#yeah im declaring this ship to be andrejarah sue me

[cycian]

Starfield request: Andreja preparing to cook a meal for everyone in the lodge, whatever that entails in your imagination. Perhaps Sarah is also around to help, which again, is up to you how that plays out.

I lost control. 4.9k words under the readmore, Andreja/Sarah pairing. Sorry not sorry. Will be posted to ao3 after some editing within the week. Oopsie doopsie, love you Ronqueesha but you knew precisely what this ask would do to me lol.

Blurring lines

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of eating nothing but takeout, deliveries. Countless Chunks menus had been ordered and promptly devoured by the ravenous Constellation members.

Sarah could hardly believe it as she added the expenses onto the budget. Until now, she hadn't realised that Barrett's favorite past time had been a blessing upon their budget, stomachs and waistlines.

Across from her, Andreja idly sharpened her blade, her eyes drifting around the warm light of day that filtered through the small greenhouse.

"I can't believe I'm going to have to say it, but Barrett's cooking is a cornerstone of our Lodge section of the budget." Sarah said, mostly to herself, as she hadn't expected Andreja to be paying attention to her mumblings and ravings.

The blade stopped on its block for an instant, before resuming its dance.

Sarah thought no more of it.

Until midnight struck.

She had moved from the pleasant warmth of the greenhouse for the quiet chaos of her room/office. She knew that if Noel were to catch her working so late, she'd get chastised. She was fine, she thought. Even if Sarah attempted to sleep, the nightmares would wake her up--might as well be productive.

She went down to the kitchen, located in the basement (Walter, why?), with the intent of indulging in more caffeine, only to be interrupted by curses hushed in the dead of night, in a tongue that she did not recognize. The voice, however, was very familiar to Sarah. She tried to silence her steps to figure out what was bothering Andreja to the point of using expletives, only to find the Va’ruun woman covered from head to toe in flour.

Sarah Morgan was not exactly known for being ‘stealthy’ or discreet or even remotely ‘subtle’. She was, at best, a terrormorph in a china shop. Despite her best efforts, she could not manage to repress the undignified snort that escaped her.

Andreja’s eyes snapped to her, narrowed into dark slits, before softening as the leader of Constellation stepped towards the light, clad in her very elegant pajamas. An old UC vanguard shirt, fraying at the edges (an umpteenth attempt from John to get her to enlist again) and her blue checkered pajama pants that bore countless coffee stains. Somehow, she felt underdressed, compared to Andreja and her endless supply of Va’ruun outfits, despite the former smuggler being covered in flour.

Sarah wondered how it was possible to always look so…stunning. Even looking like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, covered in flour in the late hours of the night, Andreja looked stunning as she attempted to pat the flour out of her clothes.

“Do not worry about the mess, Miss Morgan. I will clean this up. My apologies. I hope I did not wake you up.” Andreja’s words broke Sarah out of her daydream, forcing her to tear her eyes away from the defined biceps.

“Don’t worry about it, Andreja, I haven’t gone to bed yet.” She wiggled her favorite mug (it had one particularly cute cat drawn on it), moving past the flour-covered woman to pour herself more coffee. Sarah raised her eyebrow. The pot was empty. She usually was the one to siphon it throughout the night but—

“You don’t usually stay up this late. I hope everything is okay.” Sarah asked as she poured some water into the coffee maker, before adding some grounds. Some more patting sounds came from behind her, and as the machine came to life, Sarah turned around, only to find Andreja staring at the kitchen with a menacing glare.

“I am fine, Miss Morgan.” Poor thing. Even her back was covered in flour. Sarah carefully approached her, slowly letting her hand rest on Andreja’s shoulder and pushing the younger woman to look at her.

Andreja looked down, her eyes finally meeting Sarah’s. The Chair of Constellation was not used to looking up at someone—she usually towered over most people she met. But Andreja was tall. And not just lanky tall, either. She reminded Sarah of the stories she’d read about in books, about Amazonians of incredibly heights, strength and determination. Every inch of her was like a blade. Her cheekbones were sharp enough to cut, her eyes piercing like a knife’s tip, her body ever-coiled like a snake awaiting the occasion to strike. Even now, she felt those muscles tense under her touch.

