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"You've said he has to take four, right?"
The cap pops open without much resistance. You shake off a few pills into your palm. Reminds you of younger years.
"Make it three… We're running short of those."
She sighs, and you give her a sceptical look. Maybe she knows better. It's her job, after all, though neither of you have a proper medical degree and it doesn't take a genius to figure that painkillers is not how you treat severe burns.
"Whatever you say."
You step closer to the medical bed, looking Curly over. Each time you see him, you almost can't believe that this was your friend, what feels like a lifetime ago.
"How much do you think he has left?"
The words come out from your mouth on their own, as you stare into his lidless eye. This could've been you.
"Jimmy… don't say that."
Tch. You have no idea what her deal is. Someone here has to be realistic. Besides, she's the one who insisted on staying there with you while you feed Curly his meds, for whatever reason. It's not a pretty sight.
Forcing Curly's jaw open, that's where resistance comes. Looks like he's trying to bite your thumb off. Upset much?
"Come on. Be good and open up."
It works. Not your words, but the fact that in his current state Curly cant put up much fight. And here come the noises that Anya hates so much, the reason why you're here, doing shit for her. Gagging, lots of gagging. You can almost pick out sobbing in-between. You're so close to finally forcing the pills down his throat, until the fucker dares to hit you with his elbow, leaving a gooey stain on your uniform. And you thought his muscles finally atrophied.
"You think I'm doing this for fun? Remember that it's your fucking fault."
You grit through your teeth, the last word accentuated with your not preoccupied hand pinning his arm down. You make out a choked down swallow. Right about time. Though, your hand is now covered in saliva. How great.
"See, Anya?"
You ask, wiping the slick off with your sleeve. She doesn't reply. There's no sigh of her in the medical, when you turn around to face her, in fact. You let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing your face with your dry hand. She's too difficult. And it got worse ever since the crash happened.
"You know what, Curly?"
You don't even look at him. Instead, you eye the shiny orange bottle at Anya's desk, looking like a flask of water in the middle of wasteland. It's right there in your hands before you even know it.
"Death would do all three of us justice. You just had to be selfish, right?"
You shake off a few pills right into your mouth, not even bothering to count. It felt like going home. To Earth. Curly has something to say, again. It's probably a groan, but sounds too close to a wheeze.
"I need those too, bummer."
Is the last thing you say to him, before leaving him be. Code scanner? Found. Curly? Fed his fucking pills. A way to keep yourself sane enough? Got it. What an exciting feeling responsibility is.
"I felt it kick yesterday."
Is the first thing you say to him, after a long while of just kneeling by his bed in silence. It takes a while to force words like that out of your mouth, Captain has to understand.
Tears collect in your eyes on their own, though your lips stretch in a smile, one that doesn't quite reach the eyes. Your mother described this feeling to you once. Something that her mother probably did and something you'd do too, if it was just as normal for you, as well as it was for all the other women in your family. It's joy of connection to your soon-to-be child. It's knowing it's alive and healthy, safe and protected inside you. The feeling is so overwhelming, your hormone-driven body makes you cry.
The thing is, the child was never yours. It's his. And now you know for sure it's not dead, no matter how many times you've asked the universe to spare you. You're hurt, inside and out, every waking hour. Your head lies still next to Captain, occasional tears staining the sheets underneath.
"I'm so scared, Captain."
You could feel it in your bones, with each shower you took and each time you've noticed something different in your body there. Each time you talked to him, each time you dared to look in his eyes. Some sense of normalcy is all you wanted, and now your life is anything but normal. The only calming constant for you is Captain, despite what he did and despite his horrifying injuries.
Unlike the lobby, the screen by Captain's bed works just fine. It casts a blueish tint on every surface of the medical bay, and lets you watch stars in somewhat peace, like you used to do before the crash. No dead pixels.
"I want to tell Swansea, but..."
You don't know how to explain it to Captain. Maybe you don't want Swansea to think that you're dirty. Maybe you think he wouldn't believe. Maybe you just want to pretend the whole thing has never happened.
Before you can finish your sentence, you feel the weight of Captain's bandaged arm awkwardly tap against your shoulder. It makes your heart squeeze in your chest and your stomach sink. Before the crash, when he had his hands, he'd pat your shoulder just enough to calm down whatever anxiety you've felt.
"Captain..."
You raise your head to look at him directly. Eye to eye, is the only way of communication you have with him, besides this minute gesture.
"Why did you do it?"
Why did you crash Tulpar. Why did you fail me. Why. The world around you didn't make sense, and so did Captain. He falls limp at the question. You see a single stray tear in the corner of his eye, glittering in the artificial moonlight.