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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. :)]
Trail, Distortion, Function
Trace's heart sank as he deciphered the readouts flashing across his console. Most of them were flickering tones of orange and yellow, silent alarms and warning indicators.
"Sir?" He kept his eyes on the screen. "My navigation equipment is malfunctioning."
He didn't have to be looking at Franklin to notice the way this report made his captain tense. The shuttle was among their smallest, which meant the pilot and copilot's seats were only a foot apart at the front of the narrow cabin.
"Which systems?" Franklin's voice held familiar control, and the smooth calm eased Trace's riled nerves.
"All of them," he admitted, uneasy even though it wasn't his fault.
Franklin's hands—large and strong and deceptively quick—danced across the secondary console. Trace tried not to follow them with his eyes, but of course he failed. Franklin's hands were just as distracting as the rest of him: sleek voice, broad shoulders, sturdy frame, handsome face.
Trace wouldn't say he had a problem exactly, but.
Well.
He had a problem.
"It's got to be the wake from the Marrick's singularity drive," Trace guessed just before the readouts pinged to confirm. "The disturbance is spreading faster than anticipated. Our shuttle can't filter distortions on this scale."
He risked a sideways glance and found his captain scowling. A deep crease shadowed the very center of Franklin's brow, and his mouth turned sharply down at one corner. The sight should not have been charming; the situation was serious. Trace didn't have time for his heart to be pulling this nonsense.
"Sir?" he said.
The frown eased. The crease smoothed. Franklin sat straighter. "We are going to lose the trail. Again."
"I know," Trace said softly. This would mark the third time their prey had eluded them. They badly needed this payday—hunting bounties wasn't exactly reliable work—and the Marrick boasted a particularly nasty crew of cutthroats. The bounty had been driven to improbable heights by the fact that the Marrick's experimental propulsion technology tended to leave rifts and ripples behind, fucking up normal space travel for months after passing through.
Money aside, it would be satisfying as hell to bring this lot in.
But it wasn't going to happen today.
The tension had returned to Franklin's shoulders, and Trace understood all too well. The frustration of being thwarted—the failure of measures they'd taken in hopes of avoiding exactly this—when their own resources were already spread thin.
"We'll find them again, sir." Trace made sure to sound more confident than he felt. After all, they'd succeeded before, with quarry just as slippery. The were professionals. They could do this.
Whatever response he expected to his observation, it was not the one that followed.
Franklin looked directly at him and smiled. Wide, bright, almost surprised. That generous mouth turned up at the corners with a quick flash of teeth, and a moment later Franklin breathed a short huff that could almost have been a laugh.
"Optimism is a good look for you," Franklin said. Unmistakable affection rumbled beneath the words, and the sound made Trace's face heat.
He couldn't think of a single answer as he stared into his captain's face. Franklin's stiff posture had eased in a span of seconds, to something familiar and relaxed. As though he'd accepted Trace's reassurance as gospel and was no longer concerned.
A moment later the smile softened and all but disappeared, but there was still a crinkle at the corners of Franklin's eyes.
Amusement. His captain was laughing at him. The idea should have pricked uncomfortably at Trace's pride.
For some reason it didn't; he opted not to wonder why that might be.
Eventually—finally—Franklin faced forward again, turning his attention once more to his console and the distant handful of stars glinting through the viewport.
"I suppose we'd better find a way to rig a distress signal the crew can actually detect through all this noise."
"Yes," Trace agreed after a beat too long, scrambling to put his own attention back where it belonged. "We should definitely do that."
Franklin's smile this time was small and lopsided. "Good. Let's get started."
Trace's heart sank as he deciphered the readouts flashing across his console. Most of them were flickering tones of orange and yellow, silent alarms and warning indicators.
"Sir?" He kept his eyes on the screen. "My navigation equipment is malfunctioning."
He didn't have to be looking at Franklin to notice the way this report made his captain tense. The shuttle was among their smallest, which meant the pilot and copilot's seats were only a foot apart at the front of the narrow cabin.
"Which systems?" Franklin's voice held familiar control, and the smooth calm eased Trace's riled nerves.
"All of them," he admitted, uneasy even though it wasn't his fault.
Franklin's hands—large and strong and deceptively quick—danced across the secondary console. Trace tried not to follow them with his eyes, but of course he failed. Franklin's hands were just as distracting as the rest of him: sleek voice, broad shoulders, sturdy frame, handsome face.
Trace wouldn't say he had a problem exactly, but.
Well.
He had a problem.
"It's got to be the wake from the Marrick's singularity drive," Trace guessed just before the readouts pinged to confirm. "The disturbance is spreading faster than anticipated. Our shuttle can't filter distortions on this scale."
He risked a sideways glance and found his captain scowling. A deep crease shadowed the very center of Franklin's brow, and his mouth turned sharply down at one corner. The sight should not have been charming; the situation was serious. Trace didn't have time for his heart to be pulling this nonsense.
"Sir?" he said.
The frown eased. The crease smoothed. Franklin sat straighter. "We are going to lose the trail. Again."
"I know," Trace said softly. This would mark the third time their prey had eluded them. They badly needed this payday—hunting bounties wasn't exactly reliable work—and the Marrick boasted a particularly nasty crew of cutthroats. The bounty had been driven to improbable heights by the fact that the Marrick's experimental propulsion technology tended to leave rifts and ripples behind, fucking up normal space travel for months after passing through.
Money aside, it would be satisfying as hell to bring this lot in.
But it wasn't going to happen today.
The tension had returned to Franklin's shoulders, and Trace understood all too well. The frustration of being thwarted—the failure of measures they'd taken in hopes of avoiding exactly this—when their own resources were already spread thin.
"We'll find them again, sir." Trace made sure to sound more confident than he felt. After all, they'd succeeded before, with quarry just as slippery. The were professionals. They could do this.
Whatever response he expected to his observation, it was not the one that followed.
Franklin looked directly at him and smiled. Wide, bright, almost surprised. That generous mouth turned up at the corners with a quick flash of teeth, and a moment later Franklin breathed a short huff that could almost have been a laugh.
"Optimism is a good look for you," Franklin said. Unmistakable affection rumbled beneath the words, and the sound made Trace's face heat.
He couldn't think of a single answer as he stared into his captain's face. Franklin's stiff posture had eased in a span of seconds, to something familiar and relaxed. As though he'd accepted Trace's reassurance as gospel and was no longer concerned.
A moment later the smile softened and all but disappeared, but there was still a crinkle at the corners of Franklin's eyes.
Amusement. His captain was laughing at him. The idea should have pricked uncomfortably at Trace's pride.
For some reason it didn't; he opted not to wonder why that might be.
Eventually—finally—Franklin faced forward again, turning his attention once more to his console and the distant handful of stars glinting through the viewport.
"I suppose we'd better find a way to rig a distress signal the crew can actually detect through all this noise."
"Yes," Trace agreed after a beat too long, scrambling to put his own attention back where it belonged. "We should definitely do that."
Franklin's smile this time was small and lopsided. "Good. Let's get started."
