Massive Disaster III-5

Nina crouched in the middle of Zedd’s bedroom, knee digging into the hardwood, surrounded by five months of her life gutted open in a messy sprawl. Her shit had snuck in slow—couple shirts, some boots, a charger she never remembered bringing, then suddenly she had a drawer, then half the closet, then everything in between. And now she was tearing through it, shoving clothes into take and leave piles on his unmade bed, sheets still warm from when they crashed after the expo. Still smelled like him, too—metal and that overpriced citrus shit he used on everything, clinging to her skin, her clothes, her hair, soaking into muscle memory whether she liked it or not.

Her boots hit the take pile with a dull thunk, then a shirt she’d worn threadbare, then a datapad half-dead from sitting untouched for weeks. Should’ve backed it up before now, but whatever. Not like she had time for it. The pit in her stomach twisted tighter, something sour curling up behind her ribs. No. Not feeling shit right now. Just moving. One thing, then another. That’s all.

Her fingers hit something small, cold, tucked under the hoodie she’d stolen from him months back. She yanked it free.

The tiny drone—pencil-thin legs bent from where she’d yeeted it at the wall last month. He’d made it for her after their first big fight, after she’d screamed herself hoarse, You don’t get to freeze me out again, cabrón! and he’d just sat there, staring at his hands like he wanted to break something. The next day, he slid the little mech across the table, muttering, Backup for when I’m a dick.

She’d laughed, loud and unfiltered, the kind that made things lighter. Now it sat in her palm, useless and broken, heavier than it should be. Take it? Leave it?

Her chest clenched, dumb and sharp. Take. She shoved it under the socks, buried it before she could make it mean anything.

A shift in the doorway. Static in the air, electric. Zedd. She didn’t have to look. Could feel him there, fingers tapping the frame, erratic, jittery. The kind of restless that wasn’t about moving, just about not knowing what the fuck to do with himself.

She snatched the hoodie up, the fabric rough and familiar under her hands, and shoved it into take. Not leaving that. Not explaining it, either. He could deal.

Footsteps thumped outside—Dev, not Zedd—heavy and obvious, and then he was there, taking up the whole damn hallway with his broad-ass shoulders, expression tight, like he didn’t know what to do with his face. “Hey, uh. Buena suerte, yeah?” His grin was too wide, a little off, like he was selling it to himself more than her. “Whitefall’s gonna be nothing for you. Business school, though? What do they teach you, how to strut in suits and say ‘synergy’ like it means something?”

The laugh ripped out before she could stop it, too sharp, wrong, bouncing off the walls too loud for the moment. It didn’t touch her eyes. She felt the gap, where it got caught halfway up her throat, where it never quite landed.

She grabbed the nearest balled-up shirt and chucked it at him. “Yeah, Dev. Synergy and how to charge suckers like you triple for dumb shit you could’ve patched yourself.”

He caught it, easy. Smirked, but his eyes flicked to Zedd, fast, then back to her. Like he was waiting for something to crack open.

She waved him off, turning back to the suitcase. “Tell Adele she’s stuck with you now. No more ‘later’ excuses, okay?”

Dev hesitated in the doorway just long enough to make it weird. 

Then, like he felt it, he scraped his boots against the threshold, muttered a rough “Done,” and disappeared down the hall. Voices followed, murky and half-there—Caleb, probably, or maybe Adele, another one of them dropping by like this was some casual send-off instead of the mess it actually was.

Earlier, Caleb had grinned too wide, all bony limbs and that oversized jacket swallowing him whole. “Don’t freeze your ass off up there, Nina!” She’d smirked, lobbed something back about keeping his weak-ass lungs functional, and it should’ve been just words, just nothing, but it wasn’t. It stuck, thick in her ribs, layering on top of everything else, too much, piling up and up and—

Zip. Stuck.

Ay, coño.

She yanked hard. The suitcase caught.

The hoodie. His. 

Hers now. 

The sleeve bunched under the zipper, fabric refusing to let go. She should’ve just ripped it out, left it behind, but—no. Her hands shoved it deeper instead, rough, too fast. The frame was next, half-buried under socks, that stupid blurry dive-bar night where Zedd had his arm slung lazy over her shoulder, where she was a little too drunk to stand straight, Dev’s dumbass grinning wide in the background. Junk plastic, a chipped corner. 

