Chapter Text
“10–9–8–7–6–5–4–3–2–1–”
“LIFT OFF!” roared a small group of primary school children in Omaha, Nebraska.
“The rocket broke away in pieces, bringing the men closer to the moon,” Crowley read, turning the pages of a large picture book in front of the camera in the US Lab.
“‘Welcome!’ said the moon. She gave them gifts of moon rocks and dust. ‘Take these back to your planet,’ she said. In return, the men left her a handsome plaque and a flag with white stars scattered on a blue field. The men left in their spaceship. ‘Come again soon!’ said the moon. Finally, someone had finally visited her.”
He turned the page. “‘Perhaps someday you will visit her!’” He let go of the book, which floated serenely next to him, the lights in the lab glinting off of the hardback cover. ‘“The End.’ And that,” finished Crowley, “Is ‘Moon’s First Friends” by Susanna Leonard Hill.”
The children and parents applauded politely from a small classroom on the video screen, with cheerful posters on the wall in between a veritable gallery’s worth of crayon artwork. There was a colorful rug on the floor, patterned with numbers and the alphabet, although that was obscured by a group of about twenty first and second graders and their various parents.
They were a good group. The parents were doing a pretty decent job of keeping the kids managed, and the loo question was thankfully already out of the way.
“Who here has any more questions about space?”
All the hands shot up; a moment later, the children were surging in front of the camera.
“Oh no–” chorused a few of the adults, who threw themselves forward to organize the lot into a queue.
“How do you talk to your family?” asked the first child in line, peering concerned at the screen, eyes wide.
“We email,” said Crowley, gesturing at the laptop set into the wall behind him in the US Lab. “We have internet here, obviously. We actually also have a phone up in the station; we use it for–
“Can I call you?” No more concerned face; now, wide sparkling eyes. “What’s your number?”
Crowley chuckled. “The phone doesn't actually have a number that you can call from Earth. It's just one-way. We can call Earth from space.”
“Oh. Can you call me ?” The child whipped out a mobile complete with a lightsaber sticker on the case.
Crowley didn't waste time wondering why in the hell a primary school child would have a mobile.
“‘M sorry,” said Crowley, apologetically. “We only use the phone a little. Emergencies, that sort of thing.”
“Awww.” His chin was in danger of trembling. The parents laughed quietly as the child’s mother ushered him away from the screen, and gave him a gentle hug.
The next child peered at the screen, frowning. “Why do you have the gravity turned off?”
“Ah,” said Crowley. He had an answer already scripted for this one. “A lot of movies about space have people walking running about like normal, right?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Well, that's actually just in movies. There is no such thing as artificial gravity. The International Space Station, and all of our rockets and shuttles? No gravity.”
“Aww man ,” Another disillusioned child. He grimaced inwardly. Sometimes, space could be disappointing.
The child turned to go. She apparently thought better of it; she whirled around to run back toward the camera. “That’s April Fools, though, right?” she said, excitedly, her face nearly filling the entire screen.
“Sorry,” said Crowley apologetically. “It might be April 1st, but artificial gravity still doesn’t exist.”
“AWWWW,” said several of the children as she walked back to the group.
“Do you talk to aliens? Like in one language and then they talk back to you in their language and you both understand each other?” the next child demanded, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Er–no–there are probably other life forms in space, but–”
“So what then about blasters? If there aren’t any aliens there, do you even need them?” asked another child suspiciously, sticking his head out from the queue.
“Nope, no blasters here. They're not real, and if they were, they'd be dangerous to–
“Does the ISS have a weapons system? Is it operational?” demanded another child.
The group now completely abandoned the idea of an orderly queue; they crowded around the camera with concerned faces.
Crowley instinctively pushed himself away from the tablet.
“You have a British accent,” observed one of the children, just her eyes and forehead visible in the camera. Her breath echoed through Crowley’s speakers. “Do you work for Darth Vader?”
“Uh–”
“Back on the carpet by the count of three –” One parent barked in an authoritative tone and pointed an iron finger at the faded rug on the floor. The children ran to it screeching, and piled themselves on top of it. And each other. There was wailing when someone’s hand was inevitably smashed by a rogue foot.
