Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spensa sighed contentedly, sinking into the warmth of Jorgen’s chest. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath her skin, tethering her to him—away from reality. The outside world seemed distant, hazy, unimportant—it was just them, confined in their surreal little space, Jorgen’s room being lit by the faint golden glow of the bedside lamp. He was finally free—that meant a whole day of spending time together, paperwork aside, nothing but their love rising to the surface.
“I can’t wait to spend the whole day with you tomorrow,” she said in a content whisper, sinking deeper into his embrace.
Jorgen smiled, but Spensa felt the musles in his chest contract ever so slightly.
“About tomorrow…” he trailed off, leaving the rest of his sentence unfinished.
“What about it?” She mumbled, craning her neck up to look at him.
His fingers traced slow circles through her hair as he exhaled—long and reluctant.
“Never mind, Spin. It’s not important.” He dismissed it with a casual wave of his hand.
But Spensa didn’t believe him. It was important. She could see it in the slight furrow in his brow, in the way his fingers lingered a bit longer than usual, like he was trying to mentally prepare her for something she probably wouldn’t want to hear.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face better. His jaw was slightly tensed, and his eyes had that look—the one that meant he was definitely lying.
“Jorgen,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”
He hesitated, mouth opening slightly, but no words came out at first. Then, with a deep breath, he said “I have to be at work tomorrow.”
Spensa blinked. The words took a second to register. They had won the war against the Superiority. They had an alliance with the Kitsen and the UrDail. And Jorgen was still busy? Would they ever get the day off?
“But—“ she sat up, turning around to face him fully. “I thought you said we’d have the day together.”
He sighed, sitting up straight and taking her hand in his. “I thought we would too,” he murmured, his voice soft.
“For how long?” She asked, making eye contact steadily.
“For the whole day… From 0700 to 2200…” he admitted slowly, his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Spensa felt her chest tighten with disappointment. That meant she’d wake up alone.
He continued explaining, his expression downcast. “I tried to get out of it, Spin. I’m sorry. But… there was a minor situation. And they’ll need me there. In person.”
Spensa sighed, leaning against the velvety fabric of the headboard .
To hell with the Admiral meetings, she wanted to say, but she knew it wasn’t his fault. Duty called. Even when it meant their day off would have to wait.
“And there’s no chance you’ll be home early?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.
Jorgen swallowed. “Nope. In fact… there are small chances I might be late.” His gaze averted to the bedsheets below them as he remembered their previous argument. He was expecting a horrible reaction—a slap to his face, a punch to his ribs, or maybe even Spensa ripping his arm off and carving a dagger using the bones to stab his gut.
But instead, she groaned dramatically and collapsed back into him.
“I knew it,” she mumbled, a teasing edge entering her voice. “Requisition paperwork is much better than Spensa Nightshade!”
He cut her off by rolling over, pinning her against the mattress under his weight. “I love you, not paperwork,” he murmured, his face centimeters from hers. “Paperwork doesn’t stand a chance against this.”
Spensa smiled seductively and spoke in a voice Jorgen perceived as enticing.
“Then prove it.”
He kissed her. It was slow and deep, stealing the breath from their lungs, causing Spensa’s heart to hammer wildly in her chest. She barely suppressed a shiver as his fingers grazed her collarbone, his touch slow and inviting. When he finally pulled back, her mind was nothing but static.
“How’s that for proof?” Jorgen whispered, his breath warm against her face.
“…Okay fine, you win,” she muttered, her mind cooling down like a stafighter left in overburn for too long.
He sat back up, and his expression softened. ““I really am sorry, Spin. I wish I could spend the whole day with you.”
Spensa frowned but didn’t pull away when he draped his arm around her, pulling her against his chest once more.
“It’s fine,” she mumbled in to his shoulder. “I’ll just stay here… alone… with nothing but second-day period cramps to keep me company.”
He squeezed her shoulders tighter, as if his physical touch alone could ease the disappointment (and the discomfort) alone.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, lips brushing against her hair. “I promise.”
Spensa let out a bitter laugh, but her gaze was still soft. “You’d better.”
The last thing Spensa remembered was the warmth of Jorgen’s embrace and the quiet thrum of his heartbeat before her eyes fluttered closed and she drifted off to sleep.
$$$

The soft light of the skylights filtered through the blinds, falling on Spensa’s face.
She stirred, instinctively reaching out—but instead of meeting the warmth of Jorgen’s body, her hand brushed across empty bedsheets. Cold. Untouched.
Right. Jorgen had already left for work.
The room felt strangely hollow without him. The faint scent of his perfume lingered on the pillow beside her, but it was nothing compared to the warm comfort of his presence. Her stomach twisted painfully.
Spensa sighed, stretching her arms out with a groan before sinking back into the mattress. Her body still ached because those cramps decided to show up and ruin her day like Krell ships with a lifebuster bomb.
She had half the mind to just stay in bed and wallow all day. But then—
Wait. What’s that smell?
She sat up slowly, trying to figure out what it was. Something smelled sweet. Sugary. Familiar. Like… cookies?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, momentarily ignoring her cramps. Her eyes scanned the room until she spotted something sitting on her bedside table.
A small glass jar of little, chocolate-dipped, heart-shaped cookies sat on the nightstand, accompanied by a pink envelope with her name emblazoned on the front in Jorgen’s handwriting.
She snatched up the envelope first, pulling out a neatly folded pice of white paper with a lot of words scribbled onto it in Jorgen’s achingly familiar handwriting.