She dropped it in. 

It clattered against the drone.

“You need help with that?”

Zedd.

The sound cut through everything else, rougher than usual, like he’d been swallowing it back for hours.

Nina flicked her gaze up.

He was leaning against the frame, arms loose at his sides, but his fingers were twitchy, tapping uneven against the wood. Aviators low on his nose, eyes tracking the empty spaces she’d left, the gaps in the room. His jaw—tight. Barely there, but she knew him. Knew when he was holding something too hard.

“Nah, I got it,” she shot back, too fast, too light. Flashed a grin that felt thin as hell. “Just the good stuff.”

She smacked the suitcase for emphasis. The sound landed flat.

“Yeah?” His voice stayed level, but his boots scraped the floor as he stepped closer.

“Yeah.” She went for casual, throwing herself into it too hard. “If you helped, I’d end up with some busted drone packed in, and I’d be stuck with sparks flying all over Whitefall.”

It should’ve hit. Should’ve made him snort, or shake his head, or something. Instead, his fingers curled at his sides, then flexed open again, restless.

“Wouldn’t be my worst build,” he muttered, nodding at the drone half-buried under socks. “That stubborn bastard still buzzing?”

“Barely.” She stood, too quick. Her braid swung, heavy against her shoulder. She’d re-tied it three times today just to keep from ripping it out. “Dropped it last week. Still hums, though. You make ‘em hardheaded.”

“Guess I got a knack for that.”

His grin flickered, too brief, too sharp. His eyes stayed on the photo, the hoodie, the space she’d carved out.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t.

She turned, grabbed the green scarf from the leave pile—tía’s old gift—and threw it at the dresser, harder than necessary. It flopped onto his datapads, a too-bright splash of color against all that gray clutter.

“You’re gonna miss me bossing you around,” she said, forcing tease into her voice, clawing for something normal. “Who’s gonna drag you out of your tech hole to eat now?”

“Dev, maybe. Caleb, if he grows some guts.”

His arms crossed, voice slipping light, too light, but fraying at the edges. “Whitefall ready for you?”

Her laugh came too fast. Real, for half a second. Then it caught, jagged. “They better be. I’m not wasting a year up there to come back dumber.”

She met his gaze. Couldn’t dodge it.

Something flickered. Pride, maybe. Or something worse.

Don’t make this hurt. Don’t make me stay.

The suitcase sat zipped, squat and final. Nina’s hands found her hips, her cargos sagging low, sweat gathering at her neck where the braid pulled tight. Zedd was still watching, leaned against the bedpost, arms locked. The quiet between them stretched, thick and scratchy, an old sweater she couldn’t pull off.

“You better not have taken my favorite hoodie,” he said, voice easy, too easy.

His grin twitched, lopsided. His eyes tracked her hands, scanning for what was missing.

She snorted, hard enough to sting. “Only took what’s mine, babe.”

His head tilted. Light caught the faint scars along his forearms. “So, just the red one?”

“Sí, just the red one.“ Her arms crossed, mirroring him, cargos creaking as she shifted. “What, you gonna frisk me now? Make sure I didn’t swipe your whole damn closet?”

His laugh was quick and dry, a puff of sound that didn’t reach his face. “Is that an offer? Because you don’t have to ask” She rolled her eyes as he uncrossed his arms, hands flexing once before dropping to his sides, and stepped closer. “How often you think we’ll talk up there? Whitefall’s not that far, right?”

She shrugged, turning half-away to grab a stray scarf from the dresser, twisting the thing in her hands as she tried to look occupied. “Dunno. Once a week, maybe? Depends how buried I get in all that ‘synergy’ crap Dev’s on about.” Her voice stayed light, but her stomach flipped, picturing the cold northern city, all steel and snow, no warm chaos like this room. “I’ll visit when I can. Holidays, probably. You gonna survive without me nagging you ‘til then?”

“Math says I’ll manage,” he said, smirking again, but his eyes drifted, staring past her at the wall, the bed, something she couldn’t pin down. His fingers tapped against his thigh now, a restless little dance, and she caught it—the way he went somewhere else, calculating, always calculating.

She stopped twisting the scarf, hands stilling as she squinted at him. “You’re doing the math right now, aren’t you? Figuring out how many days ‘til I’m back, how many calls you can dodge?”

