Not Everything is Bolts & Wires
Lost in Space (2018): S1E7 "Pressurized"
Word Count: 860
Shout out to thefudge is grumpy (thefudge on tumblr) for getting me hooked on this ship.
It is abundantly clear the drive back to camp will be a silent one. It juxtaposes her laugh, her distracting conversation with Evan, her own story slipping through. She lives a happy life, supportive family and talent to match. She never releases Evan's hand.
Eventually, she turns off the heart monitor, but only after she thumps Evan's chest with her fist and desperation. He can't see her, but he can imagine her face, crushed by an agonized sob she dare not allow him to witness. Finally, her small frame climbs into the front seat. If there was any emotion in her expression, the evidence is gone. Her jaw is set. Her stone gaze is fixed ahead.
He tried. How will she tell Maureen about the imposter? She doesn't skip a beat—she'll tell the truth straightforward because her mother will understand. He can tell they have this candor in common. He mentions how close her family is. They had to be, she allows. But when it comes to her decision to choose medicine, her shoulders slight away from him. The question runs too close to home. She doesn't want to talk anymore.
So, they don't.
"I have to stretch my legs."
Really, it's the smell. In the hot Chariot, decomposition has accelerated, therefore the bacteria and enzymes created this awful odor. At least, that's what she'd told him twenty minutes ago. He had encountered terrible stenches, but this lingers in his nostrils, in his lungs.
He radios Victor, to go ahead, and after some convincing, the colony's leader agrees. He sends her a grin, like he won something of importance, like he won an unspoken bet, but her legs are folded against her chest, her attention toward the window but really, it's elsewhere. Almost, she looks like a child, had her expression not been so hardened.
He really has to sell it. He shakes out his left leg, then his right, like some sort of hokey-pokey. He bounces on his heels, shakes out his arms, rolls his shoulders and neck. She finally leaves the Chariot, arms folded—no, hugged around her stomach. If he can take the attention away from the dead young scientist and the dying hope of leaving this planet, he'll continue the act
But she isn't even looking. Her eyes fix on the Chariot, like she can see through it, see through Evan, see through where she went wrong. He has a sneaking suspicion she did nothing wrong.
"Hey." He catches the end of her eye roll, but she's startled by how much closer he is. "You did your best."
"My best?" Finally, a break in her voice shows she's human. "My best clearly was not good enough."
"What else were you supposed to do without the right equipment, huh?" he challenges, a little harsher than intended, but he allows it to carry. "You said yourself you'd only know more about his condition when we got back."
"But we were too slow." Her watery gaze meets his. It takes him a minute. He has never taken the blame, only the credit, but if it'll help, he'll shoulder it.
"You're right." The words surprise her, but she hides it well. "I am genuinely sorry."
She doesn't know what to do with an apology. They stare at one another. At the edge of the forest, flowers snuck out of place, surrounding them. They are vibrant and beautiful. This planet is vibrant and beautiful. He doesn't take his eyes off her.
"You know nothing about being genuine, Don." She tries to insult him, but he's wrestled with the worst. "You're just a crook."
He wants to shrug but nods instead. Her brow creases—why won't he fight back, she looks like she wants him to just fight back—but he knows. He knows that won't work. She comes from a genuinely altruistic family. He knows what she really needs.
He carefully puts his arms around her. Like the situation, she is delicate. She freezes. Fight or flight? Neither. She allows herself to lean into him, arms still hugged herself like she needs double comfort. Finally, she presses her face into his shoulder. A strangled wail erupts from her mouth and echoes through his body. Even his unrepairable heart feels the fracture. On the precipice of adulthood, it is obvious she has already taken on too much.
"There was nothing more you could have done for him, Jude." She stills, at the nickname, at his sincerity, he doesn't know. "You were kind and comforting. That's all anyone can ask for in their dying moments."
He claims there is nothing he can't fix. The truth is, not everything is bolts and wires. His minor acts of heroism are the only attempt he has made to fix people, to repair a situation, to make someone's life better. Unfortunately, it backfires, and he is left in the smoke of good intentions.
She doesn't respond, but she doesn't move. He doesn't add anything else, but he doesn't let go.