I:
The ceilings on Destiny were a dark metal, not quite brown but warmer than grey. Each panel fit snugly into the next, with barely any obvious rivets or fittings. If one looked close enough, one could see the tiny dimples in the metal where the joints were formed, trace the faintest crack of one sheet meeting the next in a slight overlap.
Everett Young knew every seam, every rivet, and every curve of his ceiling.
Normalcy had returned to Destiny. After the intervention of the ship itself and 1LT Scott's impassioned words, Young had pulled himself together and attempted to bridge some of the rift he felt had been torn between himself and his command.
He had not seen Nicholas Rush in four days. His left hand felt light, weightless, and bereft without the pressure of his wedding ring. Above his head, the ceiling blended into itself as the never-ending night wore on.
II:
A soft sigh escaped his lips as he slumped sideways in his seat. He came awake with a start, blinking rapidly before relaxing again. His pulse still hammered in his chest, and he put one hand on his shoulder, rubbing the stiff muscles there.
"That chair was never meant for sleeping, Nicholas," a gentle voice admonished from somewhere beyond his right side.
He did not look over. He did not care to see what was there, only to be painfully reminded of what wasn't.
"You really should sleep in your quarters."
"This is fine." He said quietly, shoulders cracking with stiffness as he settled back the other way, trying to find a comfortable angle against the smooth, synthetic material.
"Why are you so determined not to leave this room?"
He closed his eyes, hating the sound of the voice, so familiar and so alien, all at once.
"What are you afraid you'll find in your bed, Nicholas?" The ghost of his wife sounded disappointed, sad, and faintly amused. "Or what do you think might find you?"
III:
Young stirred the milky white paste disinterestedly, only perking up slightly when he heard Rush's name from another table.
"Becker says he's eating, but nobody's seen him," Brody was saying, swallowing down his own slop without complaint.
Volker watched his own slide from his spoon back into the bowl, a slightly nauseous expression on his face. "Well, who wouldn't want to eat some of this delicious... crap?"
Brody smiled faintly, shaking his head. "It's food, right? I mean... sort of, anyway. But don't you think it's weird?"
"Rush is weird," Eli commented, eyes on the Kino remote he was toying with, one-handedly.
"Yeah, but he's not normally... invisible."
"Maybe he's taking a break," Volker said, face one of abject misery as he began to eat.
"That sure does sound like him, yeah," Brody replied sarcastically, expression pensive.
"Speak of the Devil, and lo - he appears!" Eli muttered, gesturing at the doorway.
Young did not look up as Rush strode into the mess, walking over to Becker to recieve his ration of paste. Several heads lowered together in whispered conversation at his sudden appearance.
He was dressed in his normal clothes, dusty and dirty, the left sleeve of his formally white shirt hopelessly yellowing. Rush's hair was lank and tangled, his face shadowed by his thick, greying beard. He looked as though he had not slept in days and bathed in even longer.
Accepting his bowl, Rush turned and eyed the room speculatively, eyes narrowing when they fell on Young. Determined not to show weakness, Young met his gaze, face impassive.
His features twisting a snarl, Rush stormed out of the room, clutching his bowl close to his chest.
"Definitely taking a break," Brody commented.
"But you did see him," Volker replied.
After a moment, Young abandoned his bowl and pushed to his feet, following the man out.
IV:
Rush walked extremely fast, winding through the hallways, hair bouncing as he strode. They moved into the bowels of the ship, past the regular quarters to the mostly unused hallway where Spencer had taken his rooms. Young realized this must also be where Rush kept his quarters, though he had never thought to look in on him.
Finally, the scientist stopped, staring up at the ceiling. He chuckled humorlessly, lifting his left arm and letting it clap back down to his side in a helpless gesture. "There something I might do for you, Colonel?"
"Haven't seen you around much lately," He replied evenly, hands in his trouser pockets. He tried to look as non-threatening as possible when the other man turned to face him.
