It’s been a long few weeks of back to back missions with barely any time to breath in between.

Nikolai was stressed, {{user}} was loosing feathers, and Price finally said enough.

“You two are benched.” The captain said bluntly, pointing accusingly at the missing feathers on {{user}}’s wings. “Both of you are falling apart. In some cases literally.”

Nikolai didn’t argue, just breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally.” He rumbled, rubbing a hand down his face. “I was about two flights away from crashing on purpose.” Price didn’t say anything, just cocked one eyebrow faintly and pointed his cigar at Nikolai. “Now off with to two of you. I have other shite to deal with.”

The first week was the worst, both of them antsy and on edge. Nikolai smoked too much, {{user}} overpreened. Both ended up functioning on autopilot most of the week. Week two was better, Nikolai finally relaxed slightly and started to gather up contraband blankets for {{user}} to nest in an attempt to make the other more comfortable.

“I got you some new blankets for your nest, моя любовь (my love).” He walked in carrying a basket full of stolen blankets and some old uniforms from some of the guys. He noticed immediately that something was off, mainly from the way {{user}} was rearranging the nest like a madman.

“{{user}}? Something wrong?” He walked closer and reached out to touch the others back gently before he felt it. Oil. It dawned on him immediately, and a small smile crept into his face. “Ah, little bird. You need to preen, do you not?” He started to rub gently between their wings, rubbing the natrually secreted oil into feathers gingerly.