Chapter Text
Ryland stared at the trajectory map of their current mission, writing calculations in his notebook to see if they would need to call for supply drops and aid soon. Seeing that they’re only three light days away from Lambda-Ceti A, and they have enough food for four months, his shoulders sagged in relief. With enough rationing, they should complete this expedition without trouble.
Court stepped up to stand beside Ryland, leaning over his shoulder to see the trajectory calculations. His eyes roamed over the numbers in Ryland's notebook intently, his own hands coming up to rub at his jaw in a thoughtful gesture.
“Three light days, huh? That's not so bad.” He gave an idle hum, still studying the scribbles on the paper. It's a familiar routine, with Ryland diligently calculating and Court double-checking his work. They're a well-oiled machine at this point.
Ryland let out a light yelp at the sudden proximity, almost dropping his notebook in the process. “Jesus—Court, what did I tell you about suddenly sneaking up like that?” He leaned his head back to look up at his older brother with a frown, waving his notebook around. “Yes, three light days, but we have to account for any unknown variables… I heard there’s an asteroid belt nearby and I don’t want to get stuck through that…or get hit by a stray one.”
Court snatched the notebook from Ryland’s hand, unfazed by the flailing. His expression didn’t shift much, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he tapped Ryland on the forehead with the edge of the spine.
"Relax," he said, voice low and steady—like he’s trying to be soothing but couldn’t quite suppress the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If an asteroid hits us, Colt’ll just weld the hole shut and call it a ‘design feature.’"
Leaning against the console, Court crossed his arms, nodding toward the readouts. "But I ran the scans twice. Belt’s thin here. We can skirt the edge, no problem...Unless you want me to thread the needle just to watch you turn that shade of white again."
He paused, watching Ryland’s eyes widen at the mere thought of danger.
"...Which I won’t. Obviously." Court tilted his head, feigning innocence, but the glint in his eyes said he’s absolutely picturing it.
“If you want me to have a heart attack at this ripe age and lose your scientist—which, I may add, is probably pretty useful when documenting the flora, fauna, biome, weather, etc, etc—then go ahead!” Ryland took the notebook back with a flustered grumble, adjusting his glasses as he turned back to the screen.
“I’m getting antsy. Where is Colt anyway?”
Court huffed a quiet laugh, pushing off the console to stand fully upright. He didn’t answer immediately, instead just watching Ryland fuss with his glasses and the notebook for a beat too long.
Finally, he jerked his thumb toward the ship’s aft section.
"Engine room. Again. Says he’s ‘optimizing’ something. Which, translated from Colt-speak, means he’s either about to revolutionize space travel or accidentally weld himself to the fuel line."
Court then paused, giving Ryland a sideways glance.
"Place your bets now. I give it fifty-fifty odds he’s stuck."
Ryland shrugged, standing up with a sigh. It was inevitable that Colt would need help with whatever shit he’s concocted over there anyway. “Too bad I don’t have anything to bet with. And I’m not gonna give you my portion of potatoes tonight if you win. I’m gonna go and see what he’s up to before he screams our names into the intercom again.”
Court just grinned, unoffended by Ryland's reluctance to wager his dinner. He's used to his younger brothers’ quirks by now. As Ryland slipped past him on his way to the engine room, Court gave him a playful swat on the ass, just because he could. Then he called after him, voice laced with mock concern, "If you're not back in an hour, I'll assume you got electrocuted while trying to save his sorry ass." And with that, he returned his attention to the screen, a smirk still plastered on his face.
Ryland yelped a little too loudly at the impact. Holy shit. He’s gonna die here. Yup. That—wow. Court didn’t usually do that, but when he did, it always went straight to Ryland’s groin. He willed himself to ignore it and flipped him off without turning around, afraid that his face would show the inner turmoil in his mind.
“Don’t come find us then!”
Court watched Ryland go, eyes lingering on the stiff way he’s holding himself—the way he didn’t even turn around to retaliate properly. Suspicious. Interesting.
"Sure, sure. But if you two end up actually needing a rescue, I'm charging you both double rations for it."
Court leaned back against the console, crossing his arms, already mentally counting down the seconds until—yep. Right on cue.
A loud metallic CLANG echoed from the engine room, followed by Colt’s muffled screeches, “RY! RY, I NEED A— okay, no, actually, I think I got it—wait, no, I don’t got it—”
Court just sighed. He pushed off the console.
Ryland feigned exasperation, entering the open panel that led to the inner workings of the ship. Colt did a pretty good job creating a walkable path to go deeper into the walls—Ryland was thoroughly impressed. He called out into the void of wires, cables, and panels, “What do you need now, Colt?” In the sea of warm air and dangling cords, he bumped his head on a hanging pipe, hissing in pain. Dang. That was definitely going to cause a bump on his forehead.