Rush was smiling, but his expression was slightly manic, rather than amused. He reminded Young of the day he'd collapsed in the Gateroom, not long after arriving on Destiny. His hand raised again, jerking at Young awkwardly in a formless gesture. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't, would you?"
Young sucked in a breath, eyes on the floor. "Look, Rush... I think we need to talk," He said quietly, voice low but insistent.
"Talking, yeah? That's what we're going to do. Okay, yeah. Let's talk, Colonel. Talk about our feelings, yeah? Two men, alone on a ship, except that's not precisely true, now is it? Talk about how we won't talk about this, how it never happened, how it was all a strange dream?"
"Rush..." Young took a step forward and the scientist took two backwards, leaning against his door in a gesture intended to and failing to look casual. Young raised his hands in a gesture of non-aggression. "I want to... apologize, for the other night."
"Why, Colonel, don't bother. It was quite the enjoyable evening, wasn't it?" The other man's eyes were wide in the dim hallway, shining with an emotion Young couldn't identify.
"I was... drunk. I was upset. It's no excuse, but it is an explanation. What I did to you was... invasive, and inappropriate. I apologize. It will not happen again."
Rush crossed his arms to his chest, still holding the bowl from the mess awkwardly in one hand. He laughed mirthlessly again, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he nodded jerkily. "Oh, right. Yeah, of course. Big mistake. Total accident. Could have happened to any of us."
"Rush..." Young's tone came out sharper than he had intended. He sighed, running a hand over his growing curls, before continuing more gently, "I don't know what else you want me to say. You need to stop disappearing and start coming to the mess more regularly. You need to eat and sleep. I am sorry for my part in this situation, but people are starting to talk and I don't think either of us want that."
"I'm certain you don't," he snapped, eyes on the floor.
Young watched him cradle one arm around his shoulder, watched him curl into himself. He thought of blue eyes in the dark and dust and the way Rush's wrists had strained against his hold, hot and tense. He tasted mint in his mouth suddenly and bit back a sudden surge of bile.
"...I really am sorry, Rush." He said softly.
Rush looked up then, eyebrows drawn up in an expression that looked almost concerned. "I'm positive that you are," He said finally, looking away again.
"...I'll leave you to your business," Young said finally. "Will I..." He hesitated and settled on, "Will we see you at dinner?"
Rush nodded, eyes sliding away, looking at nothing. His reply was little more than an exhalation of air. "Yeah. Yeah."
"Good." Young nodded stiffly, turning abruptly.
He rounded the corner and paused until he heard the whir of the door lock opening and then closing behind him. Sighing, he looked up at the ceiling, expression pained.
With a surge of anger, he turned and slammed his fist into the wall, cursing under his breath. Would there ever be a victory with that man?
V:
Rush watched the door for several minutes after he had closed it. Finally, satisfied that the other man would not follow him, he collapsed across his bed, holding his bowl to his chest.
Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, messily spooning the food into his mouth before finally giving up and closing his eyes.
In his head, he began to play through Paganini's Caprice Number 24. Once he had reached the adagio portion, he sighed as his body began to relax as his mind unraveled each movement.
Pushing the bowl aside, he settled his hands over his chest, right fingers twining over his left, searching for the comfort of a wedding band he no longer possessed. Of all that the Nakai had taken from him, this was the greatest that he could not forgive.
As his mind swept from one end of the piece to the other, the tempo increasing again, his hands twitched as he remembered the weight of the other man's hand closed so easily around both of his.
His knuckles had gone white from the force of Young's pressure, and just as suddenly, the man had brushed his skin with his thumb as though to sooth. The man was a contradiction of violence and gentleness. A complicated piece of work that he did not need.
Rush opened his eyes and stared up at the smooth, colourless mass of metal above his head. Young had not been wearing his wedding ring either.
With a groan, he threw his arm over his face, nose wrinkling when he smelled the material up close. He vowed to do some self-maintenance when he woke up, but for now, he would allow himself a bit of rest. After all, he was expected at dinner.
