Curate, connect, and discover
Warnings: Nikolai is a less-depressed bisexual man! kiss on the cheek, kiss on the mouth (yes, in that order), Joanna finally gets to rest peacefully in her hangar.
Good things can't last forever.
Nikolai knows this. You know this too.
Still, you've exhausted every last avenue before finally admitting that there are just somethings that are no longer fixable.
It's a slow trudge to your apartment, one that apparently wakes the sleeping bear that is your favorite Russian, napping on your couch like he didn't have your full (repeated) permission to use your bed.
Nikolai perks, but his brows furrow when he sees your slight exhaustion.
"механик?" His voice is soft, gently probing just how badly you've managed to overwork yourself in the few hours he's been unconscious. Judging by the new scrape on the elbow and the small burn on the side of your palm, far too much.
He sits all the way up just in time to catch you as you fall onto him, grunting in response to the new weight but handling it well, all things considered.
"I'm sorry, Nik."
There is no question that this single moment is solemn. In some silly way, you'd also grown attached to Joanna, busted as she was. She was your best project yet, your most impressive feat.
It was also the project that introduced you to your best friend, and that was something you couldn't ever replace.
Still, Nikolai holds you to his big, warm body, sighing heavily as he nestles his chin into the nook between your neck and shoulder, taking in your warmth and gently scratching the skin with his dark stubble. Just a bit longer than usual. "I know. I shouldn't have taken her to you, just the scrapyard."
He's quiet, too quiet, and it prompts you to maneuver backward, brows set in a firm line.
"Woah, woah, Nicky-boy, don't get too far ahead of me. Not yet."
He raises a brow, prompts you to continue. There's a sparkle of hope in his eyes.
"One last flight. You can give her one last, gentle flight."
God, you're a fucking angel. Nikolai feels his pupils turn into what might as well be cartoon hearts at the news.
He squeezes you so tight that something in your back cracks. The little squeal it pulls from you makes his heart thrum in his chest terribly fast.
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Nikolai could swear he had never set up for a flight so quickly as he did today.
He was just a man, one who was very much weak to finally getting you where he was the expert, quizzing you to see just how much you knew was going on when he was in the air.
You were still dead-out on the bed. Well, more like halfway on the bed, considering your whole left side was hanging over the edge, hand most definitely cold in the harsh cold front bringing the chill inside.
Who is Nikolai to do anything but warm it for you? What kind of friend would he be if he didn't tenderly take your hand into the both of his, gently breathe out a puff of air to bring heat back to the extremity.
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Your eyes open with an incoherent grumble and a glare.
"Whatthe fffuhhhk, Nik?"
His smile is the first thing you focus on, an overly excited smile like he's a child on Christmas, breaking into their parent's room to wake them up far too early, too.
"Up. Fly time."
Your brain takes a second or two to chug back into "able to think" station, and you sit up with a long yawn.
"God, It's like-" You turn to read the small alarm clock on the side of your nightstand, the softly glowing letters are too dull to see without a squint. "It's 0530 hours." Nikolai answers right as you read the digits, and snickers to himself when you groan.
"Contrary to your beliefs, I can, in fact, read."
"Yeah, but you take a long time. I am much faster."
You groan again, just for dramatic effect, before raising up the covers to get ready.
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Being behind the wheel (?) of one of these things is something you can admit you haven't done in a damned long time.
Still, Nikolai looked so... excited, who were you to not let him have this little thing? Of course you hopped on, let him narrate your way into the air.
Your only qualm was the music, really. Nikolai, he is truly a wonderful, wonderful man, but that fucking metal is godawful. Saying what needs to be said of not distracting your helicopter pilot, you reach over and change the station anyway.
Everyone likes Queen anyway, it's not like Nikolai will care that much.
Wrong. Apparently, the universe is plotting against you, because right as the new song starts, a very familiar piano backing track and one Freddie Mercury is singing about gay longing again.
Goodness dude, now?!
When Nikolai grunts in your general direction, tenses a bit in his seat, you shrug.
"That garbage metal is a risk to your fucking person, Nik. Eyes forward."
You try to bark the order, but you're smiling, and so is he.
"Sure, but this one? Are you trying to send a message, perhaps?"
He's got this stupid, shit-eating grin on his face, but you don't bat at his shoulder like you usually would, for fear of actually throwing him off (you know you won't, but you still worry).
"Ssssshhhhhh, quiet. Focus."
You can see Nikolai rolling his eyes, but he smiles, keeps on flying.
It's... perfect, really. Your hand fits comfortably into the hold, but you don't use it, because you trust the man piloting this thing with your life.
The scenery is dark, illuminated almost entirely by the moon, but the first rays of the sun are already spilling over the horizon in their beautiful rivulets, staining the sky with oranges and pinks, tattooing the undersides of the wispy, feather-like clouds with their hues.
For the rest of the flight, there are not words exchanged, just the quiet sounds of the music and the rotors, muted by the thick headset Nikolai had given you so the noise wouldn't be overwhelming.
That made your chest warm, you can admit it. You were in no drought of little favors and good deeds, not with your Russian hanging around so much.
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Still, none of those things could have prepared you for landing.
Sunrise was in full swing, and you figured it's be cute to watch it with Nikolai, but he seemingly had other plans.
The second he helped you out of Joanne's seat, he pulled you close to his chest, wrapped you up in thick arms, and pressed a firm kiss to your cheek.
He feels your cheek heat beneath his lips, craves it like nothing else, but Nikolai still pulls back sheepish, smiling halfway like he was doing anything wrong.
"And... what's that for, Nik?" You question through a smile, not even taking a moment to question it. Just excited to finally have this moment, to finally get it all out there.
"You are–" The tips of his ears are red, he knows it from how you giggle, and he grumbles the rest of it "You are good, механик. Too good."
You seize the opportunity the second it's presented to you.
It's a snappy motion, but a smooth one, as you manage to capture Nikolai's lips with your own, slotting your mouth to his without hesitation nor remorse. No more pussy-footing around this.
Seemingly, fortune does actually favor the bold, because Nikolai melts like butter in your hands, crouching just to lift you up into his arms, not once breaking the connection between you two.
There is no heat. No pressure. No want for anything but each other.
When he pulls back, it's a moment Nikolai truly mourns. He could have died right then, and died happy. Still, seeing you like this, bundled up in his arms and smiling, he knows he's got a lot more living to do.
Not just surviving. Living. With you, if you'll let him (spoiler: you will).
"I'll make breakfast, механик." He lets the words leave his lips in a lovesick sigh, so dreadfully weak before his darling engineer, a simple man aching to finally have them as close to him as possible.
"Oh, you're only getting better." When you coo down at him, you pretend to be much more confident than you are. You know, though, you're no better than him, a lovestruck idiot so hopelessly caught in the snare that you're enjoying your time here.
You hope he never lets you go. Nikolai hopes for the same.
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You don't learn until years later, long after Joanna is decommissioned and a small scrap of her metal lies around both your and Nikolai's ring fingers in a thin band, that you learn he still names his planes.
His new thing, still fresh. A C-130 Hercules. Much too big for your space, but you also don't do very many repairs for your fiancé unless it's basic woodwork, either. Metal work gets tiring fast, and now that you had someone to take breaks for, why shouldn't you take them?
It's a casual dinner when he brings it up, tells you that you do have a plane named after you, actually, and that it's his, too. Beaming so bright he could rival the sun.
"Mhm? What do you call it, Ласточка?"
He could melt at your voice speaking his mother tongue, but he finishes the thought anyway.
"неразлучник."