Dear Spensa,
I’m sorry I had to leave so early. I’m sorry I ruined whatever plans you had for today with my Admiral paperwork. I know my callsign has probably never been more fitting.
But I promise I’ll be back home the moment I finish work. No detours. No distractions. I made you cookies. I thought: I know how to make bread just fine. I’ll probably be able to make cookies too. But turns out, Kimmalyn had to supervise at one point because making cookies is harder than it looks. They’re probably safe to eat.
Apart from the cookies, I know you’re probably mad at me right now. I know you might have the urge to throw me onto ReDawn’s toxic surface and watch my corpse burn as a result of toxicity. I know I’ve been busy, Spensa, but even when I’m absorbed in my paperwork, know that I love you.
No matter how much you doubt it, always remember that I love you. More than I know how to say. More than all the stars in the universe combined. Even when you’re threatening to throw me into one of Evershore’s oceans. Even if you do throw me into one of Evershore’s oceans, I’d still love you.
And, well, if my Admiral duties keep me busy… f*ck them.
They don’t stand a chance against you. All I want to do is be here with you.
I know I’ve already said this a lot, but you’re everything to me, Spin. Everything I never knew I needed. And I’ll be here for you. No matter how busy or exhausted I am.
—Jorgen

Stars. Spensa stared at it for a long moment, feeling something melt inside her.
It was so… meaningful. So stupidly romantic. She was supposed to be mad at him, but now she just wanted to pin him against the wall and kiss him senseless.
She brushed her fingers over the smooth lines of his handwriting, then she noticed something. A second piece of paper inside the envelope.
Her brow furrowed. She carefully pulled it out and flipped it open—
—only to burst into almost immediate laughter.
It was a drawing. A horrendous, stupid, lovesick, little drawing. Nothing like the letter.
Jorgen had attempted to sketch them—two stick figures with a considerable height difference, hands held in exaggerated devotion. It looked like something a three-year-old would have proudly presented to their parents.
Stick figure Jorgen’s black curls were drawn in neat little scribbles perched on top of his head. He had a neutral, lovesick smile plastered onto his face, with his legs being too short for his tall stick of a body.
Stick figure Spensa’s hair was not exactly the right shade of brown, had an unsettlingly lopsided smile, and her arms… why was one of them so much shorter than the other?
And below them, in Jorgen’s not-so-neat handwriting, were the words:
Us. But more in love.
The word ‘love’ was written in pink (Spensa has no idea where he got a pink pen from) as if it would make the whole thing more sentimental instead of ridiculous.
Spensa finally stopped laughing, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Spensa turned the paper around to see the words:
‘Never mind my art skills. Don’t laugh. I know you’re already laughing.’
But all that did was make her laugh even more. He was right…
It was horrible.
It was also the sweetest thing he’d ever done to cheer her up.
She threatened to laugh once more as she glared at it, torn between hysterics and something else, something positive, bubbling beneath her skin.
She placed the letter and the abomination of a drawing back into the pink envelope, (her mood noticeably better) and kept it into her pocket.
She smiled, popping one of the cookies into her mouth.
They actually tasted much better than she anticipated, the chocolate melting in the most delicious way possible. She’d have to thank Kimmalyn for making sure they were edible. She knew Kimmalyn had probably done more than ‘supervising’ to make the cookies taste this good.
Spensa’s heart did a stupid little flip as she looked at the items again.
Well, if he was going to make an effort, then so would she.

