#i only picked the clips without flash for my own sanity

[umutis]

beautiful mind jacket behind

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 11

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, bourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten |

Read Chapter 11 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The next morning, Edge reluctantly resisted the temptation to go to Rus’s room and check on him. To begin with, it wasn’t really appropriate to show so much favoritism, no matter how amusing it was the others at the station. He was here to keep them safe, not entertained.

His other reason for was more for his sanity. Trying to sleep the night before had been less than successful, his mind was filled with Rus, pretty Rus and his eager kisses, wondering if that eagerness would be extended to other areas, how the soft sounds he made muffled between their mouths would be in the open air. If Edge went to him this morning, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist if Rus invited him in again and he couldn’t shirk his duties no matter the temptation.

Instead, he wasted a shower token and stood beneath cold water until his bones were chilled, dressing briskly before heading down to the dining hall. Deciding to give in to Rus’s charms didn’t mean there wasn’t a great deal of work he needed to get done today and tonight…well, he would deal with that when it came.

The obscene pun that floated through his thoughts was firmly pushed aside, along with the mental picture of his brother grinning at it. A stroke of luck that Red was vanishingly unlikely to be up for breakfast this morning; his healing sessions took a toll and much as Red hated enduring them, he was usually happy to take advantage of the excuse to sleep in.

In the dining hall, the large table was already mostly filled, and to Edge’s surprise, one of the benches held Rus. He skipped breakfast regularly and after last night, Edge expected the same, the drunken flock that followed Undyne sleeping off whatever hangover they’d been granted.

His worries earlier about being invited into Rus’s bed now looked to have been for naught. Rus looked rather wan, his skull a shade paler than normal. It was a match to the other scientists who’d been with them the night before, the three of them looking more like extras in a polar zombie film than researchers. Breakfast this morning was a hearty porridge with plenty of topping to add, syrups and jams, berries grown in the hydroponic gardens and a dish of chopped dried fruit. Delicious and filling, perfect for dealing with the subzero temperatures, but those three were stirring their bowls apathetically more than attempting to eat any of it. Rus was slouched over his dish, his skull propped up on one hand and his sockets closed.

Unlike Undyne, who was shoveling in her portion eagerly, her bowl heaped high with all the fixings. She swallowed before flashing Edge a sharp-toothed grin. “Morning, boss!”

“Good morning,” Edge said evenly to the table in general. There were several empty seats he could have chosen. A message was being sent by taking the one directly next to Rus, and while Undyne surely got it from the way her needle grin widened, Rus didn’t seem in much condition to appreciate it.

Edge leaned over to him to ask softly, “How are you feeling, Rus?”

One of his sockets opened with a nearly audible creak, the pale eye light bleary and tinged orange. “thinkin’ about changing my middle name to regret.”

A mumble of agreement came from the others further down the table. Those two were leaning against each other, one holding up the other and Edge felt a faint jealous pang that he couldn’t do the same for Rus. No matter that a relationship with any of the researchers wasn’t against the rules—they were all adults and could choose to share whatever beds they liked—but some decorum was necessary. His command of the others depended on it.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t offer some soothing, and while he was trying to decide where he could safely touch Rus in front of the others, the kitchen door opened. Bonnie emerged, ducking a little to avoid clipping her long ears against the doorframe and carrying a tray of steaming cups. That in itself was unusual; coffee was readily available at all times in vast quantities, one of the largest supplies they ordered. She only set a one of the mugs in front of Rus and the other two in front of those who’d made the mistake of taking Undyne up on her offer of a drink.

What is that? Edge signed, warily curious, but Bonnie only gave Rus a light nudge, pointing to the cup.

Rus sat up straight, blinking, then took the cup and sniffed it. He cringed, his face clearly reflecting what he thought of the contents. He started to sign something, paused, and made a shoving aside gesture to begin again. He was facing away from Edge who only caught flashes of his hands, but Bonnie was watching him, her scarred face twisted with amusement.

When Rus finished, she shook her head and pointed firmly at the cup again. Whatever it was, Bonnie wasn’t taking no for an answer, and Rus sighed exaggeratedly, picking up the cup again. His face scrunched again in distaste, but he swigged back the contents, coughing and gagging lightly as he swallowed it.

The mug was nearly slammed to the table as Rus quivered, scrambling for his water glass and downing half the contents. By now, everyone was watching him, mostly with a sort of dismayed awe, or in Undyne’s case, glee, except the young women from the night before. Their horrified looks kept darting from Rus to their own mugs to Bonnie, who was waiting patiently for them to drink it.