“Miss Morgan?” Andreja tilted her head to the side quizzically, flour streaking her pitch-black hair. Sarah cursed herself internally.

“Sorry, lack of sleep can make me a little…disconnected.” Her hand moved off of Andreja’s shoulder, before hovering next to her hair. “May I help you with the flour situation? I wouldn’t want you to lose one of your garbs to pesky flour.”

Andreja nodded, a small smile lighting up her face. Sarah gently brushed the flour away from the Va’runn’s hair. How was it so soft? It was like touching silk, or a gentle stream.

“Ashta oil, mostly. Sam was kind enough to provide me with some.” Andreja explained while Sarah Morgan was busy wondering if the filter between her brain and her mouth had fully malfunctioned. Thankfully, Andreja did not seem to mind or care too much as she let Sarah pat her down.

“Well, at least, you can rest assured that white hair will suit you.” Sarah said, holding a strand of flour-covered hair.

Andreja’s lips tightened in a polite smile, before taking a step back. Sarah did not mind in the slightest. Nor was she shocked. Andreja had been here for well over a year, yet it was always two steps forward and one step back with her. She reminded Sarah of the black cat on her cup. Hard to predict, always on her guard, never knowing if she was about to cozy up to you or about to bolt.

“I suppose you must be wondering why I was in such a…situation.” Andreja broke the silence as Sarah stopped the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup, before turning around, coffee pot in hand. Andreja nodded, before retrieving one of the generic mugs that they kept in storage for the few visitors that sometimes came by the Lodge.

“I stopped asking our dear colleagues what they were up to, when caught in strange situations, about seven years ago. Better this way.” Sarah still remembered the five-hour tale Barrett weaved when she asked him why he hung his socks in the greenhouse.

Andreja nodded, letting Sarah pour her a cup of coffee, before leaning her hip against the counter.

“An unusual group of people, getting up to unusual activities. Hardly surprising. In my case, I was attempting something… mundane.”

“I’m guessing you were cooking.”

“Trying to.” Andreja gestured to her black garb, still bearing some faint traces of flour. Sarah gently brushed away some that lingered on Andreja’s thigh. “I know that Barrett’s absence is a strain on our budget—and morale. I wondered if perhaps I could attempt to replicate one of his recipes. He was kind enough to provide me with access to his cooking slates, but they’ve proven…challenging.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. Barrett’s recipes were his only secret. Even Noel had been forbidden from ever accessing this treasure. Sarah never bothered asking—cooking was not really something that interested her much.

“You seem surprised. I suppose that a smuggler covered in flour is surprising.” Andreja said, her voice uncharacteristically meek. Sarah pursed her lips.

“Former smuggler. And I am happy whenever a Constellation member decides to learn a new skillset. No teasing from me, Andreja, I promise. What were you trying to cook? Surely Barrett’s recipe can’t be that complicated.”

Oh, how wrong she had been.

Cursed be Barrett, and the amped-up hare that he had in place of a functioning brain.

The recipe’s title was simple enough. Homemade pasta with tomato sauce. However, the more she read on the data slate, the stronger the chance of a headache became. Barrett spent the two first pages of the slate describing the history of Italy and southern European Old Earth delights. He somehow managed to get lost within his historical ramblings, before even providing a list of the ingredients. With every line, the urge to hunt Barrett down and force him to be coherent became stronger. The instructions were hidden in between paragraphs of Barrett waxing poetry about the consistency of the dough (soft as a summer’s day and firm as a lover’s embrace was NOT helpful) and doodles of Constellation members.

Sarah set down the data slate, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“He is certainly passionate about cooking.” Andreja offered, while Sarah was contemplating telling Andreja to just order from yet another restaurant. But she couldn’t. Because when she turned around, she was met with knee-buckling soft brown eyes staring down at her.

“We are explorers. We spend our lives deciphering the Universe’s secret. Surely, we can wing a pasta recipe and get away with it.”