Crowley snorted, and covered it with a cough.
One of the parents sidled up to the camera. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, not making eye contact with Crowley “We had a sleepover last weekend and the kids watched Star Wars.”
“That was a mistake,” someone else added loudly in the background.
“Nuh- uh , it wasn’t!” one of the children insisted.
Crowley chuckled. “It's cool to watch movies about space. I wish we had a lot of things up here that are in the Star Wars movies. Lightsabers would be wicked. ”
That was something everyone could agree on. The children cheered, and a few of the adults nodded vigorously.
“Well, when you grow up, maybe you can invent those kinds of things! You could be a scientist--like some of our scientists on the space station. Do you know what kind of things our scientists do?”
The children shook their heads, eyes wide.
“One thing scientists at NASA do is design things like flight simulators. The flight simulators help astronauts practice flying spacecraft, and then the simulation tells them if they did a good job or not.”
“Whoa,” said the classroom.
“Or maybe you could be like me! An astronaut. As a kid, you have to work really hard in school, and then train when you are a grown-up–”
“I don’t want to be a grown-up,” one child broke in. “My parents have to pay taxes and that's boring .
“UGH it’s going to take too long to be a grown-up!” another one wailed.
Alex and Justine snicked from across the lab.
“It does seem like a long time,” Crowley sympathised. “But in the meantime, you should go to the Kiewit Luminarium in Omaha. You can learn more about space– real space, not Star Wars stuff.” He checked the time in the corner of the tablet. “That’s all the time we have today! Thanks for having me. This was fun!”
“What do we say to Mr. Crowley?” asked one of the parents.
“THANK YOU!” bellowed the children.
“You don't look like a ‘mister,’” one of the children said doubtfully right before the feed was cut off.
Crowley powered off the tablet, and examined his reflection in the dark screen.
These days, his gender certainly looked ambiguous. His hair, which was chin length when he arrived aboard that station, was now probably almost shoulder-length. In zero gravity, it was difficult to tell, of course. Now, he usually looked like he had a messy trail of fire blazing behind him. Or, when the crew was overly irritated by his hair obscuring everyone's vision, he tied it up in a messy bun that gave the appearance of a red ball of yarn bobbing about on the top of his head.
Either way, he felt a strange, new sense of “rightness” when he saw his reflection these days. Which was often. Screens were everywhere in the ISS.
Like the one currently in front of him. He examined his messy bun. It was wizard . Crowley couldn’t take all the credit; Maggie had tidied it up for him before his presentation, but there hadn't been much that needed adjustment. Just a few locks of hair that had escaped his first go at it.
Satisfied with his appearance for the rest of the day, Crowley stretched out his arms with a sigh and cracked his neck.
“Getting old, spaceman?” asked Alex, who was floating by during one of his regular system evaluations.
“Come off it,” Crowley grinned. “We all get cramped calves hurt after doing a presentation like that.”
“Maybe you do,” Alex sniffed with faux pretentiousness. “I find that locking out my out so I can stay still during a video call in zero gravity to be completely relaxing.” He winked, a gesture that Crowley used to find patronizing.
Not now. Instead, Crowley lobbed his water pouch at Alex's head in response.
Nina sailed in from the next module, and snatched it out of the air with a practiced hand before it gouged out Alex's eyeballs
“Stop flirting with the other astronauts,” she advised, solemnly. “Your boyfriend is going to get mad.”
Both Crowley and Alex choked on nothing but zero-gravity air.
Alex recovered first. “Not my type. Sorry, Crowley,” he said with another wink.
But Crowley’s brain had stopped entirely. “Grrrf–” he uttered.
“Nina! ” Maggie came into view, giving her partner The Look as they floated into the lab. Crowley was thrilled to have it directed at someone else for once. “First of all– stop shipping our crew members. And secondly, Crowley’s not dating the chaplain ” She whipped around to look at Crowley, hands already on her hips in mid-air. “Wait. Are you?”
With effort, Crowley brought himself back online.