$$$

Chapter Text

Deciding that moping around in bed all day wasn’t an option, Spensa grabbed her jacket, made sure the letter was secure in her pocket, and headed for the mess hall.
She opened the door to see the usual—pilots gathered around tables, laughing, eating, sharing random events, and whatever questionable food had been deemed edible today. It looked like… algae pancakes?
Her eyes scanned the room until her eyes landed on her Flight: FM, Rig, Arturo, Kimmalyn, Nedd, Sadie, and Alanik.
She walked over, dropping into an empty seat between FM and Kimmalyn with a dramatic sigh.
“Good morning, Spin!” Kimmalyn beamed, bright as ever.
“Morning…” Spensa mumbled, poking at the pancakes with her fork. “What is this?”
“Apparently, something edible,” FM answered, pushing her plate away.
“Where’s Jorgen?”
“Buried under paperwork,” Spensa grumbled, stealing an algae fry from Arturo’s plate. “I woke up alone, with nothing but scudding cramps to keep me company—“
“Wow,” Nedd snorted, leaning back in the chair like the smug idiot he was. “That must be hard for you.”
Spensa scowled. “You wouldn’t know. Anyways, FM, what are you doing today?”
FM smiled, twirling her fork between her fingers. “Oh… nothing… just going on a date with Rig.”
Rig, who was sitting in the chair beside her, nodded.
“How romantic,” Spensa teased, fluttering her eyelashes.
Her eyes darted to Arturo, who was contentedly sipping his drink until now.
“Hey, Amphisbaenia,” she said, trying to suppress laughter. “What are you doing with Alanik?” Arturo choked on his drink, and Nedd slowly patted his back.
“W-what?” Arturo said, a slight flush creeping under his tan skin.
Spensa smiled teasingly, making eye contact with him. “I said, what are you doing with Alanik today?”
He gave Spensa a glare that could melt potassium (which, by the way, does not have a high melting point), and tried to keep his composure. “I’m not doing anything…”
“Oh, he’s planning to ask her out,” Nedd interjected, elbowing him in the ribs.
Spensa grinned. “Oh really? It’s about time.”
Arturo groaned, pressing his palms against his eyes. “You guys are lucky she’s using the bathroom right now.”
Nedd nodded sagely. “That, we are.”
Spensa grinned wickedly and continued. “So, what’s your plan, Arturo? Are you gonna take her to a fancy restaurant? Fly her to some distant, sparkling moon? Confess your undying love while dramatically standing on a cliff edge under a plethora of stars?”
FM nodded. “A combination of those three things, clearly.”
“You guys are insufferable…” Arturo murmured, slamming his hands onto the table.
Before anyone could say anything else, Alanik walked in, slipping in the sat next to Arturo. “What are you guys talking about?” She asked, placing a piece of the pancake into her mouth. She made a face at the taste.
Arturo immediately sat up straighter. “Oh, uh—nothing. Just… today’s plans.”
Alanik blinked. “Plans?”
“Yeah!” Kimmalyn chimed in. “Today, people are going out, spending hours with they’re loved ones, and having a great time!”
Alanik nodded, considering it. “Is this a normal human custom?”
Spensa nodded. “Yeah. It’s basically an excuse to spend time with someone you like and do something sentimental. Like making terrible stick figure drawings.”
FM raised an eyebrow. “Terrible stick figure drawings?”
Spensa grinned, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the drawing.
“Behold,” she said, dramatically waving a hand. “Jerkface’s artistic portrayal.”
FM took one look at the drawing put her hand on her mouth, trying to stifle her irrepressible laughter. “No… no way. Jorgen drew this?”
Spensa smirked, placing it in her hands. “With his own fingers.”
Rig leaned in, squinting at the paper before joining FM in a laughing fit.
“That… that is absolutely cursed. Why is your arm so short?”
“I don’t know. But apparently, it’s supposed to be ‘Us. But more in love.’”
Sadie, who had been quiet the whole time, peeked over FM’s shoulder and lost it.
She laughed so hard she almost fell off her chair. “I… I… Is that you guys?”
“Yeah. It’s an abomination to art. But he made me cookies too!”
Arturo peered over and took the paper in his hands, his confused expression changing to an amused one immediately. “Damn. Jorgen’s good at a lot of things, but art definitely isn’t one of them. This drawing? It’s living proof.”
Kimmalyn caught sight of the drawing and smiled, clasping her hands together.
“Aww, that’s so sweet! But… uh… bless his stars… his drawing skills are artistically challenged. But it’s still adorable!”
Nedd tilted his head at the drawing, laughing. “Spin, you should definitely put that on the fridge.”
Spensa smirked, taking it back from his hands. “Oh, I plan to.”
Alanik glanced at the paper, studying it in mild confusion. “Do humans… normally express affection like this?”
“Not usually,” Rig said, still recovering from his laughter. “Jorgen’s just… unique.”
Spensa tucked the paper back into her pocket. “I’ll definitely frame that later. Oh, and Kimmalyn—thanks for helping him. The cookies tuned out great.”
Kimmalyn smiled, patting her shoulder. “You’re welcome. He needed that help. So, anyways, what are you planning on doing today, Alanik?”
Alanik shrugged her shoulders. “I was just planning on staying by myself.”
Arturo cleared his throat. “Or… we could do something else.”
Alanik turned to face him. “Like what?”
Arturo hesitated for a second before replying: “Flying. We could go flying. Together.”
She smiled, looking at Arturo in a way that made his heart flutter. “I’d like that.”
They stood up, Arturo trying not to fumble on his feet as they walked briskly towards the exit. Nedd smirked at Spensa and FM, wearing a look that said ‘I told you so’.
