The soldier shifted right before Alec touched the magazine to her hip, turning towards him, her helmet rolling ever so slightly along the trembling wall.  Her left hand, fingers sprawled on the sterile metal, began to curl into a fist, but she seemed to relax when she looked at his face.  She held his gaze for two seconds.  Through the crack in her visor, Alec could see that her eyes were swollen and redrimmed, although dry.  The fury had drained from them, leaving only deep exhaustion and pain in those deep brown irises.<br/><br/>She took the magazine back silently.<br/><br/>As Alec turned away, the soldier slid the magazine into one of the pouches on her waist and leaned away from the wall.  She covered the distance to the airlock door in two strides.  The soldier on the other side cocked his head slightly as she placed her own helmet against the glass porthole.  After a moment, he touched the visor of his own helmet to the window opposite her.<br/><br/>Although both of their faces were obscured, you could tell that they were holding a private conversation.<br/><br/>The chill air was beginning to warm.  Your breath still billowed out in transient clouds of vapor, but the cold was no longer so sharp against your skin.  It felt less like a brutal January freeze and more like a brisk November morning.