infinity times infinity

The Interceptor was quiet.

They had had a run-in with six Manhunters on Revya Prime, an abandoned planet in Kilowog’s sector, and everyone was either mildly injured or exhausted. Green Lantern Hal was in his quarters, having a nap, while Green Lantern Kilowog was in the bridge. Only she and Razer had been hurt in the battle. Razer’s wounds were superficial at worst, and she merely had to disassemble herself to integrate with the ship’s system to make repairs.

After her repairs were completed, she reassembled herself, replacing any damaged parts, and observed Razer in the mess hall as he attempted to dress his wounds. In her memory banks, she remembered how he had carried her close to his chest after she had been struck down. He had yelled, “Aya needs medical atten - ” He had caught himself, eyes drifting away. “I mean - she needs help!” He called to the others. “I am alright, Razer. I simply need time to disassemble to make repairs.” He said no more, his mouth a tight line, and flew her back to the Interceptor, making sure she was alright before heading for the bridge to provide cover fire.

Out of all the crew, he was the one who confused her the most. Green Lantern Hal was brave and well-intentioned, and every time he complimented her, even if it was for completing a task as minute as figuring out what that sound was - it was always the refrigerator; somebody kept leaving the door open - she felt a little spark of pride. Green Lantern Kilowog was disciplined and strong, and from what she had seen, everyone held great respect for the tough Bolovaxian.

Razer was…interesting. The Red Lantern intrigued her. He was filled with rage, that was obvious to all, but he could also be gentle. He had a temper, yes, but he carried much guilt in his heart. He once served Atrocitus, but he was capable of so much good. Despite his rough exterior, his actions had proven to be noble, and she was convinced that Razer was one of them.

Once, she had asked Green Lantern Hal about the villains in the comic books he had recommended for her to read, and if they were truly bad people, and if they weren’t, why didn't the heroes help them instead of defeating them? He had explained to her about how everyone had good and bad in them, and had told her a metaphorical story about wolves and feeding them, which hadn’t really answered her question, but helped her understand a little better.

He seemed to be struggling with the bandage, so she asked him if he needed help with the scrape on his right forearm. His right hand was his dominant hand, therefore he was having a bit of trouble using his left hand to manoeuvre. He nodded, and she sat down next to him - one and a half inches - and examined his wound. He had applied the antiseptic, but not very evenly. She opened the bottle and meticulously applied another layer - it was only prudent that every part of the wound was disinfected - then placed the bandage over it.

His skin was warm - warm like sunlight, warm like when she ran too many programs at once, warm like the way she felt when he looked at her. His arm tensed as soon as she touched it - among the many stimuli she registered in that moment, that was the one she chose to dwell on. She wondered if her hands were cold, and increased the heat to match his own temperature, sensing his eyes on her.

She knew that Razer regarded her frequently, often when he thought she was not aware. His eyes would watch her doing whatever she was doing, be it ultra-warp calculations or disassembling herself when they retired to their quarters for the night, and they would slide away, his face betraying no emotion.

This time, his hooded eyes did not leave her face until she had finished with the bandage. He thanked her quietly and disappeared into his quarters. His behaviour unnerved her. She had no name for what she felt when she was around him, and she could not identify what his actions meant, which was what unsettled her. One second he treated her like she was…alive - she could not pinpoint the exact moment he had started to - and the next he treated her with calculated indifference. Sometimes he made every excuse to touch her, a hand on her shoulder, a brush of an arm, and sometimes he kept such a distance that if it wasn't impossible she would have thought she was infected with a virus he could catch.

She wanted to confront him about his oddly contradictory behaviour, but feared she might violate some social etiquette she had failed to discern, so she held her tongue, so to speak.

---

He pulled her by the arm, and pressed them both into the wall. Her face was so close to his neck if she moved forward just an inch, her lips would touch his skin. He did not seem to realise how close they were, because his eyes were trained on the opening of the alleyway, waiting for the guards to pass before he let out a breath that tickled the top of her head. Only then, did he tense. She met his wide gaze head on, watching, waiting. His heartbeat, which had dipped marginally as soon as their evasion was successful, suddenly increased as did his breathing, which pressed them closer together with every breath.

His fingers tightened against the wall above her shoulder, causing some dirt to dislodge and scatter on the ground. He ignored it completely, his eyes searching her face, landing on her mouth. His own lips slackened minutely. He did not look away for three-point-seven seconds.

Aya dealt with absolutes - true or false, yes or no. She did not do well with maybes.

---

“…and somehow, I know I will be with you too, watching over you. Always.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I do not either - it is just a feeling.”

She was not sure why she said so. For once, she did not understand, she just knew. How ironic it was, for her to truly experience something so living just as she ceased. As she disintegrated in his arms, her failing sensors grasping on to the warmth of his embrace as it gave way to emptiness, she finally had her answer.