![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
5 + 1 = coffee.
They met in the kitchen, one morning, and neither one noted how odd it was. One end of the hallway versus the other, but they were both here, grabbing mugs and waiting on the coffee and not commenting about how the time according to the ship meant shit compared to their routine back home.
---
The next time they avoided one another. Hard to do, two huge presences in an empty space, and they managed it out of sheer stubbornness. Flickers of eyes to the counter, to the surroundings, one tidying up something that the other deemed a waste of time and vice versa all over again, until the coffee was ready and another bout of eyes and not-touches came around.
The entire time they were trying to read, and the only thing they gained was that this wasn't working.
---
The morning before they were supposed to go on shore leave, and silence. There was a thrumming throughout the ship that neither of them could escape and both of them wanted to believe couldn't reach them. Sip of coffee, comment. Another comment, another sip. It was fine.
---
It wasn't fine and they were both fine with pretending it was. Another morning, another eight cups to sort between them. People were coming and going, people were missing, but every day there were eight cups made and eventually it didn't matter who made them. The only concern was if any was left in the pot the next day.
---
And one day there was, one day during that jump where he spent almost as much time in Medbay as he did the Gardens. Coffee left that he didn't check on - didn't bother with. Who gave a fuck about coffee when you didn't want to ever wake up.
---
Another morning where they bitched about who got the last cup, but quiet. Not half-hearted - half the fun was bitching, at this point it was a status check. It wasn't every morning, but even when it wasn't there was after, and coffee that late wouldn't do either of them good, wouldn't help them sleep, but the peace of mind was almost as effective.
This time it was morning and he stopped halfway through a sarcastic volley, just looked up at Russia and sighed through his crooked smile. Told the bastard he could have it and went back, nose first, into his mug. Muttered "progress" and cast about the kitchen before returning, knew Russia would get it even before he heard the hum in reply.
---
The next time they avoided one another. Hard to do, two huge presences in an empty space, and they managed it out of sheer stubbornness. Flickers of eyes to the counter, to the surroundings, one tidying up something that the other deemed a waste of time and vice versa all over again, until the coffee was ready and another bout of eyes and not-touches came around.
The entire time they were trying to read, and the only thing they gained was that this wasn't working.
---
The morning before they were supposed to go on shore leave, and silence. There was a thrumming throughout the ship that neither of them could escape and both of them wanted to believe couldn't reach them. Sip of coffee, comment. Another comment, another sip. It was fine.
---
It wasn't fine and they were both fine with pretending it was. Another morning, another eight cups to sort between them. People were coming and going, people were missing, but every day there were eight cups made and eventually it didn't matter who made them. The only concern was if any was left in the pot the next day.
---
And one day there was, one day during that jump where he spent almost as much time in Medbay as he did the Gardens. Coffee left that he didn't check on - didn't bother with. Who gave a fuck about coffee when you didn't want to ever wake up.
---
Another morning where they bitched about who got the last cup, but quiet. Not half-hearted - half the fun was bitching, at this point it was a status check. It wasn't every morning, but even when it wasn't there was after, and coffee that late wouldn't do either of them good, wouldn't help them sleep, but the peace of mind was almost as effective.
This time it was morning and he stopped halfway through a sarcastic volley, just looked up at Russia and sighed through his crooked smile. Told the bastard he could have it and went back, nose first, into his mug. Muttered "progress" and cast about the kitchen before returning, knew Russia would get it even before he heard the hum in reply.