Andreja always tried to keep an eye on the time. It was an old habit that refused to die. Keeping track of time helped her know when a patrol might be coming by, or if she’d stayed in the same area for too long. However, in the dimly lit basement, with Sarah’s chuckles and occasional grumbles of discontentment, time had lost all meaning. They’d started over at least a dozen times. She was certain that the budget had yet suffered another blow, as they cracked open egg after egg, bags of flour hastily thrown in the garbage disposal after each failed attempt.

When Sarah had found her, she had been ready to give up. Yet, the coffee and company kept her going. Try after try, Andreja found that she cared little if the food turned out edible or not.

Because right next to her, perched on a camping chair, the Chair of Constellation, clad in her pajamas, was reading her a magazine.

It was hardly interesting. Just the New Atlantis daily. But what was interesting to Andreja, was to see Sarah come to life. Her eyes lit up as she told her that she had to visit the UC Museum (she’d rather die) or that they could go together (she’d love that). Sarah Morgan came alive when passion was involved. She sat up straighter, her hands dancing in the dim light as she described the first plant that sent her to the hospital and prompted her to take an interest in botany. Her voice, usually restrained to one precise register, one of calm and authority, would soar between highs (she was rather passionate about Old Earth pets) and rumblings lows (she did not seem to want to discuss her past with the UC).

The knowledge and worship of the Great Serpent had always brought her peace. It was an eternal, universal law. In a galaxy full of ever-changing tangents, it was her rock. Yet, as Sarah’s eyes started to droop, her temples resting on her closed fist, Andreja felt a brush of serenity pass her by.

It was how Noel found them. Passed out on camping chairs, in the early hours of the morning, boiling the galaxy’s worst pasta. Years of training had honed Andreja’s senses, yet, she did not even stir as the scientist retreated up the stairs, leaving a note on the door to not enter the basement until noon.

Thankfully, she did not sleep in that late.

Sounds of distress roused her from her sleep, only to find that the source was none other than Miss Morgan, her brow covered in a gleam of sweat. Andreja was no stranger to those demons that only came to those that had felt the fires of life’s kiss and had been left charred. She brought her hand close to Miss Morgan’s forehead, afraid to touch those golden and silver strands of hair that stuck to her forehead, before settling for her shoulder.

Miss Morgan had touched her shoulders before, it was alright, yes? It had comforted Andreja, had made her feel warm. Surely, it would help.

She gently squeezed her shoulder.

“Miss Morgan, wake up.” She spoke softly, afraid of scaring the blonde woman who writhed under Andreja’s robe’s overlayer. Miss Morgan’s hand grabbed hers, with such despair, even unconscious, that shattered Andreja’s heart. Andreja let her free hand rest atop hers, clutching it tight. “It��s me, Andreja.”

“Andreja.” Sarah repeated, her voice hoarse. She finally opened her eyes, green meeting dark brown. Her eyes widened, looking everywhere frantically.

“Calm down, you are safe, we are in the Lodge’s basement. You are safe.” She repeated. Sarah let her head fall back down against the chair, her free hand combing through her hair. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths, that she fought against. Andreja was familiar with this feeling. She leaned forward, slowly enough to give Miss Morgan plenty of opportunity to back away. She brought their conjoined hands to her own chest, taking deep, calming breaths. She let her forehead rest against Miss Morgan’s.

Andreja kept her eyes firmly set on the blonde woman. Miss Morgan’s hands entangled themselves from Andreja’s, shaking as she set them on her lap, her eyes softly opening. Although Andreja had spent more time than she would be willing to admit looking at the Chair, she still could not place the color of her eyes. Sometimes, they would be piercing blue, reminiscent of lakes on deep freeze planets, or forest green, so akin to fresh leaves as spring thawed nature.

In that dimly lit basement, they were of a blue so deep that Andreja was afraid that she might drown in them, her breath hitching as they locked eyes. For an instant, Andreja felt eternity as their eyes bore and blended in one another, before Miss Morgan pulled away.