“Anyways, guys,” Spensa said, her tone suddenly serious. “I was thinking to do something equally romantic for Jorgen when he comes back home, and I need your help. Think: what’s more romantic than a letter, a stupid drawing, and heart shaped cookies? And no, I won’t draw, because my art skills are even more cursed than his.”
“I got an idea,” Nedd said, a wicked grin playing on his lips.
His smirk tuned downright filthy as he leaned in closer. “You should write him something, too. Something… steamy. Like… ‘Oh, Jorgen, my precious fiancé, the way you control my little cockpit with your powerful flight stick is just spectacularly divine.”
Spensa’s soul left her body. FM gasped. Rig choked on air.
“NEDD,” Kimmalyn shrieked, hiding her face with her hair.
Spensa got to her feet so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “NEDD STRONG, YOU ABSOLUTE SCUDDING DEGENERATE—“
“What?” He said, the smirk never leaving his lips. “I know you always call him ‘Jerkface’ passionately when you guys are getting intimate—“
Rig groaned, running a hand through his red hair as he walked away from the table.
Sadie, who had been quietly sitting and eating, muttered “I’m gonna need therapy.”
FM grabbed Nedd by his shoulders, shaking him back and forth, as if he was some sort of malfunctioning robot. “Nedder! You can’t just say stuff like that!”
“I can,” Nedd said, shrugging his shoulders. “And I just did.”
Spensa was practically vibrating with rage. Her hand reached for one of the algae pancakes and she threw it at Nedd’s face with one violent swing of her arm.
It hit him square in the face with an audible plop.
Nedd peeled it off, looking completely unaffected. Kimmalyn burst out laughing.
FM snickered, glancing at Spensa. “Well… you kinda deserved that Nedd.”
“No I did not, but it was so worth seeing Spensa’s facial expression—“
“You little—kill yourself! No wonder you’re single!”
Nedd still looked unbothered. Which is the opposite of what Spensa wanted.
Rig saw the commotion and groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead. “You know what, at this point I’m surprised the rest of the pilots aren’t staring at us.”
Nedd smirked again, talking his fingers together. “But I can make them look here in—“
“Don’t,” Rig said, walking back to the table and dragging Spensa to a chair by her shoulders before she decided to throw a plate at Nedd. “Anywts, let’s think of something viable. Something Spensa wouldn’t kill us for suggesting.”
“Yeah,” Kimmalyn agreed. “Like how about… you make him dinner?”
Spensa frowned, wiping the algae pancake residue off her fingers. “Dinner?”
“Yes!” Kimmalyn said, ever the optimist. “Noting says ‘romantic’ like a meal cooked by your own hands!”
Spensa rapped her fingers against the table, skeptical. “Okay… but I’ve never really cooked anything before. I’ve only skinned rats, which definitely won’t work…”
Rig groaned. “Oh, stars. Definitely no rat meat.”
“Wait,” Nedd said, still rubbing his face where the pancake hit him. “You’re gonna cook? A fancy dinner? Won’t you set the food on fire?”
“Well, not necessarily fancy,” Spensa said, rubbing the back of her neck. “But yes, I’ll cook and it’s gonna be so professional that I’ll prove you all wrong. Jorgen’s gonna love it! And I won’t set the food on fire either.”
FM gave her a skeptical look. “Are you sure you don’t need help.”
“Yes,” Spensa said, confident. “I’ll only let you guys intervene if there’s an actual emergency.”
“Define ‘actual emergency’,” Sadie asked.
Spensa shrugged. “I don’t know… like maybe if I set Jorgen’s entire kitchen on fire.”
Rig slapped his forehead. “That’s preventable, if we supervise…”
Nedd grinned, popping a few algae fires into his mouth. “I call taste tester.”
Spensa glared at him, still furious. “No. Absolutely not.”
Nedd sighed. “Your loss,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “I have exquisite taste buds.”
FM rolled her eyes. “Alright, Spin. What’s the menu?”
The menu. Honestly, she has no idea. Spensa hadn’t even thought about it yet. Or the fact that she’d have to follow a recipe, accurately for that matter…
She didn’t even know what Jorgen liked to eat. He just… ate.
“Uhh… the menu… right… do you guys know what Jorgen likes to eat?”
The entire table groaned.
“Spensa,” Rig said, his voice firm. “You and Jorgen had been dating for years. And now you guys are literally engaged. And you still don’t know what he likes to eat?”
Spensa’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Right had a point. She had a feeling Jorgen knew what she liked to eat (algae fries), but why didn’t she know what he liked to eat? They never really talked much about food, but now figuring out the menu was a new task to add to the already growing preparations.
“Why don’t I make him…” Spensa chose her words carefully. “Chicken! He has some in his freezer anyway, and I can make some bread and algae soup to go along with it!”
FM tilted her head, considering the meal. “Well, I guess that could work—“
“Then it’s settled!” Spensa said, standing up briskly. “That’s the menu, and remember: no intervention unless there’s an actual emergency. It’s my job to cook. I’ll start cooking at 2000, two hours before Jorgen comes home. And I’ll decorate too!”
The Flight nodded their heads in agreement.
“Decoration sounds like a good idea,” Nedd agreed, finally saying something useful.
Spensa sighed, sitting back down on her chair with a thump. The meal was decided, she would decorate, and most importantly, the fact that Jorgen would adore it.
She brushed a hand over her pocket, feeling the warmth of Jorgen’s unconditional love rise in her chest as she felt the envelope.
The dinner would be so heart-warmingly romantic.
Oh, she was about to make sure of that.