“it does help,” Rus rasped out, flicking his bony finger against the mug. The ceramic chimed lightly. “old monster recipe, you’ll feel a lot better after. only problem is you need to drink it for it to work.”

“Is it safe for humans,” one of the women asked uncertainly. She was peering into the cup, attempting to identify the murky contents.

“oh, sure, it’s fine. you’ve all had a recent tetanus shot, right?” Her head snapped up and Rus laughed. Some color was starting to return to his skull and that alone was a good testimony, “kidding, kidding, yeah, there’s nothing in it that isn’t food-worthy. it’s just not usually mixed together. don’t think about it too hard, get it down the hatch, keep it down, and it’ll help.”

Edge fully expected them to both decline and instead, head back to their rooms to search out whatever analgesic they’d brought with them. It was certainly a surprise, and a pleasant one at that, when both of them clinked their mugs together in a sort of toast before slugging back the contents.

True to Rus’s word, getting it down was the most difficult part. Sweat broke out on their faces immediately, their eyes nearly bulging as they gagged down the sludgy liquid. Everyone was watching them avidly, taking in the latest episode in this ongoing drama as both women managed to swallow it, slamming down their mugs in triumphant unison.

“water,” Rus called, “trust me!”

Again, as one they scrabbled for their glasses, drinking them down and by the time they’d finished, some of their pallor was already receding.

“That actually helped,” the first woman said, wonderingly. She turned to Bonnie and her signing was awkward, one speaking by rote rather than a learned language, but it was still a recognizable ‘thank you’.

Bonnie’s smug expression flashed with shock. Unsurprising, no other researcher who had come to their station ever bothered trying to communicate to her in her own language. They took their food as their due, their heads and thoughts buried in their notes. Rus was the first exception, but a Monster speaking in hands wasn’t nearly as astonishing as a Human. Bonnie signed back ‘you’re welcome’, every movement slow and deliberate, chosen for one who was not fluent, and the Human woman smiled with delight, awkwardly mimicking until Bonnie nodded in satisfaction.

With a huff, Bonnie gathered up the mugs and disappeared back into the kitchen, paying no mind to the astonishing scene she was leaving behind.

Another researcher, one of the climatologists, spoke up, “You said it was an old Monster cure. Do you happen to have the recipe?” He already had a pen in hand, poised over a blank sheet of paper, but Rus shook his head.

“sorry,” Rus smiled wryly. “i can’t boil water without causing an incident and bonnie probably isn’t going to share her trade secrets.” Almost, Edge expected some belligerence, the common reaction when telling a Human researcher that he wasn’t allowed to know something; recipes, Alphys’s research, the Core. But he took it well, only sighing in mock disappointment and set his pen aside.

“If you want to try it yourself, I bet Undyne would be more than happy to help out,” the other woman said wryly. She was starting to show more interest in her oatmeal, spooning up a mouthful.

Laughter rounded the table, Undyne’s the loudest of all, “You bet, come on down to the kitchen tonight, nerd, I’ll show you some real research.”

More laughter, and Edge could hear the warm rasp of Rus’s, throaty and charming, so close to him. The table settled down, everyone digging back into their breakfasts. Even Rus, who began adding brown sugar and berries to his bowl, stirring it into a sugary sludge. He was left-handed, Edge realized, his right hand resting on the table between them as he spooned up mouthfuls of porridge. Sitting next to him was a message of its own and Edge knew that lightly settling his ungloved hand over Rus’s was another, not quite twining their fingers together, allowing for escape.

Rus stilled briefly, his spoon hovering in the air between the bowl and his mouth, dribbling porridge. Then he moved, but not to pull away. He only turned his hand over, meshing their fingers together and if it was slightly awkward trying to eat while holding hands. Edge found that he didn’t mind.

He could feel the weight of Undyne’s stare, her palpable satisfaction, but she said nothing, only helped herself again to the porridge pot, piling her bowl high with fruit and a heavy douse of syrup.

Edge’s own bowl was plain, with only a little dried fruit stirred in, but eating it was satisfying, and scraping up the last of it came far, far too soon.

~~*~~

Today was one of Edge’s days to work in the hydroponic gardens and normally he enjoyed it, picking over the plants for dead leaves, gathering the produce Bonnie requested for the evening meal.

But now with his thoughts lingering on his possible evening, the damp air seemed aggravating, too warm and claggy, clinging uncomfortably to his bones. Edge never claimed to be one of great imagination, but some heretofore undiscovered creative side of his thoughts seemed eager to suddenly prove their skill, offering him sly images of what Rus would look like it his bed, his pale bones against Edge’s sheets.