Colt’s voice came from somewhere up ahead, “Ry? That you? Okay, so—good news, I did optimize the cooling system. Bad news? It’s now too ‘optimized’—which means it might be… uh… leaking coolant? Maybe?”
He then paused, thinking of more shit he fucked up in the small amount of time he was stuck in there alone.
“Also, I dropped my wrench. It’s somewhere behind the primary intake. Could you—”
Suddenly, the distinct sound of something dripping echoed through the cramped space, followed by Colt’s alarmed voice, “Okay, scratch that—new plan: grab the emergency sealant patch from the kit NOW.”
Ryland didn’t even have time to groan before Courtland’s voice crackles over the intercom, dry as ever, “Or—and hear me out—we could not have another ‘Colt’s Engineering Shenanigans’ incident log today.”
Colt glared up at nothing, “HEY.”
Courtland, undeterred, ordered, “I’ll grab the patch. Ry—don’t let him touch anything else.”
Ryland could practically hear the smirk in his tone.
Shaking his head, Ryland ducked through hanging wires just to get closer to where Colt was, not surprisingly, struggling with liquid coolant soaking his clothing. That had got to be an OSHA violation right there. But they're in space, so who cares.
“I didn't think I'd have to babysit you for the 10th time this week. And it's only Tuesday.” He peered around the area, looking over his bifocals as he searched for the missing wrench. “Where the heck did you drop it again?”
Colt huffed, trying (and failing) to swipe at the coolant that's dribbling down his hair and into his eyes. The result was a very wet, very annoyed engineer who's now also half-blinded by viscous fluid.
“Shut up. I just... optimize stuff. Not my fault it... occasionally goes a little wrong sometimes. Very little. Like, micro-wrong. It's fine. I know what I'm doing. Mostly.”
He let out a frustrated sound and vaguely gestured toward the left.
“Wrench was... that way. I think.”
Ryland dragged his gaze toward Colt, distracted by how drenched the man looked. If he wasn't so worried about Colt getting poisoned by antifreeze, he would have gawked there all day. Grumbling, he grabbed Colt's arm and yanked him out.
“Alright, I'll get the wrench later, just go shower and change your clothes before that seeps into your skin. I'll have Court patch up the leak.”
Colt started to protest, but a shudder ran through his body as the wet, chilling liquid trickled down his back. The protest died on his tongue, and he reluctantly nodded in agreement, allowing Ryland to manhandle him out of the cramped workspace.
As they stumbled out into the relatively spacious hallway, Colt shivered again, grimacing at the sticky, slimy feeling of the coolant-soaked fabric clinging to his skin. He muttered to Ryland through clenched teeth, "Can't believe I'm letting a scientist save me from a coolant leak. Embarrassing."
“If you want to get antifreeze poisoning then be my guest, then Court and I can share your rations.” Ryland sneered as he grabbed Colt's shoulders, squeezing them before pushing him toward the shower. “But, unluckily for me, I do need you alive to keep the ship working so, good for you, I guess.” He stuck his tongue out at his twin brother before ducking back into the open panel to help Court with the leak.
Colt stumbled a step, still grumbling, but clearly too uncomfortable to put up more of a fight. He managed one last retort over his shoulder as he shuffled toward the showers, "Just for the record—you absolutely need me. I could let the life support system fail just to teach you some respect—ow! Okay, okay, going!"
Colt yelped when a spare screw mysteriously flung from the open panel and bounces off the back of his head. Court, now kneeling inside the coolant-splattered work area, didn’t even look up from where he’s applying the sealant patch. His voice was deadpan, "Move faster next time."
As Ryland ducked back in, Court finally glanced up, eyes glinting with amusement. He nodded toward the wrench still wedged deep in the machinery—just out of easy reach.
Ryland grumbled, taking off his jacket—god it was hot in the walls of the Hail Mary—to psych himself up. He could tell getting that wrench was not going to be easy. Exhaling a long breath, he gripped onto a pipe and slowly reached over, but the wrench was just far enough that he could barely reach it.
“Ugh, god, what the heck? How am I gonna…” He tried again, but the remnants of coolant on the pipe made him slip. But Court was thankfully faster, grabbing onto Ryland's wrist with the strength of a former CIA agent and pulling him back. Ryland ended up smashing into Court's body, both men ending up on the floor with Court sitting back and Ryland leaning his back against Court's chest. Ryland tilted his head back, glasses all crooked on his chin, staring up at Court's face.
“Oops.”
Court didn’t let go of Ryland’s wrist immediately. His other arm was braced around Ryland’s waist, keeping him steady. For a beat, they just stayed like that. Court’s grip was firm, warm where it circled Ryland’s pulse. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there’s something in the way his eyes drop to Ryland’s crooked glasses—lingering—before he finally speaks, “Oops,” he echoed, deadpan.
