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yolandekleinn[This ficlet is not part of a larger work, though the characters (Trace and Franklin) appear in another microfic you can find via the tags below. Just a fun little story written using the three prompt words in the subject line. I very much hope you enjoy it. :)]
Criticism, Affinity, Essential
"Look, just let me try." Trace's elbow nudged his arm, gentle but with an edge of stubbornness.
"Because you have such an affinity for reprogramming recalcitrant locks?" Franklin bit out in reply. He regretted both the words and the tone as soon as they emerged—it wasn't Trace he was frustrated with—but he still barely managed to bite his tongue and stop talking.
"Nope." Miraculously, Trace still sounded calm and easy. "But you've been trying to open that door for over an hour."
"If you think criticizing will help—"
"It wasn't criticism," Trace cut him off in the same level tone. A moment later Franklin felt the delicate curl of fingers at the nape of his neck, cool and grounding. "But Captain, you're frustrated. Let me try. Hell, you can take a crack at the comm panel if you want. I couldn't get any power to main or subspace frequencies. Maybe you'll have better luck."
Franklin huffed an irate sigh, but he dropped the diagnostic device and sat back on his heels. A moment for the ache in his shoulders to register, and he rearranged his limbs to sit properly, legs crossed and eyes drifting shut.
"You're just placating me," he murmured, but this time the words came out tired instead of angry.
"Maybe." Trace's touch disappeared from Franklin's neck. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."
When Franklin opened his eyes, he found a humoring smile turned directly on him. It was a warm expression, and one he had no business appreciating when there were bigger problems to face. Like the fact that they were trapped. Like the city-sized port station, outdated and abandoned, that so far had contained nothing worth salvaging, despite promising scans. They weren't even a salvage crew—they shouldn't have come aboard in the first place.
The claustrophobic little command center contained an abundance of dead consoles. The disconnected power nodes meant the only door out of this room—tightly closed and impenetrable—was also nonfunctional.
They couldn't even contact the ship to tell the rest of the crew they were both all right.
"We won't get left behind," Trace interjected as though reading his mind. "And the station is stable. All essential systems are running. It's only a matter of time before we find a way out, or the crew finds a way in."
"Right." Franklin drew his first easy breath in what felt like hours. His people were out there. Few but resourceful. And while they wouldn't know where on this massive station to start, they would be looking.
"Come on." Trace nudged him again. "Let me take a crack. You can make fun of me all you want if I fail."
"A captain does not mock his subordinates," Franklin retorted in a dry tone. But he shifted aside and gave over the space in front of the disassembled door mechanism.
Trace smirked as he settled into place. "Whatever you say, sir. Hand me that spanner."
"Look, just let me try." Trace's elbow nudged his arm, gentle but with an edge of stubbornness.
"Because you have such an affinity for reprogramming recalcitrant locks?" Franklin bit out in reply. He regretted both the words and the tone as soon as they emerged—it wasn't Trace he was frustrated with—but he still barely managed to bite his tongue and stop talking.
"Nope." Miraculously, Trace still sounded calm and easy. "But you've been trying to open that door for over an hour."
"If you think criticizing will help—"
"It wasn't criticism," Trace cut him off in the same level tone. A moment later Franklin felt the delicate curl of fingers at the nape of his neck, cool and grounding. "But Captain, you're frustrated. Let me try. Hell, you can take a crack at the comm panel if you want. I couldn't get any power to main or subspace frequencies. Maybe you'll have better luck."
Franklin huffed an irate sigh, but he dropped the diagnostic device and sat back on his heels. A moment for the ache in his shoulders to register, and he rearranged his limbs to sit properly, legs crossed and eyes drifting shut.
"You're just placating me," he murmured, but this time the words came out tired instead of angry.
"Maybe." Trace's touch disappeared from Franklin's neck. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."
When Franklin opened his eyes, he found a humoring smile turned directly on him. It was a warm expression, and one he had no business appreciating when there were bigger problems to face. Like the fact that they were trapped. Like the city-sized port station, outdated and abandoned, that so far had contained nothing worth salvaging, despite promising scans. They weren't even a salvage crew—they shouldn't have come aboard in the first place.
The claustrophobic little command center contained an abundance of dead consoles. The disconnected power nodes meant the only door out of this room—tightly closed and impenetrable—was also nonfunctional.
They couldn't even contact the ship to tell the rest of the crew they were both all right.
"We won't get left behind," Trace interjected as though reading his mind. "And the station is stable. All essential systems are running. It's only a matter of time before we find a way out, or the crew finds a way in."
"Right." Franklin drew his first easy breath in what felt like hours. His people were out there. Few but resourceful. And while they wouldn't know where on this massive station to start, they would be looking.
"Come on." Trace nudged him again. "Let me take a crack. You can make fun of me all you want if I fail."
"A captain does not mock his subordinates," Franklin retorted in a dry tone. But he shifted aside and gave over the space in front of the disassembled door mechanism.
Trace smirked as he settled into place. "Whatever you say, sir. Hand me that spanner."