Ridiculous thoughts; he hadn’t even asked Rus if he would be interested yet. It could very well be that he had time-sensitive research ongoing and he didn’t have time to spare for Edge’s whims. Flirtations aside, that was what Rus was here for and it would be a very expensive waste for him to neglect it in favor of a little indulgent bed play.

The truth of that had no effect on Edge’s libido and while once it had been dormant, only showing itself on the rare occasions that Edge woke in the mornings to find a need for a little self-service, now it was well and truly roused. Demanding satisfaction in the form of a tall, slender skeleton with a soft laugh and teasing smile.

The crackle of the radio interrupted his untoward thoughts, his brother’s staticky voice coming out, “boss, you need to come down to the radar, right now.”

“On my way,” Edge said, already sliding on his coat. He bundled up hastily, hunching against the wind as he crossed over to the main building. The radar was in a room off the main entrance, meant for easy access. There was another in Alphys’s lab and he was sure she was looking at it with the same bleak dismay as Red and Undyne when Edge came in.

He didn’t bother shedding any of his outdoor gear, boots leaving puddle on the floor as he demanded, “Report.”

“There’s a storm blowing in,” Undyne said grimly. She tapped the screen where a large blob of red glowed. “We didn’t get an alert earlier because it wasn’t supposed to head this way. Looks like it decided to take a detour.”

“Who is still out?” Edge snatched away the sign-out sheet when Undyne held it out, scanning it.

“The seal gals are already in, I saw them coming in when I grabbed the sheet, I just didn’t give them a chance to sign off. But boss,” she pulled up the last sheet, tapping the surprisingly tidy signature at the bottom. “Rus went out to Checkpoint #3 after breakfast and he ain’t back yet.”

“He could be heading back right now,” Red pointed out.

“Or he could be standing out there with his ass hanging out and have no idea what’s coming,” Undyne countered. Her voice was sharp as her teeth, rich with concern. “We can’t reach him on the radio, but that station’s behind a ridge, communications have always been shit. Or the snow could already be interfering. Alphys’s been working on it, but—"

“I’m going out,” Edge announced abruptly. He tossed the sign-out sheet down on the table with a clatter as he pulled his gloves back on.

“Boss—“

But he was in no mood to hear their protests. “Even if Rus is headed back, he drives so slowly, he wouldn’t be back in time to beat the storm. He won’t make it if I don’t go out there.”

“you go out now, you’re staying out,” Red warned. His eye lights were dark, implacable. “unless you bump into him right outside the door, when you find him, you get to one of the shelters. don’t try to head back, not even in the cat.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to handle a rescue,” Edge snapped, turning to the door. “keeping the researchers safe is my job!”

“Our job,” Undyne cut in, stilling him, “and no, you don’t. But you’re pretty damn fond of the fashion victim and you don’t have the distance you usually do.” Neither of them so much as flinched from his temper, following behind him. “Red’s right, you two will be safer in a shelter than trying to head back, you’d do better to shack up. Take one of the Core kits, just in case.”

“they ain’t been fully tested,” Red protested.

“They’ve been tested enough,” Undyne countered. She briskly unlocked one of the storage lockers, pulling out one of the units. It was the size of a lunch box but much heavier, a compact version of the Core that Alphys had been designing and tweaking. At the moment there were only a few locked up and scattered around the buildings in case of emergency. “It can work as a heat source. The shelters all have kerosene heaters anyway, but this works a hell of a lot better and if it doesn’t, you’ll still have the others as a backup.”

He took it, balancing the weight in his gloved hand even as Red eyed it warily. His brother shook himself visibly and said, “if you’re going, you need to get gone, bro. take any of the snowmobiles, they’re all fueled up and checked over. be fucking careful.”

“I will,” Edge promised. He dared to lay a hand on his brother’s skull, gloves scruffing over the knit cap that covered his injuries. But that was all and he turned on his heel, heading back out.

There was nothing but white emptiness on what little view there was of the hardpacked snow that made up the roads, no signs of the headlights of the Cat heading in. He hurried to the vehicle shed and the snow was already falling as Edge turned the snowmobile towards Checkpoint #3, obscuring his vision through his goggles. He knew the route well and didn’t hesitate, the headlight cutting through the darkness as he pushed the machine to its limits, the engine roaring over the sound of the wind.

There was a little time yet and he would need all of it.

tbc

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Final Edit

Introduction to Doctor Jane Healy’s Essay on the Ian McKinnon Logs.

