in space, nobody can hear you call ryan connolly a leprechaun

It wouldn’t be illegal, probably, if this rust bucket’s airlock were to spontaneously malfunction somewhere between science officer Connolly’s mechanical inspection rounds and the end of the captain’s smoke break, which he invariably spent in a vacuum-sealed bay intended for minor maintenance with an ancient electronic cigarette and a rotten expression. It would be a career-ending fuckup and a major breach of all standards of repair, but it wouldn’t be illegal as such, and science officer Neiman definitely considers it; all the better if it happened with him in it, then. The two of them had held blisteringly intense eye contact for almost three seconds through the reinforced plexiglass, before Neiman had the presence of mind to duck around the corner and slam himself into the nearest wall.