The actual, technical response was: He asked me to “go steady” and I want to, really want to but I need to tell him about a really terrible thing that I did and I'm afraid he won't want to be with me after I tell him so I'm stalling on writing what might be the most important email of my life but I know I need to do it because we’re both in limbo–
Instead he gave a sort-of half nod and shoulder shrug with an accompanying, “Nnnggkuh.”
“ You are !” shrieked Maggie and Nina in stereo.
“I mean, mostly,” protested Crowley, trying to physically wave the conversation away. “We've got some–well, things to iron out.”
Maggie pulled herself forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “You'll figure it out,” she said softly, correctly guessing his meaning.
“Ta, Maggie,” said Crowley, gratefully.
“If you're sending him more songs, you should send him ‘Dancing in the Dark,’ by Dev,” Nina said mischievously. She snagged a tablet, typed alarmingly quickly, and slapped a key. A sultry female voice blasted out the speaker.
On my waist/
Through my hair/
Think about it when you touch me there/
“That’s “In the Dark,” by Dev, which is just one giant sex reference. Why is it always sex references with you?” demanded Maggie. She held out her hand for the tablet, The Look in full force again.
It didn’t seem to have the same impact on Nina. She wasn't cowed in the least. “The lyrics have “stars” in it.” She held the tablet aloft, a gleam in her eye as she sang along with Dev, “‘ I got a sex drive to push the stars.”
“No it doesn't!” Maggie shrilled. “The lyrics are, ‘ I got a sex drive, push to start.’”
“Whoops, sorry, got that wrong,” said Nina, who did not look sorry in the slightest.
“Don’t send him that one, Crowley,” said Maggie firmly. She snatched the tablet out of Nina’s hands and powered it off.
“Huh?” Simply thinking of sex and Aziraphale at the same time had powered Crowley's brain off alongside the tablet.
“‘Starships’ by Nicki Minaj is a good one,” Nina said innocently.
“Sex, again,” said Maggie tiredly. “And drugs, and alcohol.”
“It’s a great song!” Nina insisted, a wide, wolfish smile on her face. She lunged for the tablet, but Maggie’s arms were longer. She stretched out further, the tablet now fully out of Nina’s grasp.
“‘ Fuck who you want and fuck who you like,’” Maggie chanted, exasperated, at Nina. “Oh, and the line: ‘ Can’t stop, we’re higher than a motherfucker.’”
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy dancing to that song with me at The Raven,” Nina grinned at her. “Just give me– that–” She wrapped her arms around Maggie’s waist and yanked her down, reaching for the tablet.
“Get off ,” Maggie giggled. She launched the tablet into space. “Xiu, catch! Crowley, don't listen to anything Nina recommends.”
Nina gave Maggie a playful shove, strong enough to send her careening into the next model. However, Maggie knew her partner. She had anticipated this. She had already curled her fingers through Maggie’s belt loops, and the force of Nina’s push sent them spinning together through the lab.
Crowley watched them, a mixture of feelings rising in his chest. Maggie was laughing, Nina was laughing, and now Justine and Alex were laughing. Xiu was laughing too, but as the person nearest to Nina and Maggie's game of keep-away, she was focused on keeping the tablet out of reach of their flailing limbs.
Nina and Maggie were sweet. Joyful. Comfortable with each other. They giggled and teased, but knew when to stop. In fact, Nina had disconnected herself from Maggie, and was in the process of procuring two water pouches from the galley.
Crowley was jealous.
What he wouldn’t give to be the one holding the tablet aloft, while Aziraphale hopped around, reaching for it. They would both be laughing; Crowley was taller than Aziraphale by no small amount, and the angel didn't stand a chance. He could imagine Aziraphale, up on the balls of his feet, looking like a bouncing cinnamon roll. It would be adorable. But Crowley would acquiesce within minutes. Seconds, probably. There would be more laughter, maybe kisses, and hands running over chests and down thighs, fingers slowly inching their way to--
404. Crowley’s brain not found.
“I've got one,” piped up Xiu, the tablet wedged for safe-keeping between her bicep and side. “‘Space Girl,’ by Francis Forever.”
Crowley couldn’t decide if he was upset at the disruption to his fantasy or grateful for the distraction.