$$$

Chapter Text

Spensa stood facing Jorgen’s kitchen stove, carefully setting the orange flames to ‘high’. She reached out and grabbed the chicken from the freezer. How did people even cook chicken? Just… boil it? Fry it? Heat it up and hope it cooks?
She’d only gotten a few tastes of chicken before as a pilot, and now here she was, cooking one (or at least trying to).
She tore open the package and stared at the raw chicken, her eyes narrowing and her lips curling backward. It looked… disgusting. Cold, slimy, with pale pink flesh. Scud, how was she supposed to even start?
Spensa slapped it onto the cutting board, staring at it intensely.
“You, dead bird, will not stop me from making the perfect dinner,” she mumbled.
The chicken said nothing. The chicken was dead.
With a shudder, she grabbed a knife and started chopping away at it, the knife continuously slipping against the fat and skin. Why was it so rubbery?
Spensa sighed and gazed at the counter. Well, at least it was still clean…
With a great deal of effort, she finally managed to cut the chicken into a few, uneven pieces. Then she grabbed a random handful of spices and sprinkled it individually over the chicken. She garnished it with a little bit of paprika at the end.
Good. That would probably taste nice.
She glanced at the pan—the oil was starting to heat up, little bubbles forming in the clear yellow liquid.
Spensa grabbed the nearest spatula and scooped up all of the chicken pieces, dropping them into the pan at once a ittle too unsteadily. The oil sizzled violently, sending tiny, burning hot droplets spraying onto her exposed arms.
“Scud!” She yelped, jerking back from the stove. She frantically brushed the droplets off, thankful they didn’t burn her.
Spensa grabbed the spatula once more, carefully walking over to the stove and flipping the pieces of chicken. And gasped.
What was supposed to be golden-brown was a dark umber instead.
She poked it with the spatula absurdly, wincing when the flesh felt rubbery.
She sighed and sniffed the air, horrified when she smelt burnt chicken carrying onto the breeze from the air conditioner.
The door slammed open.
“Spensa?”
It was Arturo, his eyes wide, his lips curved into a smile. But that expression immediately changed when his nose caught scent of the food.
Spensa waved her hands at the frying pan, as if the air from her hands would, drive the smell away.
Arturo froze as his gaze followed Spensa’s to the pan. “Stars—what did you do?”
Spensa crossed her arms, not willing to admit defeat just yet. “I cooked it.”
Arturo sighed, shutting the door behind him. “Maybe you should—“
“No. I don’t need help.” Spensa shot back, her voice laced with stubborn.
Arturo coughed, waving his hands in front of the face. “You burnt it. Anyways, you won’t believe what happened!”
Spensa tunrned her attention away from the chicken, dusting off some seasoning from her shirt. “What is it? Does it have something to do with why you looked so ecstatic when you came in?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arturo nodded contentedly and when he spoke, his voice was full of positive emotions, so unlike his usual logical nature. “So… you know how I went for a flight with Alanik, right?”
Spensa nodded. “Yeah. You missed an important conversation.”
“Oh, I got filled up by Nedd, who, uh… apparently gave me every little detail.”
Spensa covered her face with her hands. “Even the cockpit thing?”
Slowly, Arturo’s gaze averted to the floor. “Yeah. It was a litte… uncivilized. But anyways, after me and Alanik did some flying, with me obviously showing off my highly accurate Alshtorm’s loops, we sat down in the flight deck for a bit.”
He paused, a slight flush blooming on his cheeks, and took a deep breath.
“And I kissed her.”
“You did?!” Spensa gasped while placing the chicken onto a plate gingerly.
“Yes! And she said she liked it. And now… we’re dating.”
“It’s about time! Finally!” Spensa exclaimed, while opening the fridge.
Spensa picked out the algae from the freezer, placing it onto the counter and figuring out the best way to warm it up. “Anyways, I gotta finish cooking…”
Arturo grimaced, poking the chicken with his finger. “I feel sorry for Jorgen…”
“Shut. Up.” She said, her words sharp. “It’s not even that bad.”
“Definitely,” Arturo mumbled, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Okay, I’ll be heading out now—Spensa, what are you doing?”
Spensa stopped mid process, keeping the kettle down. “I was just thinking to pour boiling water over the algae strips to unfreeze them—“
“Are you mentally insane? Just put it in a pot and turn the flame on!”
“Oh…”
He slapped his forehead (again), rubbing his temples. “Anyways, I really have to go now. Don’t burn the kitchen down. It’s expensive.”
Spensa scowled, slamming the door behind Arturo as he walked out. Idiot.
Her attention tuned back to the algae strips, which were starting to melt. She took a spoon and poked them, relieved when this time, they felt right.
Deciding that it was the right time, she took two cups of water and poured it into the pot. That would be enough for her and Jorgen to drink. Now she just had to prepare the flavor. Salt? Pepper? Spices? A handful of vegetables?
She took the blender from Jorgen’s pantry, and plugged in the power. This was easy, right? All she had to do was put vegetables in the blender and turn it on.
The fridge had a variety of vegetables—carrots, peas, eggplants, tomatoes— but that wasn’t what Spensa was looking for.
She reached deeper into the fridge, plucking out a bitter gourd, a few potatoes, and beetroot.
She tossed them into the blender with speed, shutting the lid and tuning the blender on. Without boiling the potatoes first.
The blender whirred to life and the blades spun rapidly, the vegetables grinding together, the color turning into an interesting shade of brown.
She watched as pieces of beetroot, chunks of potato and slices of bitter gourd whizzed by before being sucked into the wrath of the silver blades.
But Spensa didn’t notice how haphazardly she really closed the lid. With a loud pop the lid flew off, and the brown contents of the blender exploded over the counter and the cabinets in a messy spray.
She jumped backwards, swearing rapidly as she reached for the switch and turned it off. The questionable brown liquid decorated the floor, the counter, the cabinets, and a little bit on her shirt.
She stood frozen, staring at the chaotic mess she just created, eye twitching.
“Well,” she muttered, wiping a speck of beetroot from here cheek. “This is fine. This is completely fine.” She glanced at the blender, where only half of her mixture remained.
She poured that into the pot with the algae strips and added a pinch of salt, chili, and something small, round, salty and black she’d found in the cupboard.
The algae-rawpotato-bittergourd-beetroot soup with a bit of flavoring would have to be good enough for now.
Trying not to mess that up too, she grabbed a rag from the cupboard and began scrubbing at the counter furiously.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, breaking Spensa’s concentration.
FM entered the kitchen, blue eyes widening as she followed Spensa’s gaze to the splattered mess.
“Stars, Spin, what have you done?” She asked, blinking.
Spensa blushed. “I didn’t close the lid properly, I guess… and the blender exploded.”
FM ran a hand through her blonde hair, trying to comprehend the mess, and walked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.
A soft sigh escaped Spensa’s lips as she continued scrubbing the counter. Maybe she should finish cooking first, and then clean up the kitchen?
Yes. That would be more convenient.
She slammed the rag onto the counter and turned to the fridge, taking out the batter for the bread she’s prepared hours ago.
She flopped it onto the baking tray & moulded it into a surprisingly acceptable shape.
Maybe one dish would turn out to be alright after all.
Just as she was about to spray it with oil, her watch buzzed with a message from Jorgen. She tapped on the screen in an heartbeat, eyes scanning over the digital text.

Jorgen: Hey, Spensa. I’ll be back home in about an hour. How’s everything?
Spensa: Oh, everything’s fine. Everything’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me :)
Jorgen: Glad to hear it. I still have one more meeting with Rinakin and Hesho.
Spensa: Oh, alright then. Have fun! Bye Jorgen!
Jorgen: Bye, Spensa. I’ll be home soon ;)

With a sigh, Spensa closed the messages, garbing the oil spray and squirting it all over the surface of the bread. Once it was ready, she gingerly lifted the tray and placed it into the preheated oven. She would check on the bread after decorating.
Maybe she had overestimated her cooking skills. Just a tiny bit.
But dinner wouldn’t even be that bad… right?

