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rayne-storm · 9 months

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Space Age Sonata

AUgust 2 - Soulmates

Fandom: Hyperdrive

Summary: Stella/Neil (briefly), Stella/Sol

Stella doesn't believe in Soulmates. Or, at least, has never seen proof that they exist beyond a few alien species, despite the fairy tales her mama used to tell her.

Then, on a sad day, she meets a new farm vet. And he makes her feel ways she's never felt before, and especially not with the abusive boyfriend she currently has. Solomon makes her heart positively sing.

Now she just has to break up with Neil.

The last thing Stella Reilly ever expected to have was a soulmate. The concept wasn't necessarily impossible or all that foreign - people found they had soulmates a lot more frequently after space really opened up - but she always assumed she was destined to be a lone wolf. She wanted a family, sure, but she was and had always been content in the notion that she'd have to raise one alone. That had been fine.

Then she met Him, on one of the worst days of her life. A prince charming she'd never in a thousand lifetimes believe she could have, that she most certainly didn't deserve, particularly when life had been, up to that point, so needlessly cruel.

Rose was giving birth, far too early, and things were messy. Stella's boyfriend (if she could call him that) wasn't answering his phone, of course, so it looked like she was alone with this. Of course.

Her usual vet was out of town visiting his children, but there was one other who had been traveling around the area… Dr. Damarav was a spacer, as they said (alien felt… insensitive, sometimes), and she'd never met him before, but….

For her girls, she'd take what help she could.

He picked up the phone right away, and in a soothing baritone assured her he'd be right over, he'd gotten her address and had been appraised of the general situation of her farm by the old vet before he left. It was nice to know she was being taken care of.

She wasn't expecting him to be breathtakingly handsome, tall and strong and soft. His eyes were kind, and from the moment they met hers, she felt herself calming. That all four of his hands were large and looked warm was just a bonus. Her breath hitched in her throat, and the world shrunk to just the pair of them for a blissful, wonderful moment.

The butterflies didn't last long as the worry and despair set back in, Rose bellowing in discomfort.

She ran over, Dr. Damarav - "please, call me Sol" - close behind. Despite him being a stranger, Rose seemed as calm as possible with his presence.

He got to work, talking in that beautiful baritone the whole time, narrating what he was doing, freely asking for help, though she wasn't sure if that was strictly for his benefit.

Hours later, a dead calf lay at their feet. It wasn't a surprise, but it was deeply painful nonetheless, and Stella felt herself breaking down and bawling with the stress of everything.

****

Diamonds litter her cheeks, and she has never been so beautiful. His soul longs for her, craves the feeling of her soft, small body pressed tightly into his, to shield her from the burn of the world.

His arms pull her in, gentle, afraid to break her while she is so fragile, but she presses in, and her fluffy head nestles perfectly in the crook where his neck meets his chest, as though his body was molded to comfort her. His heart sings, a mournful but beautiful melody, delight in finding its mate, and sorrow at her anguish, and fear she would never understand. That can wait, for now, while he is here to comfort.

"I… am so sorry, Miss Stella."

The name is still unsure on his tongue. But he grows more adept at uttering it.

"Me too," her soft reply.

They stay this way a moment, shielded in grief from the outside world, where new life waits to ease the pain.

He knows her eyes, so full, must burn, and it is easy enough to place his hand over them, letting his cool skin soothe the ache. He considers what he can do. He can help, somehow, surely.

Food.

He can take that worry from her. Can make sure she takes moderate care of herself through the thick fog of hurt.

He can make a proper grave for the lost little one, a tender mercy for the body that never drew breath.

He can ensure the other animals are fed, are comfortable, if only so she may rest this night and be able to start fresh in the morning.

All these things he can do. So he will.

"Get inside, Stella. I will take care of everything. Please. Rest. Shower or bathe. Give yourself this moment."

She makes no protest, and so he guides her from the barn, making sure to block her from seeing the calf one more time, to her lovely little home, into the door.

"I will be back in three hours with food to last until tomorrow evening, alright? I can leave it on the porch. Call me tomorrow so I know you're going to be okay?"

He knows it sounds pleading. It is. He exists, at this moment, to care for her.

Luckily she agrees.

Off he goes, first to clean the mother cow, much quicker to move on with her pain, much more comfortable in the circles that life weaves, and he is tender as he moves the body, so tiny, into a grave. He leaves a handful of flower petals to mark it, a gesture of his own people.

"May your life be happier next time, little one," he murmurs, a hope as much as ritual.