“I…I am so sorry, Andreja. It shall not happen again, don’t worry,” The Chair spoke, as she pushed the chair back, getting out of the chair as fast as her legs would allow her. Andreja kept a hand out to stabilize her as Miss Morgan swayed on her feet, her hair sticking out in pikes and cowlicks that defied gravity. “I thank you for your help and I’ll—I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Before Andreja even had the chance to speak, the Chair bolted out of the basement as if pursued by a dozen terrormorphs, leaving a trail of flour on the flour, her favorite mug on the counter and an incredibly perplexed Andreja behind.

Sarah Morgan was mortified.

For a couple of reasons. Firstly, she’d been rash to a woman who had been kind and understanding to her. Secondly, in her haste to leave the premises, she had failed to notice that Andreja unfurled the cloth that she usually wore wrapped around her hips and over her shoulder, and had wrapped her in it. Which meant that Sam and Walter somersaulted to conclusions, with such vivacity and fervor that before Sarah could even make her way up the stairs, Vladimir had heard of it. Not only had he heard of it, but he had also already messaged her.

Threatening her to not even think of hurting Andreja’s feelings. And to do right by her.

Aja often told her that Constellation’s lines between work and family had blended the instant Banks had founded their organization. Sarah did not think much of it. She thought that she was good enough at separating her work/life balance that blurred lines would never be much of an issue for her.

Third reason for Sarah Morgan’s mortification: she could not, for the life of her, summon the willpower to remove Andreja’s cloth. It smelled just like her. A subtle drifting smell of something sharp like iron and a wafting, warm amber fragrance with hints of patchouli.

Sarah let herself fall upon her bed, after pushing the data slates of the unoccupied side. Maybe her work/life balance was not perfect.

Perhaps lines were starting to blur.

But despite the furious flush on her lips from her colleagues’ teasing, she could not find it in herself to stop a smile from creeping across her lips as she lifted Andreja’s cloth to her face.

Andreja watched, not without satisfaction, as her crepe browned in the pan. She had started to decipher Barrett’s recipe reliably enough to attempt the simplest recipes on his slates. The first one had not come out as expected—according to Vladimir, who had called her and decided to linger on the comms for a dozen minutes, it was a normal occurrence. He sounded happier than usual as he regaled her with tales of the deepest confines of space while she whisked the batter. But soon as the door to the basement opened, he excused himself, without finishing his story.

A shame. It had Aceles. Andreja loved Aceles.

“I am still not interested in a drink, Sam. But thank you all the same.” Andreja spoke over her shoulder, before flipping the crepe over once again. No response. Andreja turned her head, only to be greeted by Sarah Morgan, who held her neatly folded garb in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Not wine to be drunk from a straw. Wine with a cork, a corkscrew even poking out from the inside pocket of Miss Morgan’s jacket.

“Should I take that as a no to wine?” The Chair asked and though a smile was upon her lips, Andreja could see the tightness in her eyes. She shook her head and beckoned Miss Morgan closer.

“Expensive wine? What a rare treat, Miss Morgan. Have you given up on our budget altogether, then?” Andreja asked as she slid the crepe onto a plate, before pouring more batter into the pan. She heard a bottle being set down and a table being dragged. She heard her rummage through cupboards, before she finally turned around.

Miss Morgan had set up a table for two. A flower, bright purple, had found herself planted in a vase in the middle of the table, accompanied by the bottle of wine. Andreja’s garb had been set aside next to her mug, which had been refilled with warm coffee. Andreja watched as the Chair of Constellation, the fearless explorer that was Sarah Morgan, fretted over the napkins that she was attempting to fold in the shape of a flower. The result was less than picture perfect—Andreja loved it. She could not help but beam as Sarah proudly held the folded napkin in her hand.

Sarah Morgan loved the sound of wildlife chirping as daylight brought them out of their slumber. She loved the hum of a grav drive right before a jump. She found that the sound of Andreja laughing instantly beat all of her previous favorites. It made it all worth it. The long talk she had about Sam Coe on how to apologize to pretty women (he was an expert), the hour spent picking wine with Walter (he was an expert) and picking up an outfit (Noel and Matteo were useless but supportive). It was worth it because Andreja laughed as she folded her napkins to the best of her abilities. She’d watched a tutorial on how to make one in the shape of an Aceles, but was quickly humbled.