$$$

Chapter Text

Spensa exhaled, rubbing her hands together as she stared at the dining table. Right.
Time to make this look professional. Romantic. Fancy.
First, she draped a clean white table cloth over the refined wood of table, making sure the edges were still smooth and straightened out the wrinkled.
Then she turned to Jorgen’s pantry, flinging open the door with a dramatic swing.
Her eyes light up at the sight of all the expensive cutlery.
Forks? Knives? Spoons? Plates? Check. He had everything in there. Fancy rich boy.
Spensa picked up two of each, placing them on the table with forced carefulness.
She turned back to the pantry room to see what other fancy stuff he had.
Wine glasses? Shot glasses? Flute glasses? Why were there so many glasses?
She took two of a type of glass she couldn’t recognize and carefully arranged them on the table. It looked exquisite next to the refined cutlery.
Spensa ran her gaze over the table, which looked a lot better than she’s originally anticipated. She took a step back, tilting her head. Something was still missing. Something to add that extra fire she loved so much.
Candles.
She rushed to Jorgen’s store room, shoving aside random paperwork and spare flight gear until her eyes landed on a cardboard box nestled at the back. She picked it up, finding three white candles shoved inside along with some fairy lights. Perfect. Those would come in use as well. She had no idea why those lights were there, but she wasn’t questioning it.
She set them in the middle of the table, standing them up straight in some candle holders she’d found at the bottom of the box. She decided to light them up later.
Perfect. Now for the final touches.
Spensa pulled out her phone, scrolling through the settings on Jorgen’s house. Jorgen’s house had adjustable lighting—of course it did, he was rich as hell—and dimmed the overhead lights drastically until the room had a warm, cozy, pale glow.
The she rushed to the cardboard box and pulled out the fairy lights, stepping onto a much-needed stool and hanging them over the table.
She tuned the fairy lights on, eyes sparkling as they bathed the room in a soft pink glow, which complimented nicely with the yellow glow of the overhead lights as well.
Spensa took a satisfied step back and admired her handiwork. It looked… perfect.
Finally. One thing she didn’t mess up today. Besides flying, of course.
It was the perfect romantic gesture. He made her cookies, she made him… dinner.
Spensa brushed a stray strand of her hair away from her face.
“Alright,” she muttered. “Now I just have to—“
Frantic beeps coming from the kitchen drowned out the rest of her sentence.
Spensa’s head snapped towards the oven. Right. The bread.
She bolted towrads the kitchen and yanked the oven door open. A bunch of hot steam puffed onto her face, but she ignored it, slipping on oven gloves and pulling out the tray to stare at her creation.
The bread was… aliright? Golden-brown, slightly lumpy, but not burnt.
Spensa let out a sigh of reief, steam from the surprising not terrible bread trailing into the air. It smelled pretty tempting, honestly.
She glanced at the clock illuminated above the dining table. 2130. Victory.
There was still thirty minutes before Jorgen got home.
Now it was time for the real challenge—actually serving her cooking.
She placed the bread in the middle of the table first, careful not to knock over the glasses or candles, which were still not lit.
With trembling hands she lifted the bowls of soup, placing it with care next to their plates. She added more of that small, black, round, salty stuff on top for extras.
The algae soup smelled… peculiar. To be fair, she did choose the weirdest mix of vegetables known to humankind.
Spensa walked back to the kitchen, lifting the glass plate where the chicken strips now resided. It still felt rubbery, but at least it was still warm, right?
It went beside the bread, which looked like a five star meal compared to those strips.
She also filled up the glasses with… water. Spensa couldn’t recognize any of the fancy drinks that were stocking the fridge’s shelves.
Better not to use anything expensive by accident.
Now, for the finishing touch.
With a careful glance to make sure she didn’t burn the tablecloth, she lit the three candles with a match, the little golden flames flickering to life as soon as the fire touched the wick.
She took a step back and rolled her shoulders as she surveyed the scene before her.
The fairy lights cast a sift pink glow of the table, mingling well with the dim overhead lights and the dancing golden flames of the candles. The pristine white tablecloth grave a sense of professionalism, while Jorgen’s fancy cutlery and glasses added a touch of class. The bread—the one dish she didn’t mess up—sat proudly in the center, like some sort of five-star masterpiece.
If you ignored the questionable soup, the rubbery chicken and the weird toppings on the dishes, the whole thing actually looked quite romantic.
It was like the dinner version of Jorgen’s stick figure drawing.
Dinner. But more disastrous.
She let out a deep breath and checked the time again. 2140.
Twenty minutes before Jorgen got back home.
But then Spensa glanced down at her shirt, realizing that greenish brown smears from the blender explosion still decorated it.
Right. She probably shouldn’t look like a battle survivor when Jorgen came in.
She tuned on her heel and sprinted to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her her incase Jorgen came back home early. Wouldn’t that be something…
She yanked off her soup-stained shirt, throwing it onto the counter and replacing it with a clean one. She pulled it down over her hair, quickly running her fingers through her hair to make it look somewhat presentable. Not that Jorgen ever cared, but…
She caught her reflection in the mirror one last time, muted “I look fine,” and practically sprinted out of the bathroom to look at the clock once more.
2150. Ten minutes before he was back.
Ten minutes before he’d have to taste her culinary disaster.