Then it is off to make food. He is much more able to cook for humans these days, their palettes not so different. Though he holds back the intoxicants this time. There will be chances for that later, when he knows she is in a proper way. His food is hearty, "stick to the bones" as his human friends would say, though it is much more likely to stick to arteries. He does not worry about this with Stella. She is hearty. Bred for hard work and great enjoyment.

He wonders how it would be to know her deeper secrets.

But there is time for that.

For now, he bears her pain with her, and leaves a heaping portion of "comfort food" and a chocolate kind of "iced cream" for her, with a note of comfort, prayers his people offer those moved on.

He will come again, for the next cow's birth, and feels confident it will go much better. Maybe with a celebration, he might begin to properly love her.

***

The food is there, as he promised, a whole heaping bag of it. Mac and cheese, breadsticks, French toast… and in a smaller bag, homemade ice cream. Chocolate mint. She'd never felt so cared for in her life, and by someone who'd only met her hours earlier.

She'd certainly never felt so loved by Neil, who had not bothered to get back to her, even after her (embarrassing) frantic voice-mail.

That a stranger (even if he was beautiful and kind and wonderful) who didn't know a thing about her showed a world of concern, while he was radio silent, was just the nail in the coffin. She couldn't do this any more. He wouldn't answer her calls. So she sent a text.

[To: N]: I can't do this any more. Tell me when I can pick up my stuff, please. I think I have Pa's sweater and a comb from my Nana.

She wasn't expecting a response, so she ate a little food, all of the ice cream, and laid out in bed.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but there was a text chain awaiting her when the sun began to rise. It looked like they came in when she fell asleep. Of course.

[From: N]: what the fuck do u mean. Fuck off.

[From: N]: also. What the fuck was with the billion calls? Calm down its just a cow you have like 7. I'm sure it'll be fine if one is sick or whatever

[From: N]: hey don't fucking ignore me. Come over. Ill make you forget your woes ;) ;P

[From: N]: where the hell are you? Hello???? You better not still be pouting about the cow thing or I swear I'll fucking end it here.

[From: N]: fucking come over or call me or I'll rip up this fucking sweater bitch

Ah.

She didn't think she could feel worse than she had before she went to bed.

She barely comprehended what she was doing as she dialed the saved number, and really didn't remember anything until there were four arms holding her close to a warm chest as she broke down in front of the Doctor for the second time in about 12 hours.

He soothed her, whispering that things were going to be okay. There was a thrumming energy coming from him that felt so nice, so soothing… she barely registered that the small indentation at the base of his throat (his clavicle?) fit her face perfectly. When she was able to think beyond hurt, she'd think about what it meant.

As it was, she let him hold her, and she was sure she was blubbering like a lunatic, and he stayed.

At some point he moved her to her sofa, and still he was there, holding her tight.

She had no idea how much time passed, but it had to be pretty considerable, giving it was evening when she really felt like she could think again.

And he was there. Not holding her now, but he was sitting down, large plate of food in hand.

"Oh, you are awake. Good. Please, eat," he encouraged in his soothingly deep voice.

She didn't know if she felt like it, but it did smell fantastic… maybe just a little bite. Maybe another…

Soon she had finished the plate he'd brought out, and before she could feel properly embarrassed by that, she caught his expression. No one had ever looked at her the way he was, eyes warm and full of…

Love.

It made her blush, the heat of her face adding to the warmth it gave her heart. She couldn't even protest that they hadn't known each other that long - something about this, about him, just felt right. Like she was mean to be here, with him, and he was meant to be feeding her, holding her, taking care of her.

"Stella?"

Ah. She'd zoned out again.

"Sorry, what was that?" She managed.

"Do not worry. I asked if you would like more food? You must be starving and exhausted after your ordeals of the last days."

She looked away sheepishly, wondering how much she'd confessed in her earlier sort of fugue state. And yet his face wasn't one full of pity. Just love. Somehow.

"I'm fine, thank you, Sol. Just thinking. About… everything. And especially how grateful I am for you. Again."

He smiled softly and sat closer, two warm hands on her back.

"I was made to cherish you. It is an easy task."

The confession should have freaked her out. Or bothered her. Or something. Instead it just continued to feel perfectly right. She enjoyed things feeling right, however briefly.

"Well… Thank you anyways," she managed.

"You are most welcome. Now. Would you like me to come with you to gather your things?"

"From…?"

"That man's house. It was something you seemed deeply concerned with earlier. That you had precious things that he would ruin. I do not think you should go alone. I am happy to help."

She ducked her head and nodded slowly.

"I would. Thank you… again…."

He smiled, rubbing gentle circles on the small of her back. "I am happy for the job. The animals are fed and well, so you do not need to worry further about that. The evening is yours. Would you like me to leave?"

