Chapter Text
February 14th, 2024, NASA
Dylan Lennon sits at her science officer desk in the idle Mission Control room, slowly spinning in her chair as she scrolls on her phone. Her personal MacBook rests between her monitors, sitting uselessly on the home screen, untouched.
She taps mindless, until she stops.
Christiana’s Instagram.
For context that only really exists in Dylan’s head: Christina is technically her fiancée. Has been for years. The ring, the promises, all of it. Just… not legal and definitely not public. Christina’s always hesitant, she says if people at NASA find out, it’ll turn into a whole thing.
Dylan taps the post.
It was uploaded less than an hour ago.
It’s her!
Dylan, sitting in a rolling chair in an empty meeting room, wearing Christina’s astronaut helmet. The visor is down, hiding her face, but her posture gives it away, slightly hunched, shoulders shaking, clearly laughing at something Christina said from behind the camera.
The caption is blank.
Completely blank.
Dylan stares at it a second too long. Her chest does that quiet, disappointing drop.
She’d been hoping… maybe this would be something? A soft launch. Something small and subtle.
But this?
This isn’t even a launch. It’s like… orbiting the idea of one.
Still, she taps “like.”
Then reposts it to her story.
Then she sets her phone down.
Dylan turns back to her monitors just in time to see Katie—the ETHOS flight controller—peeking over the rows of computers.
“Hey Dylan, whatcha doing?”
Dylan doesn’t even turn fully. “Working?”
Katie walks over anyway, setting a small Valentine’s Day goodie bag on Dylan’s desk. It crinkles softly against the metal surface.
“Oh thank you, Katie.” Dylan beams, the smile coming easier.
“No problem. Wanted to give it to you before lunch.”
Katie heads back across the room, dropping into her seat and immediately getting back to… whatever ETHOS actually does. Dylan’s never fully understood it.
Dylan leans back again, spinning once, fidgeting with her nose piercing. Truthfully, her monitors are just for show right now. Her job is mostly training crew members in observation techniques, and even then—there are two other people who share her role.
So she coasts.
The door opens and the flight director walks in.
Dylan straightens up, nearly choking as she spits her gum into a tissue and grabs a pen, scribbling something that looks vaguely important.
The director approaches.
“What do you have on the agenda today, Dylan? Have you talked with the other officers yet?”
Dylan nods before the question even fully lands. “Mmm no? Why would I need to talk to them for?”
“Well, they proposed an idea to me. I assumed they told you.”
There’s a second.
Then…
“Ohhh, yeah. That idea,” Dylan says, like it just clicked. “I’ve been busy, but I’ll talk to them after lunch. No problem.”
A lie. They did not tell her at all but that’s a future Dylan problem.
The director nods and moves on.
The second she’s out of range, Dylan exhales, grabs a random folder full of stats, and slips out of Mission Control.
The lobby feels calmer.
She passes the café, slowing slightly. She considers grabbing Christina a coffee.
…but she’s probably in the gym right now, that’s a recipe for throwing up your guts.
Dylan keeps walking.
“Dylan!”
She turns.
One of the mathematicians, those “we’re friends because we work in the same building” kind of friends, walks up to her.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever. I mean, we’re in different sections, but—” she pauses, eyes dropping to Dylan’s hand. “Is that a ring?”
Dylan’s stomach drops.
‘Shit. I forgot to take it off this morning.’
She lifts her hand like it’s nothing.
“Mm, yeah. I got it for myself at Pandora a while ago.” A small shrug. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
The mathematician squints, half-buying it.
“You know what, Dylan? I’ve never seen you with a partner or anything.” A tilt of her head. “What’s your type?”
“I like people with big noses, cause you know…you can sit on them…” Dylan has a grin on her face until the Mathematican raises her eyebrow and gives her a disgusted slash amused look.
Not that type of conversation, Dylan.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. Nice seeing you!” she blurts, already stepping away before the sentence finishes.
She doesn’t look back, Just walks faster down the hall.