the ones being left behind down here. In some ways that is the much harder job."
Eva doesn't think she can agree. It's very difficult, she knows, to have the weight of the entire planet on your shoulders. Ilyukhina will feel that even more, in the dark depths of space.
She doesn't want to argue, so instead, she says diplomatically: "We all have our jobs." She wants to look pointedly at the paperwork on her desk, but Ilyukhina turns her so that she can't.
"Yes," Ilyukhina says. "And right now, your job is to dance with me. Though it would be nice if it didn't feel like a job." Her eyes are sly, and Eva thinks that it would be very hard to look away from them.
"It doesn't," she says honestly.
Ilyukhina grins. "Good," she says. "Then perhaps I can convince you to have a second drink with me?"
"I haven't even finished the first one," Eva reminds her wryly.
"That just means I can keep you distracted for longer," Ilyukhina says dismissively.
Eva hesitates. The requisition requests on her desk still have to be answered. There are a million other things she should be doing.
Ilyukhina rolls her eyes, as if she's read Eva's mind. "We can discuss the designs for the fuel tanks if you insist," she teases.
There's a moment of silence, and then Eva shakes her head. "No," she says. "Two drinks is fine. And only two drinks," she adds warningly, and decides that maybe for a moment, she can allow herself to indulge in the laughter in Ilyukina's eyes.