"No! No, please, I-" she shook her head sheepishly, holding herself m, "I don't want to be alone right now," she confessed.

"That is no problem, dear heart," he replied, so gently it made her want to cry.

"I… what is this? This thing between us? It feels… right. But also that feels weird. N-no offense…"

He chuckled, a sound she decided she wanted to hear much more of, and tucked a wild curl behind her ear.

"You humans call them soulmates. You, Stella, make my heart sing. I was made for you, as you were made to be mine. If you will have me."

"Happily," she said before she could stop herself, turning red again.

Another laugh, and his forehead touched hers gently.

"I am glad to hear it. Now let us get you into a bed so you may rest more properly. Please."

She didn't bother protesting as he scooped her up, a fantasy she'd never thought she could experience, and carried her up the creaking stairs to her modest room. She'd be embarrassed about that too if she didn't suddenly feel so exhausted. As it was, she was out again as soon as her back hit the mattress.

She decided she liked being his.

***

"If you hate me so fucking much, then why are you hiding behind your giant, huh Stella?? Come out and face me yourself, you bitch!”

She doesn't. She cowers behind the new man's shoulder. She feels weak. Sol is going to think she's pathetic. He'll leave. Then she'll have to face Neil alone. She can't do that. She won't. She-

"You make her afraid, little man." There is no jab nor barb in the statement. It's just a fact.

"You make her feel… tiny. Helpless. It is not cowardice to hide from what hurts you. It is… shameful, however, to treat someone in such a way that they are afraid to face you."

Neil's taken aback. No cutting remarks. No taunting. No "look how much better I am." Just calm, patience.

Stella clings to Sol's hand, lip quivering. She doesn't want to cry. She can't. She won't let Neil have the satisfaction. He's taken so much already. And yet she feels… almost relieved.

It's been a week since the Incident, as Sol thinks of it. He had helped his beloved craft a text message and an official letter breaking up with this little man, and making sure he knew that there would be severe repercussions should anything happen to her things here. She couldn't have made it without his support.

Sol pulls his hand away, and before she can panic, he moves it to her back, fingers pressing gentle, soothing circles in her spine. He knows it makes her feel safer. That she likes pressure on her spine, and has trouble sleeping at night without it. He idly wonders if Neil knows that. He doubts it. Neil doesn't seem the type to learn such intimate details about a lover, which is a shame. But the anger, the sheer fury that the small man is emitting… he is glad that Stella is not here alone. That he can help.

"Go and get your things, darling one. I will stay here and make sure he does not follow you. Is that alright?"

Stella takes a shuddery breath and nods, eyes flicking nervously from Neil to Sol.

They look so different. Neil is small, angry, his entire form crumpled inwards to sharpen himself. Sol is tall, curved, smooth, warm. He is open, calm, where Neil is a tempest.

Sol nods again, encouraging her in, and she all but runs into the small space, to gather the very few things she cared about enough to worry over:

A comb of her grandmother's - Japanese wood, hand made by a man who loved her for a long time, but could give her no children.

A bra (that had cost her two weeks of work's worth of cash).

Her good pen, the one that didn't smear and out her as a leftie.

Finally, her favorite sweater. It had belonged to a father long gone now. It was all she had of him. And Neil had threatened to tear it up.

They are safe now, and true to his word, Sol did not let Neil in. She lets out another shaky breath, her things carefully packed in a canvas bag, and ventures back out, making a beeline for the larger man.

His arm is already in place to pull her into his side as she makes it to him.

"Are you ready, my Star?" He asks softly, not even bothering to look at Neil anymore, turning them away.

"Yeah…" she answers, still shaken.

"Hey! Don't ignore me! What about my shit?! The stuff I have at your place?!” Neil knows this is a tenuous argument at best. He doesn't even remember spending a night there, much less leaving anything.

"You may gather it later. When she is gone, and I am there. I will not have you hurting her any more than you have. Goodbye."

There is no room for argument. That doesn't mean Neil won't try, hurling obscenities, the things he knows that hurt her the worst. How fat she is. How she will never have children. That her giant sugar daddy will see, soon enough, how worthless she is, and leave, and she better not come crawling back.

Sol just holds her close as they walk, moving the hand on her back to her head, covering her exposed ear. They do not stop. They do not acknowledge him. It's like he has simply stopped existing for them.

#my writing #rayne writes #fanfiction #hyperdrive #august 2023 #au-gust 23

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projektnomad · 1 year

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3 million years into deep space, the ship to surface transport vehicle Starbug 1 is drifting aimlessly toward a long abandoned expedition ship. The beeping of a proximity alert rouses Cat from a dream of raining fish and he stares out the window at the hulking lump of titanium and steel.