He blinked, focus snapping back, and shook his head, too quick. “Nah, I’m here. Not counting anything.” His grin widened, but it didn’t fit, too tight around the edges, and his voice dipped, rougher than he meant it. “Just thinking.”

“Mentiroso,” she muttered, half under her breath, tossing the scarf back onto the dresser. It flopped, half-hanging off, and she turned to face him full-on, hands back on her hips. “You’re always thinking, Zedd. Numbers, specs, whatever. Just say it.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw flexing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. Was just… figuring the comm lag. Whitefall’s got that northern relay glitch. Might flux the sync.”

She laughed, short and sharp, but it didn’t feel funny. “See? Math.” 

She stepped closer, boots thudding soft against the floor, and poked his chest—hard, her finger jabbing into the black fabric stretched across his lean frame. “You can’t help it, huh?” Her grin faded fast, and she pulled her hand back, wiping it on her cargos like she could shake off the heat of him.

Then it hit her, mid-breath, and she froze, words dying on her tongue. 

She dropped the scarf she’d grabbed again without noticing, letting it puddle on the floor, and her hands balled into fists. “This isn’t just about school,” she said, voice cracking louder than she meant, spilling out before she could reel it in. “I gotta do something… for me. Kira said it right. But… more than that, you know, you don’t actually need me and I hate that. I just gotta try to be something more than just your arm candy, Zee.”

He blinked, head jerking back like she’d slapped him, brows knitting tight under those damn aviators, the wall he kept from everyone else. “Why do I have to need you to want you? And that arm candy thing… that’s bullshit. I get you might feel like that, but you’re… let’s be real, Neen, you’re already more than that,” he said, slow, genuine confusion threading through his tone. 

“You’re—” He stopped, mouth working like the words wouldn’t fit, hands lifting halfway then dropping again.

She cut him off, stepping in, her voice rising despite how much she didn’t want to be angry at him, now or ever. “Your assistant? Your support system? Qué mierda, Zedd, that’s not what I mean!” Her hands flew up, gesturing wild, braid swinging as she paced a tight circle, boots scuffing louder now. 

“I’m not just here to fix your crap or cheer you on when you’re off building your empire. I need to know I’m not—” She bit the words off, chest heaving, and turned back to him, eyes burning. “I need to know I’m not just convenient.”

His face shifted, confusion hardening into something else—frustration, maybe, or panic he wouldn’t name. “You’re not convenient,” he said, voice dropping low, rougher, like he was prying it out. “You’re… Nina, you’re the one who keeps this—” He gestured vaguely, hands slicing the air between them, the room, the mess of their lives. “You keep me… me. Like, human… okay. You don’t get it. I was… I was a lot worse before we tried to do this whole… whole thing again. Look, I don’t know how to say it right. It’s not, it’s not—”

“Then say it,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Don’t give me tech talk, Zedd. I’m not one of your drones you can tweak ‘til it makes sense. I need to hear it, ‘cause I’m standing here, packing up five months of us, and I don’t even know if I’m—” Her voice cracked again, and she hated it, hated the wet sting in her eyes, the way her hands shook as she shoved them into her pockets. “I don’t know if I’m anything to you past what I do.”

He stared at her, eyes wide behind the aviators, and for a second, she thought he’d bolt—turn tail like he did when shit got too real. But he didn’t. He stepped forward, boots scuffing once more, and his hands hovered, awkward, like he wanted to grab her but couldn’t figure out how. 

“You’re everything,” he said, quiet, raw, the words stumbling out like they hurt. “Not just—what you do. You. I don’t… I don’t have a blueprint for this, Nina. I’m not good at it.”

She laughed, a harsh, broken sound, and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, no kidding. You suck at it.” Her voice softened, trembling despite herself, and she looked at him—really looked—seeing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled tight against his thighs. “But I need more than that. I’m going up there to be somebody, not just your somebody. And I don’t know if you get that.”

He nodded, slow, eyes dropping to the suitcase, then back to her. “I get it,” he said, quieter still, almost lost in the hum. “I just… don’t know how to keep you here and let you go at the same time.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, snagging the scarf off the floor just to have something to hold. “You don’t have to keep me,” she muttered, twisting the green fabric until it knotted in her fists. “Just don’t let me feel like I’m nothing when I’m gone.” She didn’t look back, couldn’t, not with her throat burning and her hands full of everything she couldn’t say. The room stayed quiet, heavy, his silence louder than her words, and she stood there, waiting, hating how much she needed him to fill it.

