This takes place between Intervention and Aftermath, as TJ is trying to deal with the loss of her baby and Young…well. Young's just trying to deal with the fact that nobody's had the good grace to kill him yet.

Young's POV

Another visit home. Shooting back another shot from Brody's still, he stares blindly into the cup. All he can see is the anger and disgust on Emily's face. Honestly, it's time he stopped going home on these little jaunts. Stopped trying to talk to her. Stopped trying to hang on to something that's been dead for a long time.

He thinks it's habit now. Spinning his wedding ring on the table, he wonders. How long has it been since he truly loved his wife? Not "love" her. Of course he loves her. She's the woman he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with. But love, the kind of love that puts stars in your eyes and makes it impossible to see any woman but her?

He hates to admit it, but it's been a very, very long time since he felt that way. And the guilt that comes with knowing that is worse than anything he's ever felt before, so he doesn't think about it. Because if he does start thinking about it, he's going to have to admit that her face isn't the one he sees when he closes his eyes. He doesn't want to go home anymore. Not really. Not the way he did.

Oh, sure, he'd like to be back on Earth. Away from the Destiny and her petty squabbles. Away from days that drag on forever just trying to survive. A hot dog would be nice. A milk shake. A hot shower that wasn't interrupted by someone banging on the door.

But there are days, when he's sitting in what he supposes passes for a cafeteria here, surrounded by his crew, eating slop from whatever planet they've been on last, and he thinks, "This is it." Those rare, precious moments when they're laughing, glasses raised in toast to another successful landing, another day of having food to eat, and he realizes that he's happier in that second than he's been in a long time.

It doesn't last. It never lasts. Sooner or later something's going to blow up. Go wrong. Someone's going to get hurt. They'll be out of food, out of water, out of time. And people will look to him for answers that he doesn't have, expect him to perform miracles he doesn't know how to perform. Then Rush will step in and save the day, and he'll see the doubt, the indecision, the uncertainty in their eyes again. Questioning him, his leadership. Whether he's qualified to lead this expedition.

Hell no, he's not qualified. Snorting, he swallowed another gulp. If you could get it down fast enough, you barely noticed the fact that it tasted like motor oil. Nobody's qualified for this. But damn it, he's doing the best he can. He doesn't know how, but somehow, it's going to have to be enough.

Restless, he puts down the flask. Puts his shoes back on. Off to prowl Destiny's halls, hoping the wandering will help him stave off another sleepless night.

Of course, the first thing he does is run into TJ. Standing in front of the glass on the observation deck looking out, arms wrapped around herself the way she does every night. He knows she's grieving. She's been back to work for a while now, even though he told her not to. She said it made it easier. He thinks it just helps her forget. But god knows he can't do anything for her, so he just stands in the shadows and watches. Watches to make sure she doesn't overdo it. Sends people to see if she needs supplies, food, rest.

She thinks he's a heartless bastard, that he's forgotten their little girl. He sees it in her eyes, when she looks at him. Sees it now, when she turns to face him across the empty room.

He should turn around and go. Leave her to her thoughts. But tonight, with the memory of Emily's face dancing in front of his eyes and his daughter's mangled, lifeless body burned on his heart, he can't. Tonight, he just can't.

She doesn't know that he was the one who buried their baby. He didn't tell her, didn't want her to know the horror he felt when Matthew placed the small, wrapped body in his hands. She'd been incoherent, first with pain, then with grief, and he couldn't imagine that showing her would do her any good. So he'd dressed the body, put it in a box, and buried it with the rest of their dead.

In retrospect, it was a dumb idea. She'd certainly deserved the opportunity to see the little girl she'd worked so hard to bring into the world. To grieve for her properly. She'd hate him for taking that away from her, one day.

Just one more way he'd ruined her life. Walking over to stand next to her, he felt the guilt tugging at him. Guilt and something else, something that had him gently, slowly lifting an arm to wrap around her waist, to pull her head against his shoulder so they could stare out at the stars together. He breathed in the smell of her shampoo, the one she and Chloe had made together from some berries they'd found on some planet or another.

On the nights she'd come to his room, his pillows would smell of it for days. He missed that. Missed having an excuse to spend time with her, to see those walls drop, just a little. He was even masochistic enough to admit that he missed teasing them both with pieces of their own fantasies, going just far enough to remember how good it had been between them before it all came tumbling down. Those nights were gone now. The walls between them were a thousand feet high, and he didn't have the first clue how to start bringing them down.

Didn't know if he wanted to, truth be told. Destiny was making him old. Jaded. TJ deserved so much better than that. Part of him wanted to dig deep and find it. To try and be the man she wanted him to be. Part of him realized that it would be better if he didn't. Their relationship was already so messed up. He was still married. She'd just lost their child, the baby he hadn't even told Emily about. There were regulations. And quite frankly, he was a bastard.

No, she deserved better than him. He had nothing left to give her. Destiny was taking it all. But right then, with the stars flying by and the crew asleep, he could give her silence. Let her know with his arms, the feel of his breath in her hair, the things he'd never be able to say with his lips. That she wasn't alone. That he was grieving too. And that somehow, they'd get through this together.