The daily logs of Doctor Ian McKinnon were found among the rubble of the Astra 27 three days after it plummeted to earth in the April of 2067 after a failure in the electrical wiring. These logs, since then, have been heralded the most convincing piece of evidence supporting the movement to end solo space travel since the first Astra took flight in 2037. The logs support the argument that ships as technologically complex as the Astra model can not be manned alone, and that machine failure cannot be overcome alone. But I believe the logs provide substantially darker evidence as to why solo space travel should be abolished for good.

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn me of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

23rd May 2067, Post-Mortem

Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon it has been discovered that the cause of death was electrocution. It has been deduced that the most likely cause of this was the deceased’s attempt to correct the faulty wiring of the ship. This deduction is being contested due to the unlikelihood of the scenario, due to each astronaut’s teachings not to touch the motherboard of the ship. Further tests are being run.

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

20th April 2067, The Telegraph

A night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning as the bright lights that streaked the sky in the early hours of the morning are revealed by NASA to be the Astra 27 plummeting back home. After a severe malfunction in the wiring, it appears that British astronaut Doctor Ian McKinnon tried to return the rocket to the plains of Colorado, USA, to save the £25 million machine and his own life. Yet, terribly, to no avail. Though the atmospheric shields remained secure through both the Thermosphere and Mesosphere, saving the Astra from combustion, it shut down entirely just a cruel 55km from the Earth’s surface. In a plead posted on the NASA website as dawn broke, we are asked to take a minute’s silence at midday to honour the deceased Doctor Ian McKinnon.

Log 76.

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist.

Log 80.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So, after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

2nd June 2034, NASA interview posted to their website

We are honoured to reveal today the next revolution in battling the final frontier. After decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration, Professors Amelia Hudson and Alijaz Guildenstern can now reveal their Astra, a rocket that can not only fly itself to and through the universe, but can also repair itself if it should encounter any technical malfunction.

‘It will completely change our idea of space,’ says Hudson, ‘No longer will it be an unattainable image, but a reachable destination that any person can visit.’

That is not to say, however, that the Astra can be flown by your average man. But this is a solid step paving the way to the human race’s conquering of the stars as space travel becomes more accessible and safer by the day.

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed.

Log 135.

I have spent the day investigating the blue fairies. They’re just how I imagined the sprites in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Puck a whirl of blue, causing mischief and praying on those who are alone, changing their psychology and their desires. Now when I wake up I don’t really see him, but I can hear him a little, his clanging in the engine room echoing into my room. I see him later though, when I check the motherboard. Not properly, of course, just a quick flash. The machine is working hard to repair the wiring.

A clipping from James Goodwin’s 2086 award winning non-fiction novel on Ian McKinnon.

On a small metal spaceship, with thin, empty corridors, sharp corners and smooth walls, any sound you might hear, you will hear. Sometimes, Ian would tap one of the metal pipes and listen as the sound reverberated through the hallways, bouncing off the sterile, steel walls until it reached him again. It was nice, for Ian to have those little conversations with the walls. It made him forget quite how alone he was. And for hours at a time he would tap, sometimes a little pattern, occasionally the tune to a simple song from home, but mostly just single taps, waiting for them to come back before he’d reply again. It became part of his routine. He would wake up to the bright blue lights, check the motherboard, then talk.

Sometimes, if Ian was lucky, he wouldn’t have to start the conversation himself. He would hear a knock, or a pattern, or a little song from home, and stop what he was doing and knock back. It never particularly crossed his mind who he was talking to, it was just nice to have someone there. In fact, it wasn’t until Ian heard him talk that he had even considered meeting him.

“Hello?” Ian said, when he heard the voice. “Who’s there?”

The man was sitting in the control centre. His hand, which was resting on his lap when Ian first saw him, was now gliding over to the motherboard. He didn’t speak when Ian saw him, although he did hear him on several occasions after though he only saw him once more after this day. He was older than he was, with receding hair and deep lines on his forehead. He wore a well-fitting grey suit, and he had with him a briefcase. He made Ian feel small, in a lovely way. Ian quite liked looking at him, he was comforting and he liked having someone there with him so he wasn’t quite so alone. His hand, which had a few freckles covered with long, curling grey hairs, ran over the buttons and wires. He ran over them in a circle, like he was memorising the pattern. He gave Ian a comforting smile, picked up his briefcase and left.

2nd June, 2067, The Telegraph.

In a disturbing progression of events, Doctor Ian McKinnon’s Captain’s Logs have been found amongst the rubble of the Astra 27. Doctor Ian McKinnon has now been honoured and mourned by the nation for his tragic death two months ago, but the public now has a new tragedy to adjust to as the logs reveal the leading weeks up to his demise were not spent in the jovial state we had all naively but rather a state of increasing paranoia and insanity.

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

Rhiannon Whale