“That’s actually a really good one,” Maggie said through a mouthful of water. “Sweet little queer love song. It’s pretty obscure, though. How do you know it?”
Xiu shrugged. “My sister, remember? There aren't a lot of queer Chinese love songs–many lesbian artists have been blacklisted in China–so she listens to a lot of American music too.”
“Oh,” said Maggie, sympathetically. “That’s got to be hard.”
“Not a lot of American lesbian love songs either,” grumbled Nina. She snaked an arm around Maggie’s waist and pulled her close.
“Never enough,” murmured Maggie, nuzzling her face behind Nina’s ear, Nina’s locks flowing beautifully around them both.
“Will the two of you cut it out?” Justine called irritably from across the lab. "Some of us don't have our partners up here with us."
Xiu powered on the tablet and tapped on the keys.
Mellow, folky guitar music filled the lab. It was calming. Nothing dramatic or desperate. Sweet. Pining.
A feeling Crowley was becoming uncomfortably familiar with these days.
Space Girl, I saw a lunar eclipse/
Looks like how I feel when we kiss/
Space girl, the only way that we'd end/
Is if you were sucked into a black hole/
And I'd still spend my days dreaming of you
“I like it,” he grinned. “I know Aziraphale will really like it.”
“I'm glad,” said Xiu, looking pleased with herself.
“Sorry to break up the party.” Donna floated into the lab. Xiu tapped a finger on the tablet and the music stopped. Crowley noticed that Nina and Maggie had already surreptitiously floated to opposite sides of the lab
“Crowley, I've got you on a spacewalk next week,” Donna jerked a thumb behind them. Could we talk?”
“Sure,” Crowley said, his chest tightening.
The team had de-briefed Mutt’s mission together right after Crowley’s conversation with Maggie in the galley. Donna had, thankfully, not raked Crowley over the coals about it.
He’d had a feeling it was coming. Now seemed to be the time.
“Come with me to the hangar,” she invited.
They floated down to the module that housed the spacesuits. Two empty spacesuits, stored facing each other, took up most of the space. Not a good place for a conversation.
Most astronauts left the area alone unless they were either filming something or prepping for a space walk. Neither was occurring at the moment, which is why Crowley suspected Donna brought him there.
“So,” Donna hooked her feet into handholds below her and faced him, hands slotted into her trouser pockets. “How are you feeling about the spacewalk?”
“Er–fine,” said Crowley, banging into one of the helmets. This was partially true.
“You had some trouble with Mutt’s spacewalk.”
“I did, yeah,” said Crowley uncomfortably.
“What was that about?”
He coughed. “I–uh–”
Crowley from eight months ago, before a conversation with his team--his friends --in a kitschy family restaurant, would have hedged the truth. Or awkwardly danced around the subject, trying to avoid taking full responsibility.
After all of that, after kisses and waves, he was not that Crowley anymore. He was accountable to his teammates. To himself. It only followed that his commander should know the truth.
And if he told her, Crowley could tell Aziraphale.
Crowley took a deep breath. He could feel the beginnings of anxiety uncurl in his stomach.
“I had a mission,” he started. “And–it got bollocksed-up, and other people paid the price. Wasn't totally my fault, but I've had–er–problems from time to time since then.” He drew in a shaky breath and then plunged on. “Panic attacks, nightmares, that kinda stuff.”
Donna sighed. Whether out of sympathy or frustration, Crowley couldn’t tell. He wouldn't blame her if it was the latter. “How long has this been going on?”
“About two years,” he admitted.
“Post traumatic stress disorder, then,” she said bluntly.
Crowley blinked at her.
“You don’t know about PTSD?” Donna asked, incredulously.
“Some,” Crowley said, defensively. “But that’s for blokes that got their legs blown off, right? Or were in a shoot-out? That wasn’t what it was like for me.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t actually matter what happened to you. PTSD is about experiencing imminent, serious harm, or the threat of imminent, serious harm to others. You get intrusive memories? Times when painful, clear memories just burst into your mind?”
He nodded silently.
“Avoiding people, places, or things that remind you of the trauma?”
He remembered bolting from multiple simulators. He nodded again.
