Fandom/Pairing: Ailee & Amber (f(x))
Warnings: mild swearing
Summary: "Hey!" Amber shouts. "There's someone riding our exhaust wake!"
Author's notes: To the recipient, you had a list of aus you liked and mentioned liking all types of relationships, as well as being okay with crossovers, so I hope this is something you can enjoy.
Amber has just sat down to breakfast, the perfect proportion of milk to Cheerios in her bowl, cereal only slightly moistened and definitely not soggy, when the ship klaxon begins to sound.
"Dammit," she mutters under her breath, losing grasp of the spoon as it slips from her fingers and falls into the bowl, sending up a splash of milk to dot her shirt. The ship intercom crackles on, and she winces at the static feedback.
I have to remember to fix that, she thinks, making a mental note that will inevitably be forgotten in the next half an hour anyway. With any luck, it'll only be a minor issue, but as she tries to wipe the drops of milk off of her shirt with her hand, she doubts today will be that easy.
Not an amber alert today, Ailee's voice crackles over the speakers, but Amber is already heading for the bridge.
"That's not funny," she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes for the umpteenth time. Ailee's voice breaks up into metallic laughter.
"So what do we have?" she asks, the door sliding shut behind her. Ailee is standing in front of the controls, her concentration locked on the scanner.
"There's nothing on the scanner," she says, not bothering to turn around, "but the proximity sensors are registering a . . . something." She sounds frustrated.
"What's a something?" Amber asks, stepping up to peer at the screens. The readings on the proximity sensors are all haywire, but the scanner is completely clear, no blips anywhere.
"Maybe it's a ghost," she jokes, and Ailee snorts, elbowing Amber in the ribs.
"This isn't the Outer Shell," she retorts. "Come on, we're missing something." She keys in a few strokes and checks the dust collector reports.
They both spot it at the same time.
"Hey!" Amber shouts, her voice blending with Ailee's similar sound of protest. "There's someone riding our exhaust wake!"
Amber skims through her short list of possible candidates; they're a short haul courier so it wouldn't be smugglers or anything like that—
"Got it," Ailee says, snapping her fingers even as her eyes narrow. Amber shoots her a quizzical glance, but she just reaches for the ship to ship relay.
"This is the LWSS Hermia for the jackass who's riding our dust wake. Don't even bother trying to zap out, Eric, I know it's you."
There's a pause, and Amber tries not to laugh at the expression to complete exasperation on Ailee's face, but it's a battle that was doomed from the start. Eric's sheepish reply over the ship to ship relay can barely be heard over the uproar.
Ailee has her arms crossed over her chest, sitting back in the captain's chair on the bridge as Amber watches the the SLWSS Avius blip into view on the scanner, electronics humming an undertone as they coordinate docking. Ailee's still frowning at the door when a very embarrassed Eric slink through the sliding doors, his arms full of a gift-wrapped box.
"Mm-hmm," is all Ailee says. Amber wishes she'd thought to bring a bag of popcorn from the mess.
"So, umm, your mom wanted me to deliver this on your birthday but—"
"You messed up and got caught early," Ailee finishes the sentence, eyeing the gift box distastefully. "What on earth did she send me this year?"
The box gives an ominous rattle, and Eric glances down, uneasily. "I don't know, but I don't want it," he says, extending his arms slightly forward to hold the box further from his chest.
"I'll pay you double her price to take it somewhere else," Ailee says quickly. Eric sighs.
"Fine," he says, "and you owe me for not warning me about her."
"Hey," Ailee says, offended now, even though she's still side-eyeing the gift. "My mom is great!"
"Calm down," Eric is quick to clarify, "I just don't ever want to deliver something for her ever again." He shuffles his boots, leaving a trace of soil matter on the plascrete floor that will probably wreak havoc with the cleaning bots.
"Well, she is a xeno-biologist," Amber says, adding her two-cents' worth. Ailee nods, as the box gives a particularly alarming shake.
"This has been very entertaining," Amber continues, "but I think Eric should get that menacing object out of here as soon as possible, and I have a bowl of cereal waiting for me in the mess that's probably not improving with age."
Eric leaves with a wave, Ailee waves back and then turns to Amber. "Cereal? Seriously?"
"The state of my cereal is very serious," Amber says in a high-pitched Venusian accent, and heads for the mess, waving off Ailee's laughter. "Don't call me unless it's an emergency."
"I won't dare disturb your cereal ritual in the future," Ailee's voice is muffled by the door sliding shut, "not even if we're attacked by rabid camelidroids."
Amber's bowl is an unrecognizable mash of soggy Cheerios, and she has to end up feeding it to the vegetarian flytrap they use for kitchen waste. When she goes to the pantry, the only box of cereal left is Weetabix, so she ends up having toast instead.
When the ship klaxon starts sounding again, red lights flashing, she gives up and just grabs a yoghourt on her way out the door.