“I owe you an apology,” Sarah said as she set down the napkins, smoothing over her blue shirt. “It was inconsiderate of me, I just…”

Andreja held up a hand. “You owe me nothing. There is nothing that you must justify to me, unless you wish to.”

Sarah let out a breath that she had been holding for the last two decades, running a hand through the strands where silver and gold mingled freely. She let her shoulders sag. Andreja had seen her as she was. Tired. Irrational, sometimes. Prone to fleeing the instant any emotion went past what Sarah was comfortable with. Endlessly running towards the horizon, never daring to look back in fear of what she would find.

And still, she stayed.

Sarah Morgan took a step forward, past Andreja as she grabbed the pan’s handle. She gave it a quick shake, before beckoning Andreja closer.

“My parents were diplomats,” She began, feeling her voice weaken as it fought against the things it had kept quiet for so long. “My father was quite fond of crepes, he even tried to show me how to make them. I was never quite good but—”

She stepped back and directed Andreja’s hand to hold the handle just as she had, before wrapping her arms around the Va’ruun, her hands on Andreja’s. She felt the younger woman tense underneath her touch, before softening and gently leaning against her.

“Give it a tug, get the crepe unstuck. There you go, now, we’re going to do a sautee motion, push the pan forward, up, then back towards you quickly. Follow my movement.” In one swift motion, the crepe flew towards the ceiling, before landing back into the pan, perfectly flipped.

Andreja had watched with a hint of mirth as the crepe flew, a slow giggle slipping past her lips. But all Sarah could look at was her, at the smile held back with a hint of teeth, the way her eyes squinted, the hint of a crow’s nest forming at the corners of her eyes. The small smile line starting to make itself apparent.

“Thank you… Sarah.”

Just hearing her name from Andreja’s lips sent goosebumps all the way down to her arms—she hoped that Andreja hadn’t noticed as Sarah pulled away, nodding to the pan.

“Come on, give it a try.”

“I am afraid I might make a mess of it.”

“Look at my ‘flower’, it’s not exactly perfect, is it? Nothing has to be perfect. It just has to be.” Sarah encouraged her. Andreja nodded, before grabbing the handle, giving it a few tentative sweeps, before attempting to flip the crepe.

Sarah watched as the crepe soared in her direction, almost hitting her across the face. Thankfully, her reflexes were sharp. She caught it, twirling it in her hands, throwing it from hand to hand as it was still very much hot from the pan. Though Andreja’s skin was too dark for a blush to be visible, it was easy to tell that the Va’ruun was flustered, as her wide eyes seemingly couldn’t even blink anymore.

Sarah threw her a cheeky wink, before tearing the crepe and throwing it in the air, attempting to catch it with her mouth. She slid on her knees, ignoring the pain in her lower back (God, she wasn’t in her thirties anymore, and her body never failed to remind her), as the crepe fell in her mouth.

Andreja cackled, clapping her hands as Sarah rose to her knees, munching through her half with as much dignity as she could muster. She offered her audience a small bow.

“I did not know that you were so… silly.” Andreja said, a wide smile on her lips.

Darling, even I forgot that part of me.

But it was not the time to explain that with decades of self-set expectations to meet, with the scars that littered her body and mind, she’d let a rift grow between herself and the rest of the universe—friend or foe alike. Because Andreja had told her that she had no need to explain herself, unless she willed it. And tonight, just tonight, she wanted to be Sarah and Andreja, sharing crepes and wine. But deep down, she knew that when the abyss, the same that stared back every time she closed her eyes, would call her again, she knew what’d she do. She wouldn’t shy away from kind hands that would lead her to their own heartbeat to steady hers.

That night, she just said:

“Want to try?”

And she watched with glee as Andreja, the best shot she’d ever met, the sturdiest, steadiest and strongest person she’d ever met, throw a crepe up in the air and swallow it like an Old Earth seagull.