“Feel like you constantly have to watch your back? Or watch the backs of the people you care about?”
Crowley thought of Maggie's breakdown. He nodded a third time.
This was starting to feel very uncomfortable.
Donna sighed, heavier than he’d heard before. She massaged her scalp, closing her eyes. “Why wasn't that flagged before you started this mission?”
“I didn’t get help,” he mumbled.
“You what?” She cocked an ear towards him.
“I didn’t get help!” Crowley admitted, wretchedly. He wracked his brain for a way to prove he wasn't a complete idiot. “Well, I did talk to a chaplain once or twice.”
Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “The one that you're dating now?”
“Well, kinda, yeah.” He regretted bringing it up. “Dunno if we’re exactly dating, and I didn't seek him out.”
He winced. That didn't make it better.
“We just sort of ran into each other and he talked me through a few things,” he said, feeling that more explanation was needed. “I decided really early on that I didn’t want that kind of relationship with him.”
Donna pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes in exasperation. “So you had PTSD symptoms. You knew you were going up here. And you didn't do anything about it.”
Crowley felt ashamed. It was true. He stumbled through training knowing that he had a mental health condition that would affect his team. But then–
“Therapy might have helped. Maybe,” Crowley said, now more than a little angry. “But before seeing if I got any better, they would have kicked me off the mission, yeah? That's how mental health works in the military. No room to make progress, you're just gone.”
“True. But up here, we can't afford to take risks. You know that,” said Donna firmly, looking at him with–what? Anger? Disappointment?
He would certainly prefer the former.
She tilted her head up, either examining the station walls above her or asking a higher power for patience, he couldn’t be sure.
In a moment, Donna blew out her cheeks. “Well, you're here now, nothing we can do about it, since you leave in about three weeks.” She gave him a look reminiscent of Maggie's. “And damn it, Crowley. You’re an asset to the team. You know the coms system better than anyone here. You never slack off. And you're great with the kids.”
“I like kids, me,” Crowley ventured, unsure if she was stil upset.
She seemed to make up her mind. “Here's what's going to happen. You're going to start therapy now. Telehealth. You should have started it a year ago–” She shook her head in frustration. “But--whatever. Three times a week, or whatever your therapist recommends.”
Crowley was quiet for a moment. “They'll ground me if I tell the truth,” he said softly. “I'll never be able to come back up.”
“It's not fair, I know,” Donna said, looking at him sympathetically. “But your health–and the safety of your team–comes first. Besides, astronauts rarely do second missions anyway.” She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unusual.”
There was silence as she observed him, narrowing her eyes.
“We'll still do your spacewalk as scheduled,” Donna said finally. “ If your therapist thinks you can handle it. Make a plan with them, and we'll make a plan with the team in case anything happens. Alex will be out there with you. Worst comes to worst, we can just reel you in if you need help. We just don't have anyone right now who can make repairs to the coms system outside like you can, and we'll be sunk in a few weeks if we don't fix it.”
Crowley nodded mutely.
“Well, thanks, Crowley. I know this isn't what you would have liked to hear today,” Donna said gently. “See you at dinner?”
He nodded again.
Donna gave him a pat on his shoulder as she propelled herself out of the module.
Crowley was left staring at the two spacesuits in the module. The backs of the suits were flush up against opposite walls, and it seemed like they were sitting serenely together, in the middle of a quiet discussion.
He wished he felt as calm as they were.
Everything he’d seen, everything he’d done, had finally caught up to Crowley. Over the years, he had tried to outrun it, ignore it, hide from it, even tie it to a stone and drown it in the ocean.
Now, Crowley needed to reckon with it. Panic attacks to the point of shutdown dangered his team. Dangered himself.
Guilt gnawed its way through his chest. A horrible feeling. Not unfamiliar. He breathed through it, tapping his knuckles on one of the space visors as a way to ground himself.
Now was the time to do something about it.
He launched himself to his sleep station, wiggling himself inside. He powered up his laptop, and opened his email, composing a message to the mental health department.
Crowley had been to space. He'd seen the stars.
Now it would be time to see to himself.
And then, it would be time to finally start the email to Aziraphale. He needed to know everything .