Nina stood there, the green scarf twisted tight in her fists, the wool scratching her palms raw. 

The room pressed in, walls too close, air thick with that solder-and-citrus bite she’d breathed for five months. His silence stretched, heavy, and she felt it clawing at her, begging her to fill it. She couldn’t look at him, not yet. 

Her chest ached, a dull thud she hated, and she shifted, cargos rustling, braid swinging against her sweaty neck.

Then she moved, stepping closer before she could talk herself out of it, her boots thudding soft against the floor. She grabbed his hand—warm, rough, calluses scraping her skin—and pulled it toward her pocket, shoving it against the small lump tucked there. “I modified our comms,” she said, voice low, steadier than she felt. “The way you taught me. Dedicated channel, boosted encryption. No one’s cracking it unless they’ve got your brain, and good luck with that.” She pressed his fingers against the device, a clunky little thing she’d spent nights tweaking while he was working, her way of saying what her tongue couldn’t twist into words. This is me. This is us. Don’t let it die up there.

His hand closed around hers  and she froze a little, surprise probably clear on her face. His fingers weren’t jittery now, just warm and solid, curling over hers in that way that let her know he meant it, not just searching for a distraction. She flicked her eyes up, saw his face—aviators shoved up and into his hair, brown eyes bare, soft in a way she hadn’t seen since… since when? 

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the room didn’t hum, didn’t press, just held still. He didn’t smirk, didn’t quip, just looked at her, really looked, and it hit her hard, a warm ache spreading from her chest to her fingertips. He’s here. Right now, he’s here. 

She didn’t pull away, couldn’t, not with his hand anchoring her like that.

Her mind tripped, stumbled back—twenty-two months ago, January 2178, his first day at the New Abraham Generator Hub. She’d been elbow-deep in a busted conduit, the air thick with ozone, the smell sharp enough to sting her nose. Sweat beaded on her forehead, sticking her shirt to her back, and the hum of the generators rattled her bones, a low growl she’d gotten used to after three years working there. Then he’d walked in, fresh off the colony ship,multitool on his waist, all lean swagger and a smirk that just screamed trouble. She’d sized him up quick, wiping grease on her jumpsuit, thinking, Just another cocky kid who thinks he’s hot shit ‘cause he’s got tools. She’d rolled her eyes, turned back to the relay, figuring he’d trip over himself soon enough.

But then he’d crouched next to her a few hours later, silent at first, watching her wrestle with a flickering power conduit. The damn thing kept shorting, sparking in her hands, and she’d cursed under her breath—“Ay, mierda, qué pasa con esto?”—ready to chuck it across the room. He’d leaned in, close enough she caught his smell even then, and pointed at a frayed wire she’d missed, voice low, calm. “That’s your glitch. Feedback loop’s frying the whole line.”

She’d blinked, squinted at it—hijo de puta, he’s right—and watched him pull a tool from his kit, snip the wire clean, reroute it in ten seconds flat. Her jaw dropped, just a little, and she’d covered it with a smirk of her own and nudged his shoulder. “Look at the newbie lil spacer. He might actually last a week in the frontier.”

He’d grinned, quick and sharp, and tossed back, “Give me two, I’ll run this place.” She’d laughed, loud and real, the sound echoing over the hum, and that was it—hooked, not on his skill, but on the way he’d seen it, fixed it, no fuss. The sheer competence and the raw, self-perpetuating ego he didn’t notice he put out half the time… it was heady.

Her first impression cracked open, and by the end of that week after that first night at the bar, they were elbow-to-elbow, him showing off a trick with the conduit seals, and then following up with a tweak to the coolant flow she hadn’t thought of, and she’d thought, Okay, maybe he’s more than just talk.

Now, standing in his bedroom, his hand still wrapped around hers, that memory slammed back and she blinked as she pulled herself to the present. “You kept that trick, huh?” he said, voice rough, thumb brushing her knuckles in that slow way that sent the right kind of tingles up her spine. “Encryption’s solid. Better than mine.”