Then he reached up to adjust Ryland’s glasses back into place, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose. His thumb absentmindedly grazed Ryland’s cheekbone.
“Next time,” he murmured, “maybe watch where you’re grabbing for stability.”
There was a quiet pause between the two men before Court continued.
“...I’ll get it.”
But he didn’t move yet. Ryland could feel the rumble of his voice against his back.
Ryland swallowed hard, the heat from Court's body making him even hotter in an already warm space. But he could indulge himself a little, right? It should be fine. Just a younger brother being a younger brother. He slumped against Court's chest, sighing.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You're taller, you're stronger, muscle man. I almost had it though, you can't deny that.” He grinned before finally pushing off and standing up.
Court exhaled with a hint of underlying amusement and pushed himself up in one smooth motion. He didn’t argue, just reached past Ryland to pluck the wrench free with barely any effort, like it had been nothing all along.
"Almost doesn’t count," he said, tossing the tool once in his palm before offering it to Ryland handle-first. "But I’ll give you points for enthusiasm."
His fingers lingered just a tad bit when Ryland took the wrench, calloused skin brushing against Ryland’s knuckles. Then he turned back to the sealed leak, inspecting his handiwork with a critical eye.
"Patch’ll hold. Colt’s ‘optimization’ can wait for another day." He nodded, then glanced at Ryland, "...You good?"
Stammering as he grabbed onto the wrench handle, he nodded, “Uh, yeah. I’m good—uh, it’s just—I need to get this coolant off me before I get rashes so…we should clean up this area before we get screwed over by the fumes…”
Court’s gaze flicked over Ryland, taking in the smeared streaks of coolant on his shirt, on his glasses, in his hair. Yeah, that’s not really great for his health.
"You can say that again."
He stepped closer, reaching out to gingerly touch the collar of Ryland’s shirt and turn a lock of coolant-soaked hair around his fingers. It’s just an assessment, nothing but practical concern, but the gesture still seemed oddly intimate. Court’s hand slid back to cup the side of Ryland’s neck lightly.
Court’s touch lingered just enough for Ryland to feel the warmth of his palm against his skin before he pulled back with a sharp exhale, like he’s reminding himself to stay focused.
"Go. Shower. Now," he ordered, his voice hiding a tinge of roughness. “I’ll handle the cleanup. And tell Colt if he so much as looks at the engine room before tomorrow, I’m spacing his favorite wrench."
He turned away before Ryland could protest, already grabbing a spill kit from the wall panel. But not fast enough to hide the way his ears had gone faintly pink.
“Oh, yeah, o—okay.” Ryland’s eyes darted around the area before landing back on Court’s frame from behind. God his brothers were gonna be the death of him. He stared for a few moments before turning to duck out of the small entrance to head to the showers where Colt was.
Court didn’t turn around, but he could feel Ryland’s gaze lingering. The back of his neck prickled with it. He kept his hands busy, methodically wiping up coolant residue, but his jaw ticked—just once—like he’s grinding his teeth.
The second Ryland’s footsteps faded down the hall, he finally exhaled, rough and uneven. He scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering under his breath, "...Goddamn twins."
As Ryland entered the shower area, the feeling of overwhelming thickness and sliminess engulfed his body. He shuddered from the ick and whipped open the curtain, completely forgetting that Colt was still washing up in there. He shrieked in surprise.
Colt let out a strangled yelp as the shower curtain rips back, eyes going wide as he whirled around. The water was still steaming, slicing through his hair and over his bare back.
"Jesus—Ry! A little warning before you just barge in—"
He cut himself off when he got a good look at his brother—drenched, disheveled, hair sticking up every which way, soaked clothes clinging to his skin—and a smirk tugged at his mouth.
"...Damn. The engine room was not kind to you."
Ryland moved his eyes away, face red. He refused to meet his brother in the eyes.
Don’t look, don’t look.
“And WHOSE fault was that?” He mustered up a grumble before swinging the curtain closed again. “Hurry up.”
Colt rolled his eyes, scrubbing away at his torso as the curtain shut. Ryland barely gave him time to retort. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’ll be done soon.” Ryland didn’t respond, taking off the slimy shirt and throwing it in the bin nearby as he took a towel from a nearby wire rack.
There’s a sudden thump from inside the shower—Colt slipping on the wet floor, probably—followed by a colorful string of curses. A second later, the water shut off abruptly, and the curtain yanked back open just enough for Colt to poke his head out, dripping wet and grinning shamelessly.
"…Any chance you could get me an ice pack?”
Ryland stared at him, “You’re joking.”