The Space Between Us

Chapter One- Docking

{Full italic dialogue indicates that said phrase is spoken in Russian.}

The Americans were already there, awaiting their arrival at the International Space Station. Dmitry Petrov shifted anxiously in his suit, his gloved fingertips tracing over the embroidered patch of the soviet emblem he bore on his left sleeve. As he felt along the golden stitches that formed the sickle and hammer, his thoughtfully curious gray eyes watched the ever approaching ISS through the small capsule window.

"Uhm, hello?" The small comm system just above the Russian buzzed with the voice of an American. He bristled slightly as reached for the button that would allow a reply. He'd been trained in the language, but even so he'd never spoken a breath of it outside of a classroom.

"Da, hullo? This is the Czar II voyager." His words were strongly accented but as he relaxed back into his chair, his eyes glinted with a small pride.

"This is Joseph Baxter on behalf of the ISS and the California Falcon. Your vessel is coming in a little hot."

Dmitry moved to respond yet again but was interrupted by one of his fellow comrades, whose English was much more fluent and aggressive.

"You underestimate us? American? Don't tell us how to pilot our vessel."

The American noticed the shift in voices and offered only a sigh before the communication went stagnant. Dmitry felt awkward at the heated exchange but said nothing to risk offending a man he'd be spending the next year in close proximity with.

As the obviously on edge soviet moved away from Dmitry and back to the controls, he exhaled shaking and tried again to focus on the wonder outside. His comrades exchanged dialogue in their native tongue, but he was far too disgruntled to pull any meaning from the syllables. No matter how often he gazed at the enthralling lights, the manner in which the danced across the eternal void never failed to captivate him.

The capsule lurched forwards as it slid, admittedly rather quickly, into the docking port. It was enough to pull Dmitry out of his trance, but luckily zero-gravity cushioned the intensity of his body's reaction.

"Don't look at me like that," The still frazzled comrade barked, though in truth not a gaze lay on his flustered complexion.

Instinctively, Dmitry reached up with a shaky hand to the comm system and began again in his unconfident English.

"Czar II to ISS," he reached now for his seat belt and allowed his body to be released into weightlessness. "We're here."

His tone had an unexpected gentleness that gained him a glare from the other soviets aboard the capsule. He frowned at this but didn't much mind as the American replied in a tone just as warm.

"I'll be right over."

The Russian hid a smile as he kicked off gently from the chair, spiraling towards the airlock as his comrades checked over various protocol manuals and radioed in their arrival. They described the American rather harshly, and managed an insult wherever the could. Their accusatory laugher echoed sharply in the cabin, and only encouraged Dmitry to shuffle closer to the door.
A voice on the other side of the airlock could be heard, though the words themselves were inaudible. He listened intently before a sharp grinding of metal and the exhale of pistons drowned out his ability to perceive the voice. The airlock would give way as a result, and in doing so the face of the man he assumed to be Joseph Baxter was revealed to him.

His hair was a honey brown, and his eyes a curious pine that shone deeply within the gray orbs of the Russian. His jaw was sharp but thoughtfully curved, freshly shaven. His brows were neatly sculpted, and his slender frame supported him nicely. But above those was simply his flawless smile, which nearly took his breath away.