Work Text:
“I have a revised launch date for Columbia,” Emma informs her during their customary morning briefing and then adds with a smirk, “In addition, there is an interesting d-mail in your inbox I recommend you check out.” Margo is mildly irritated by the latter remark but files it away for later, her head already filled with engine test reports and budget requests.
After lunch, Margo finally catches up on her unread d-mails, which had already been pre-sorted by Emma. Prioritized in her inbox is an invitation to speak at a conference, the agenda for this week’s Jamestown all-hands, and a d-mail from Operation Love.
Margo’s eyes widen when she skims over the d-mail. Usually, she finds it annoying if other people involve themselves in her private life. She still remembered the days when she had to fend off questions about potential suitors, children, and marriage from family members and coworkers on a regular basis.
But somehow, when the questionnaire for a computer-based Harvard match-making study found its way into Margo’s inbox a couple of months ago, Emma’s proposal for Margo to fill it out for science sounded compelling.
Now she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Of course, Emma had seen the d-mail. The red, taunting flag next to the d-mail’s subject line was proof enough.
Margo has a deep respect for the woman. She isn’t just a brilliant assistant with a sharp mind, she also possesses the tremendous skill of picking up on Margo’s needs long before she knows herself. (And she has a much better understanding of Margo’s wardrobe.) She regards Emma as one of the best hiring decisions she has ever made.
It is simply that Margo is in no way looking for a romantic relationship. As for the questionnaire, she had completely forgotten about it until today. Shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation she clicks to open the d-mail.
You have one new match! she reads in bold and pink letters on her screen. “Very scientific,” she mutters to herself.
The d-mail doesn’t offer much information besides this and a pink (again?) button with the inscription Contact Match.
Her mouse hovers over the button for a long time. When she finally presses down on it, she tells herself that it is simply and only for the furtherance of scientific development. Maybe a future version of this algorithm will one day help her select the perfect crew for humanity’s first mission to Mars.
A text box opens with the address line already pre-filled. It reads Dear test subject 204 and Margo rolls her eyes at the change in tone between the flashy design of the d-mail and the rigid formality of the proposed text. Readjusting her glasses she gives herself a moment to think.
This is ludicrous. She isn’t the sort of person that dates or flirts — especially via d-mail. But a voice in the back of her mind that sounds a lot like Emma reminds her that it’s totally fine to have fun once in a while. So she types: I am a 40-something engineer with a passion for jazz. If you are based in Houston and don’t mind late dinners, let’s meet at Nippon.
For good measure and because she feels adventurous she adds an M below the text.
She hits Send and moves on to the agenda for the Jamestown all-hands. She can’t possibly see how anyone in their right mind would respond to this text. Therefore, she is very surprised when, only a few minutes later, her d-mail program chimes and informs her of a new message from Operation Love.
It’s indeed an answer from test subject 204.
Dear M,
I am an engineer as well and will be in Houston for two more weeks. I am looking forward to trying sushi for the first time.
S
It is beyond her comprehension how someone her age has never eaten sushi, but the fact that this person does not live in Houston permanently reassures her. Thus, he’s unlikely to be her colleague, and she will be able to go on this one date for science and be done with it.
Wednesday, 8 pm she replies efficiently, before closing the d-mail.
* * * * *
Obviously, Emma made a deal out of this. As soon as Margo informed her about this specific entry on her calendar, she looked at her like the cat who got the cream. Always the discreet assistant, she didn’t comment on it though. But by Wednesday evening Margo found a very lovely red dress in her office with a note attached reading Pair it with the red heels, Emma.
When she finally pulls up to the restaurant the clock reads 8:10 pm. She is mildly embarrassed to be late for her first date in 15 years but then shakes her head at herself. This wasn’t a date. She is doing this to test if this algorithm is actually any good. Besides, it wasn’t her fault that Ed Baldwin had waltzed into her office at 7:30 pm (on spaghetti night as he had informed her) to talk her through the training data of the day’s flight simulation.
She enters the restaurant and immediately regrets her decision to pick this place for this particular encounter. Nippon is packed and as always it's mostly Japanese people. She is going to stick out like a sore thumb. Especially in this dress.
She swallows her pride and walks up to the guy in front. “I believe you have a reservation under my first initial — M”, she tells him.
He nods and says, “The other party to your reservation has already arrived.” Great, Margo thinks. She curses Ed Baldwin once again for making her late for this. The waiter guides her through the restaurant and stops in front of an already occupied table. She can’t believe who is sitting there.
“Sergei?” she exclaims. He looks up and a surprised look runs across his face.
“Margo?”
She quickly turns back to the waiter. “I believe there has been a mistake,” she says. Sergei cannot possibly be her match from Operation Love.
Confused the waiter looks at Sergei and asks, “Sir, your reservation was under M?” And to Margo’s utter horror, Sergei nods. A few seconds pass in which Margo can almost hear the gears in her brain turning, trying to make sense of how this scientific program could have possibly matched her with the head of the Soyuz program. She will definitely not use this algorithm to pick her crew for Mars.
The waiter is still standing next to her, very likely confused about his role in all of this. Therefore, she pulls off her coat and hands it to him in hopes that he will get the message to disappear. She doesn’t miss Sergei’s lingering gaze when he sees her dress.