$$$

Spensa was plopped onto the couch, head resting against the back, impatiently tapping her nails against the armrest. She had done it. She had actually done it. Dinner was served, the table was set, the room was decorated—now the only thing that was left was Jorgen. He’d be back any minute now.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a fleeting moment. Scud, cooking was hard.
She glanced at the clock again, the time 2205 illuminating from its digital screen. He was five minutes late…
Her nerves tingled with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.
But just as she was about to text him, she heard the soft click of the front door opening. Spensa shot off the couch so fast she nearly knocked over the coffee table, and bolted towards the door.
Jorgen stepped inside—his hair slightly messy, his uniform disheveled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion—until his eyes met hers.
Jorgen barely had time to react before she gabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him down to her, closing the distance between them completely.
Spensa’s lips met his so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of her lungs, but she didn’t care. Jorgen’s hands came up—one sliding to the curve of her waist and the other finding purchase at the back of her neck as he kissed her back just as hard, like her never wanted to let go.
Heat ignited under her skin as she pulled him closer, her pulse pounding in her ears, getting lost in the way his lips were firmly pressed against hers.
Spensa bit his lower lip—just slightly—causing him to groan and grip her tighter.
Stars, she never knew she’d love that sound so bad.
His touch was grounding, making her forget about everything else—it was just them, caught up in the intensifying heat of the moment.
Jorgen tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his lips parting hers with a slow, deliberate move, sending a shiver down her spine. She knew exactly what he meant.
His tounge brushed against hers in a slow, teasing movement, igniting every nerve beneath her skin on fire. He tasted smooth, rich—kind of like coffee, but better.
Jorgen took control, his tounge sliding over hers in a way that made sure they had no chance of catching their breaths. She groaned, sliding effortlessly into the movement.
Scud, it had only been a day. They’d gone months without seeing each other in the past. But here they were, kissing like it had been years.
They finally pulled back, Spensa grinning breathlessly, Jorgen looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in the universe.
“Missed me?” Spensa teased, tilting her head to the side.
Jorgen smiled, his fingers curling around hers tightly. “You have no idea.”
Spensa ran her hands through her hair again, trying to get it back into place.
“Well, that was…”
“Surreal,” Jorgen finished, his voice still slightly husky.
For a moment they just stood, there gazing into each other’s eyes.
Spensa loved his grey-flecked brown eyes. They held a kind of love she’d never find anywhere else.
Jorgen loved her piercing amethyst eyes. They held a kind of strength that he’d never been able to muster.
“Anyways,” Spensa murmured, taking his hand before they would kiss in the corridor again. “Let’s go eat dinner.”
Jorgen looked down at her with the softest expression she’d even seen on his face.
“You were waiting for me?” He murmured.
Spensa grinned, rolling her eyes. “Yes. I did. Now shut up and come eat before I starve to death and make you feel guilty forever.”
She tightens her grip on his hand and dragged him towards the living room, her heart pounding with anticipation. Would he like it? Would he appreciate it?
They stepped into the room, and Jorgen slowed to a stop.
Spensa stopped too, watching his expression shift from exhaustion to surprise.
The fairy lights cast a sift pink glow of the table, mingling well with the dim overhead lights and the dancing golden flames of the candles, their warmth encasing the overall atmosphere of the room. The pristine white tablecloth grave a sense of professionalism, while Jorgen’s fancy cutlery and glasses added a touch of class and charm. The bread—the one dish that looked edible—sat proudly in the center, like some sort of five-star masterpiece amidst the rubbery chicken and disastrous soup.
Jorgen’s lips parted slightly. “You… did all this?”
Spensa nodded, crossing her arms like it was no big deal “Yeah, well, you made me delicious chocolate heart-shaped cookies, wrote me a scudding love letter, and—“ she reached for her pocket, pulling out the stick figure drawing, “—made me this abomination of a drawing. All because I was a little cranky. So, I, made you—“ she gestured at the table. “—dinner.”
Jorgen laughed at the sight of the drawing. “Oh… yeah… that. I tried my best, I swear. Sorry about your arm, by the way…” he said, running a hand through his hair.
Spensa smiled, and kissed his cheek. “It’s fine. I love it. And so does our flight.”
Jorgen groaned. “Oh stars—you showed it to them? Great. They’ll never stop making fun of me.” But his gaze drifted back to the dining table, taking in the fairy lights, the candles, and, most importantly, the food.
“You really did all this for me?” Jorgen asked, his gaze landing back in her.
Spensa’s heart flipped once more. She hated when it did that—when her heart flipped over itself like his words meant everything.
She cleared her throat and looked away.
“Yes, Jorgen, it’s all for you. Now shut up and sit down before I un-make it.”
Jorgen smiled, taking a seat. “Yes, Sir.”
Spensa rolled her eyes at his barely contained amusement and sat in the seat in front of him. She reached for a peice of bread before the moment could get too sentimental and ripped a pice off with her teeth. It was… decent. Not perfect, but surprisingly decent.
Jorgen, however, was still staring at the table happily.
Spensa frowned, swallowing her bread. “Jorgen, if you don’t eat, I’ll be forced to assume you’re ungrateful and stab you with a fork.”
Jorgen blinked at her remark. “I—no, I just—“ he blinked, reaching for a piece of bread. “It’s just… really nice. Thank you, Spensa.”
She ignored how her heart fluttered wildly in her chest at his words once more and scoffed playfully. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Now just eat.”
He obeyed, breaking off a piece of bread and biting into it. He chewed, swallowed, and nodded in approval.
“So,” Spensa said, clasping her hands together and fluttering her eyelashes. “How is it?”
“This… is actually pretty good.”
Spensa smirked. “Damn right it is.”
Jorgen’s fingers hovered over the next dish—the algae soup. He eyed the greenish-brown liquid, twilling his spoon around in his bowl before noticing the little black things. “Wait… Spensa, tell me what you added for those toppings…”
Spensa raised an eyebrow. “Oh… those little round salty black things? I found them in your fridge, kept behind a box of something fancy.”
Jorgen’s face fell into pure, unfiltered horror.
“Spensa,” he said, his voice low. “That was caviar. Black. Caviar.”
Spensa gasped softly. “You mean… those unnecessarily expensive fish eggs?”
Jorgen groaned and took his face in his hands. “Yes. I needed them for a diplomatic event, but…” he trailed off, swallowing. “It’s fine. It’s just caviar.”