Though none of them were known for being the chattiest members of Constellation, every breath was spent on a tale, and when words ebbed, wine flowed. Andreja told her of her homeland, of the cities that lingered on the edge of the desert where she’d grown, of the pet she’d raised and slaughtered and the dagger she’d fashioned out of its skull. Of the tall beasts that would sometimes cross into their territory but that had fascinated her as a child. On an unfolded napkin, she’d drawn the outline of the beast, eyes closed in concentration, the tip of her pen dancing on cloth as she regaled Sarah with the uses for their venoms and chitin. It had reminded Sarah of scorpions, an old earth creature and they’d made plans to watch a documentary on the creatures of the desert from Sarah’s personal collection.

Sarah told her of her father’s smile, omitting his scorn. She told Andreja of his smooth hands as he pushed her on the swing, of the flaming passion for peace that got him out of bed. She spoke of her mother’s kindness and tendency to berate young Sarah for tracking mud everywhere she went.

The words they shared, those wounds that they willingly re-opened with kind hands, guided them through the night and the stack of crepes that they packed and put away for the others to enjoy in the morning.

They laughed, and for an instant, Andreja felt the caress of a youth that had been taken away from her before she could even think about enjoying it. And for an instant, Sarah Morgan’s eyes left the horizon, to instead appreciate what had been right in front of her all along.

Andreja offered to stay behind and clean up—she was starting to enjoy the freedom of a night owl. Sarah’s hand lingered on her forearm.

“If you have trouble sleeping… Come find me, Sarah.” Andreja’s tone did not offer Sarah the luxury of argumentation as her hand rested upon Sarah’s. She nodded, letting herself drift slowly into Andreja’s arms.

Andreja’s arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her close. Words were wildly unnecessary by that point. No word could do justice to the quiet adoration pooling in Andreja’s eyes and the ever-burning fire rekindled in Sarah’s own. Sarah lifted herself on her tiptoes, letting Andreja handle the brunt of her weight as she wrapped her arms around Andreja’s neck, bringing her close, to her neck.

Andreja nuzzled in, a small peck on Sarah’s neck leaving a ripple of goosebumps to dance along her skin, echoed by Andreja’s own skin. Sarah’s hand tilted Andreja’s chin, letting herself get lost.

A small kiss, chaste, but oh, so electric. An instant that lasted an eternity and tasted of amber and wine. A lingering look, one that they were not willing to break, as Sarah retreated up the stairs, entirely forgetting her red leather jacket on her chair.

She let the door close behind her as she slid against it, her eyes fluttering close. One sweet kiss, the promise of so much more to come. She let herself bask in the glow as she rose to her knees. As she climbed up the stairs, she was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

All around the Lodge’s main room, members were pretending to busy themselves. Cora was fast asleep on the sofa as Sam pretended to read a manual on astrophysics, while Matteo, next to him, was polishing his nails. Walter was sipping on a cognac, a book on his lap and a smile on his lips. Noel, with the subtlety of an Aceles whose testicles had been bitten in a china shop, leant against the doorframe and almost slipped, before asking.

Sarah couldn’t keep it at bay. Not after today. Not while she could still smell Andreja’s perfume on her skin and the taste of her lips on hers. Her face broke into a grin.

“It went amazingly. Thank you for your help, everyone.”

To her utmost discomfort, the Constellation members erupted into whoops, Noel all but grabbing her by her shoulders and shaking her vigorously, as if she were an athlete bringing home an impressive trophy.

Sarah raised her voices, hushing them down with her hands.

“Calm down, please! This is not a fraternity house!” She chided.

“But you got some!” Sam counter-attacked, his hands covering Cora’s ears, though the child could sleep through anything.

“What, no I did not, we just kissed.”

“Wait, so you guys locked me in my room all day just so they could kiss?” A voice rang from upstairs.

“Barrett!? You’re back?” Sarah looked, bewildered as the source of fifty percent of their ransom budget peaked his head over the balcony.

“Honestly, just for your face right now, worth it.”

The lines were blurring, Sarah thought, as she received claps on her backs and a beer was thrusted in her hands. But perhaps she needed friends more than she needed colleagues.