She laughed,  the sound catching in her throat as he lied to her with a straight face and no attempt to bother hiding how bad it was for the millionth time. “Had a good teacher, didn’t I?” Her fingers tightened around his, just for a second, and she felt the comms device press harder against her pocket. “Don’t go quiet on me up there, Zedd. I’m not dragging this thing around for nothing.”

He nodded. “Won’t. Promise.” His voice dipped and hiis grip shifted around her, looser but still there, and she felt the heat of him sinking into her skin.

“Bueno,” she muttered, pulling her hand back slow, reluctant, brushing it on her cargos to shake off the buzz. “You better not. I’ll know if you slack.” She turned, snagging the scarf off the floor again, twisting it in her fists ‘til her knuckles whitened. Her chest still thudded, loud and messy, and she couldn’t look at him, not with that memory swirling, not with his touch still warm on her skin. He’s here now… will he stay? She shoved the thought down, deep, and grabbed the box again, needing the weight, needing something to hold that wasn’t him.

“So, what’s the plan for Victory while I’m gone?” she asked, voice brighter than she felt, shoving tease into it to drag him out of whatever hole he was sinking into. “You gonna keep it running, or am I coming back to a pile of smoking circuits and Dev crying in the corner?”

Zedd’s grin flickered, quick and sharp, and he leaned back, crossing his arms like he was settling in. “Victory’s fine. Got a few upgrades in the pipeline… and some original work. Thinking of breaking into the vehicle market properly. A V-Coupe, maybe. Got some Mark 2 VEST tweaks, more responsive kinesis fields, maybe a neural interface, might have to come with a spinal implant though.” His voice sped up, smooth now, rolling into that groove he loved, words piling fast. “Gonna double down on production. Contingencies are solid—private valuation’s up 32% since the expo, and the Citadel can’t touch us with any regulatory bullshit, so we’re fine.”

She watched him, his eyes lighting up, darting to the side like he was seeing schematics she couldn’t—numbers, systems, all that crap he swam in easy as breathing. His hands moved now, gesturing sharp, slicing the air as he rattled on about tolerances and output curves, voice steady, too steady. He’s gone again. Her chest tightened, a quick pinch she didn’t want to name, and she saw it—his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching, retreating to that safe little world where feelings didn’t need fixing. “Hey,” she said, louder than she meant, stepping closer, boots thudding soft. “Come back to me.”

Zedd blinked, head jerking like she’d yanked a wire loose somewhere in him, and his hands stilled mid-motion, caught between gestures. “What? C’mon, what do you mean? I’m right here,” he said, but it landed wrong, hollow, like even he wasn’t convinced. His grin flickered, then dropped entirely, eyes darting—at her, past her, then back again, like he was trying to pin himself to the moment and kept slipping.

Nina exhaled sharp through her nose, shaking her head. No, no lo estás. She didn’t mean to say it out loud.

He moved before she could catch up, closing the space between them too fast, one arm locking around her tight as she let out a breath. The other hand slid up, fingers threading into her braid, tugging strands loose, like he could keep her here if he just held tight enough. And for a second, she let it happen, let herself sink into it, muscle memory stronger than anything rational. Her arms found his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt, breath hitching as the tension bled out of her bones.

His chin dipped to her shoulder, breath hot against her skin. “I ran the numbers,” he murmured, voice low, fraying at the edges. “Long-distance relationships… looking at a 58% failure rate in the first three months.” His fingers tightened in her hair, just a little.

Nina shoved him back just enough to glare up at him properly, hands fisting into his shirt. “We’re not numbers,” she snapped, voice rough at the edges. “And stop ruining the fucking moment, idiot.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t throw some quick-witted counter back, didn’t even smirk. Just stared, lips slightly parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came. His thumb brushed over her jaw, feather-light, but she felt the shake in it. Say something. Please.

The silence dragged… a bit too long, and she knew in the feelings game, she’d never be able to win against him.

So she caved first.

Her arms tightened around his waist again, pressing her face into his chest until the world shrank down to the steady beat of his heart, the scent of him—solder, ozone, something faintly citrus. The same smell that had soaked into his hoodie, the one she’d packed without thinking. Her throat burned.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered, voice splintering on the edges.

He exhaled, a shaky breath that ghosted through her hair, arms pulling her in like he was trying to fuse them together, hold, hold, hold. His head tipped down, chin resting on top of hers. He swallowed once, twice.

“…I already miss you.”