Spensa stared at the soup, poking the caviar with her spoon. Scud… that probably cost him a lot, especially considering that it was black…
And she’s carelessly poured expensive sh*t into her disastrous soup.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, staring at the floor. “I should’ve—“
Jorgen cut her off. “No. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just drink this soup.”
Spensa sighed in relief. “I’ll go first.”
She carefully lifted the spoon to her mouth, pouring all the contents inside.
And instantly regretted it.
The flavors collided like an uncontrolled starfighter crash—bitter, sour, salty, and chunky in texture. It tasted worse than rat.
Spensa forced herself to swallow, her face grimacing as it went down her throat.
Across the table, Jorgen’s spoon havered above his bowl cautiously.
She cleared her throat and tried to pull a neutral expression. “It’s.. uh.. an experience.”
He squinted. “An experience?”
Spensa nodded. “Yeah. A bold experience.”
Jorgen, who had known her for far too long to believe her lies, carefully lowered his spoon back into his bowl.
“Are you gonna eat it, Jorgen?” Spensa asked, her eyes blazing.
Jorgen hesitated. “I... uhh… appreciate the effort, but—“
Spensa scowled, stabbing at her soup with her spoon. “Jorgen Weight, I spent hours making and blending that disastrou soup for you, so you’d better take a scudding sip.”
Jorgen sighed and lifted his spoon with a deep breath.
Spensa watched, eyes laced with anticipation as he took a small, hesitant sip.
For a fleeting moment, his expression remained neutral.
Jorgen’s brows furrowed sharply, his eyes widening with the disastrous flavor. He quickly reached for his glass, drinking the sparkling water like his life depended on it.
Spensa laughed wickedly, taking a sip of water from her own glass.
“See? I told you it was a bold experience.”
Jorgen set his glass down with a clink. “What. Was. In. That. Thing?”
Spensa smirked. “Oh, some beetroot, some bitter gourd, some potatoes… I think I forgot to boil them, salt, and what I didn’t know was caviar.”
Jorgen blinked slowly. “Well, I guess that explains it..”
Spensa stifled back a laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“No, not bad” Jorgen replied, his voice soft. “Just an uncoordinated choice of flavors.” Well, that was one way to put it.
Spensa reached for the last dish on their course—the chicken. She placed a rubbery strip on her plate, and then on Jorgen’s. He poked it with his fork, eyebrows raised at its rubbery properties, but he cut off a piece and put it in his mouth anyway.
Spensa assessed him like she watched for Krell drones mid-flight. Sharp. Focused.
Jorgen chewed. And chewed some more. It was chewy. Overcooked, but somehow still wet in some places. The seasoning was… Well, he had no idea what it was, but it seemed as if she’d just picked whatever she saw first. He did taste a hint of paprika though… He swallowed the piece of chicken, a burnt aftertaste lingering in his mouth.
Spensa was looking at him expectantly.
“Well?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.
Jorgen hesitated again. “It’s… a bit rubbery, but not that bad…”
She nodded, taking a bite of the chicken herself. She had to chew way too much to just get it to go down her throat. And the spices were so scudding random…
Spensa felt despair crash over her like a tidal wave. The food was terrible. Except the bread—the savior of this whole escapade. She also wasted his expensive caviar…
Spensa groaned. “Dinner sucked, didn’t it?”
He moved his chair next to hers, tenderly draping an arm around her shoulders.
“No, Spensa, it didn’t suck. Not one bit. The fact that you did all this for me… is a more powerful feeling than any fancy dish could convey. The fact that you worked so hard, just beacuse I did those things in the morning, made me feel like nothing else ever could. And the food might not taste perfect, but the love you put into making it is unmistakable. I can’t think of a better way to spend the end of a long and exhausting day than this. Just spending time with you.”
Spensa looked up at him, her heart melting at the pure sincerity and love in his words.
She leaned into his chest and Jorgen grabbed her waist, pulling her onto his lap.
“Thank you,” Spensa murmured against his uniform jacket. “Everything we’ve been through together, everything you do for me—it all means a lot. Even if you’re busy, Jorgen, I might get upset, but I understand. And I can’t thank you enough for those cookies, the letter, and even our interesting stick figure adaptations. I’m definitely placing that drawing on the fridge You really do know just how to cheer me up, don’t you?”
Jorgen smiled softly. “About those cookies, Kimmalyn might have done a bit more than just supervised…”
“Yeah. I figured. Or else they probably would’ve tasted quite different…”
Jorgen laughed, a light, warm sound. “Definitely.”
She fished the drawing from her pocket, placing it into the table along with the letter and the cookies. Jorgen picked one up and ate it, smiling as the chocolate indulged in his mouth. “Wow… that’s actually pretty good.”
She handed him the letter. “And, might I add, Jorgen, you’re pretty good with words. ‘I know you might have the urge to throw me onto ReDawn’s toxic surface and watch my corpse burn as a result of toxicity.’ You really couldn’t have said that better.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh… but be honest, it was romantic right?”
“Definitely, you smooth charmer. Made me forget about my cramps too.”
Jorgen lifted the drawing and stifled back a laugh at his miserable art skills.
“You know… what was I thinking with that caption?”
“I really don’t know. But, I mean, you tried, and that’s what matters.”
Jorgen smiled, his hands moving from her waist to her back. “You know, Spin, I actually got you something else too. I just wanted to give it to you in person.”
He reached for his pocket and slowly pulled out a ring—golden, with a pink heart-shaped gemstone sitting proudly in the center.
Spensa smiled, feeling every cell in her body ignite with love as Jorgen slipped the ring onto her finger. “I… Jorgen—but I wasted your money on the caviar.”
Jorgen laughed, brushing a stand of hair from her face. “It’s alright, Spensa. I don’t care about the caviar. You deserve it. Besides, I don’t need money when I’ve already got the complete package.”
Spensa tilted her head up and kissed him again, this time softer, more gentle, as if savoring the moment instead of rushing into it too fast.
She lost herself in him again—the warm press of his lips, his pulse matching against hers, the steady way his arms were wrapped around her back—just like she had the night before.
And for a moment, it was just them, kissing softly under the warm glow of the fairy lights, the candle flames flickering to life in the darkness, the halfway finished, not-so -disastrous dinner laying in front of them. The warmth that blooomed in their hearts was raw, unfiltered, real, because they knew. They knew that they’d never have to face anything alone. Paused promises, disastrous dinners, stick figure drawings and all.

$$$