“Nice color,” he comments and her face immediately heats up. Her only solution is to face this head-on and hope to persevere.
“You are test subject 204? How?” she asks him in disbelief and sits down opposite him.
“We have a matching score of more than 90%,” he says blatantly. She remembers it vaguely as one of the algorithm’s prerequisites for a match.
She will certainly not allow him to be smug about it. “I don’t see how this is even remotely possible,” she declares, “besides, how did you even manage to become a test subject?”
Sergei smiles at her and playfully crosses his arms. She just now notices that he is wearing the same turtleneck he wore when she invited him to 11:59. It suits him — much better than the sweater vests he typically sports in the office. She really has to stop thinking about him in this way.
“They gave me a d-mail account for the duration of the Soyuz-Apollo project. This matchmaking algorithm sounded fascinating,” he finally answers her question. “Behavioral psychology combined with computer-based simulation. It’s the groundwork for selecting the best teams for lunar bases. Even Mars!” The excitement bubbles out of him and it is almost endearing to watch him blush the faintest shade of pink when he notices.
Maybe the 90% compatibility wasn’t that far off, Margo thinks and immediately scolds herself for doing so.
He pulls out a pile of papers from the inner pocket of his sports coat and unfolds them.
“Section II: Interests,” he reads from one of the papers. Has he brought a printed version of the questionnaire? “You will have marked jazz and mathematics in the ‘Very Interested’ category,” he states confidently, “but I wonder… Do you like gardening?”
She narrows her eyes at him, but it doesn’t faze him. “You know all of this is very American,” he says, his eyes fixed on the questionnaire. "Why do you sort yourself into upper, lower, upper-lower-middle? We have only one class in Soviet Union.”
She decides that he has enjoyed this situation long enough and snatches the questionnaire from his hands. Her eyes land on his answer to question twenty-nine.
“Members of the opposite sex consider me very handsome,” she reads his answer aloud and raises an eyebrow at him.
He shrugs and winks at her, “Back in Moscow I am considered quite a catch.” She rolls her eyes, mostly to keep her mind from evaluating if he could be telling the truth.
All of this feels overly like a date and Margo Madison doesn’t date. She curses Emma, the godforsaken questionnaire, and his turtleneck which accentuates the muscles of his upper arms.
She needs to focus.
Luckily the waiter returns with the menus. She knows Nippon’s menu by heart but is still happy about the distraction it offers. Her eyes scan across the page but her mind is elsewhere. She could leave. She probably should leave. But she stays because something about this situation feels good.
“Have you tried this before?” he breaks their silence.
“I don’t have the time to socialize much.” She realizes too late that he likely meant the specific type of sushi his finger points at.
Quick to catch on he replies quietly, “I know this feeling.”
Their similarity irritates her.
When she looks at the picture his finger rests on, she foresees that her willpower might need to be redirected for the time being. “Maybe start with something that can’t kill you,” she laughs, glad to occupy her mind with a different task, and starts suggesting less poisonous food options than pufferfish.
* * * * *
“Tonight was quite enjoyable,” he says when they exit Nippon into the cool night.
She hums because somehow just having spent two hours talking, smiling, and giggling she can’t bring herself to disagree. Margo usually pushes this part of her aside. She has worked too hard for her career achievements to let them be overshadowed by a man. Though it doesn’t feel this way with him. Tonight it actually felt like romance could be a lovely addition to her work-focused life. She had sensed a similar connection that night when they had figured out the androgynous docking module.
“You do know that I will need to have your access to NASA’s d-mail system revoked,” she reminds him sternly, although she leaves the hint of a smile to soften the words.
He chuckles. Christ, she has already become attached to his laugh.
“Of course, we do not want Operation Love to be mistaken for industrial espionage.”
Margo sighs because as much fun as tonight was this was their reality. Their countries are still in the midst of a cold war. If either of their respective superiors found out about what had occurred here tonight both of them would be in deep trouble.
She is too lost in this thought to realize that he has moved closer to her. So she doesn’t expect his hand when it reaches out to cup her cheek. Her body doesn’t mirror her shocked mental state though and instead leans into his touch.
And that is when he presses the chastest kiss to her lips in Nippon’s parking lot.
“Goodnight, Margo,” he says gently before getting into his rental car. The tingling in her body stays long after his car has left her sight.
* * * * *
He has made up an excuse to see her. She is certain of it. There’s no reason that he needs to run these calculations for Soyuz’s rate of deceleration by her. She still enjoys the thrill of running the numbers with him.
They are alone in her office but the door is open and both Emma and his babysitter are in the anteroom. This doesn’t keep him from leaning in much closer than is professionally acceptable. His proximity calls back the very pleasant memory of his lips on hers.
She puts some distance between them. Safety first. “These numbers should work for us. I am glad that our two nations can trust each other with this!” At least her voice sounded sort of normal.
“As am I,” he replies with a broad smile and extends his hand for her to shake, “and I sincerely hope that what happened in Houston does not stay in Houston.” He winks at her and turns around to exit her office, nodding once at Emma before he disappears down the hallway with his KGB tail following close behind.
She shakes her head at his recklessness and busies herself sorting through some of the files they had just reviewed. Nevertheless, she is unable to suppress the smile forming on her face. This is how Emma sees her when she pokes her head into her office to ask, “So, what exactly happened in Houston?”