“This one better have some damn fish!” He mutters to himself before pressing the ‘all hands’ button on the dash to summon the rest of the crew.

Acting First Officer Rimmer struts authoritatively into the cockpit. “What is it this time? Another ‘wibbly thing’ on the radar screen that actually happens to be chocolate pudding? Or did you just dream about fish again?”

Cat points. “Look for yourself goalpost head.”

Rimmer squints at the ship. “HMS Camden Lock. It’s British. We might be able to get some baked beans and HP sauce, lovely.”

Kryten stumbles in wearing his apron and presenting a tray of appetisers. “Sirs, I’m sorry to report that Mr Lister won’t be joining us unless this is a matter of utmost urgency.”

“Why?” Demands Rimmer.

“He said if this turned out to be Mr Cat crying about the lack of fish again then he was going to insert a live space weevil into him and take bets on how long it took to crawl back out again. He refuses to get out of bed.”

“Out of bed?” Rimmer asks. “It’s 3.30 on a Wednesday, even he’s usually up by now.”

“No, sir, Mr Lister had a lot of urine recyce wine at the weekend and asked me to set the clocks back so he’d recover in time for Monday. It’s actually 9.45 on Sunday morning.”

Rimmer sighs and shakes his head. “Cat’s spotted a ship, it’s the HMS Camden Lock.”

“Ah yes, the HMS Camden Lock, an expeditionary ship launched in 2151 by Great Britain, one of the few remaining sole nation states on Earth at the time. They went out searching the galaxy for trading partners. They thought that if they found new territory where nobody knew who the British were that they might actually find someone who wanted to rent an office block in Milton Keynes or invest in Melton Mowbray pork pies. Mr Lister’s home city was in Great Britain.”

“How did they get on?” Rimmer asks.

“Well, you see those holes in the side of the ship, sir?” Kryten asks, pointing out of the viewport at the scorched, gaping holes in the hull, presumably caused by large explosions. “I think that gives us some idea how far the reputation of the British has reached.”

“I can smell something, and it ain’t no pork pies.” Cat interjects.

Rimmer runs a scan. “There’s a residual energy reading, there’s some sort of AI still running on board.” He turns to Kryten. “Raise comms, attempt to hail them.”

“Right you are, Sir.” Says Kryten as he taps at a keyboard and bangs the side of a monitor until the picture comes up.

The hailing frequency takes a few moments to get a response before the screen displays a dimly lit woman in a strange metallic helmet, covered in dirt and cobwebs. A spider crawls across her face. Her smile is wide and creepy.

“Greetings, I am Sandstrom.”

Kryten is about to speak, when Rimmer leans in and interjects. “Greetings Sandstrom, this is Acting First Officer Arnold J. Rimmer, but you can call me Arn.”

“What can I do for you Mr Rimmer?” Sandstrom asks.

“Please, call me Arn. Or Arnie, Iron Balls, whatever. We see you’ve taken a few hits. Are any of the crew still alive?”

“They’re all dead, Arn.” Sandstrom says, her smile staying as wide as ever. “Everybody’s dead, Arn.”

“Guys, let’s cut to the chase here.” Cat says, combing his hair. “Lady! You got any fish?”

Sandstrom’s smile fades and she begins to look peeved. “The HMS Camden Lock does not stock fish. Great Britain is still seeking fishing territories at this time.”

Kryten taps Rimmer on the shoulder and whispers in his ear. “I think we might have a problem, sir. My readings indicate that this AI is carrying a version of the holo virus that you contracted some years ago.”

Sandstrom raises her left hand next to her head, on it there sits a tattered looking Ed the Duck puppet. “What’s that Ed? No, we couldn’t possibly do that. Who’d clean up the mess?”

“Screw this.” His feet up on the dash, Cat uses the heel of his boot to tap a red button and sends a trash compactor shot towards the Camden Lock.

“Sir, what are you doing?!” Kryten asks, shocked. “Their stock manifest shows over 18,000 tons of curry on board.”

Sandstrom’s eyes glow red and a bolt of red plasma arcs from the comms panel into Mr Rimmer, knocking him unconscious, he lands slumped in his seat.

“What the hell is going on?!” Lister asks as he makes his way into the cockpit just in time to see the Camden Lock blown into millions of pieces.

“Um... hi buddy.” Says Cat, his teeth poking sheepishly over his bottom lip.

“What have I missed?!” Lister asks, poking the unconscious Rimmer.

“Well,” Kryten says, “we’re going to need Mr Flibble and a live space weevil, sir.”

#red dwarf #hyperdrive

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