Disclaimer: I don't own Lost in Space.
A/n: And here is the final chapter! I think I originally started with this one and everything else sort of expanded from there. So unbelievably excited to watch the third series tomorrow, though I'll probably take my time and watch it with my family rather than binge-watch it all in one go. Hope you've enjoyed this story. As always, enjoy x
Chapter 5
Her breathing is slow, each inhalation strained with something too great, too painful to express in words alone. The bed dips as he sits down on the edge, and she looks at him, through him, almost, towards some distant, mindless horizon.
"Don't worry, Don's keeping watch. We should be able to drop out of orbit soon."
He smooths over her hair, attempts to swallow down the sandpaper-coated fist lodged in his throat.
"Maureen, talk to me."
Her exhale quivers with a wavering, reticent tone, fingers tightening around the pillow. And then her gaze shifts, the space between them clearing, and she looks at him, sees him, as if she hasn't noticed his presence until this moment.
"Hey."
He takes her hand, rubs over her knuckles, traverses their rise and fall. She attempts something resembling a smile, draws in a deep, faltering breath.
"Hey."
"You okay?"
It's a feeble question, one that demands no audible reply. The answer is already etched into her face. Still she nods, silently imploring him not to press the matter further.
He hates that he expects her to fix this. That he needs her to think, to devise some clever and unfathomably crazy plan like she always does. Because this, the waiting, is tearing him apart. He can hardly bear it. Cannot bear the uncertainty that taints his every waking thought. And he knows, he knows he shouldn't put that kind of pressure on her shoulders but he has.
They all have.
She's staring at him, eyes clouded over with something intangible, like mist beneath moonlight.
"Maureen, talk to me. Please."
The silence is beginning to unnerve him.
She swallows.
"It hurts, John."
His gaze moves over her, watchful, vigilant, searching with an over-sensitised worry. He traces over the scars on her right calf, hand stopping just beneath her knee in question. She shakes her head, directs his hand towards her chest.
"Here."
He lets her guide him, concern growing as she places his hand over her heart. Her skin is warm beneath his fingers, familiar, and then he feels it: the overflowing of grief, like a thunderous wave pulsing against an insurmountable shore. Her heartbeat trembles. It radiates through him: an unguarded sensation. Her gaze meets his, awash with an inexplicable, undeniable pain.
And he finally understands.
"I'll be alright," she says after a moment.
He does not doubt it, not for a second, but it fails to alleviate the unshakable heaviness weighing on his shoulders. The burden, the guilt she harbours, is not hers to carry alone. He cannot voice aloud just how much he misses their children. And whilst the words might bring some comfort to her, to them both, uttering them proves impossible.
"I'm sorry."
John frowns, shaking his head.
"What for?"
"You..." She breathes in, grips his hand with a force he does not expect. "You shouldn't have to be doing this. I need to be figuring this out. I need to find a way to... to find them, to get us to Alpha Centauri and-"
"Maureen..."
Her hand splays over his heart, searching, as if she might somehow draw some relief from his steady rhythm. He leans in, presses a long, gentle kiss to her forehead.
"You need to rest," he murmurs against her skin, the words forming and shattering into a million pieces around them.
There's a wall he knows he must breach, an unyielding river he must wade through if he is to to break through to her. He's done it before. Years ago. When Will was born.
"There's this thing I've learned about trauma," John says quietly. "It tends to creep up on you slowly when you're not looking, and then one day you find you're on edge all the time, moving on automatic because everything else in you has already begun to shut down. And it feels like the world is just slipping by, right through your fingers, and there's no way you can stop it."
Her reply catches in her throat, face buried in his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her back, he pulls her gently toward him, a promise to never let go.
"It's okay," he whispers, "to admit when you're not okay."
There are no more words to say. Simply holding her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his, is enough.
...
"You be careful over there, okay?" Will looks up at his best friend, into the swirling lights of silvery blue. He realises he can't always decipher what the Robot is thinking, doesn't always understand what he's trying to convey, but the essence of their connection remains. Deep down he knows he's feeling just as uneasy. "Whatever you find, or if you don't find anything at all, just come back. Look after Judy for me."
He summons a smile, imagines the Robot smiling back. For the last hour he's been waiting for him to stop in his tracks, look down at him and say 'Danger', but apparently his older sister launching herself through space doesn't qualify as being remotely dangerous in his experience.
"Alright, I'll be back soon. I'll keep the comm link open the whole time." Judy gives them one last wave. "You still up for this, Vijay?"
"Would I be here now if I wasn't?" Vijay replies over the comm, his humour as dry as ever, and Penny is grateful that he's the one at the helm and not her, grateful that, despite his previous concerns, he's the one person who offered to help.
She wonders absently if he'll pen a poem about this too one day.
Hand in hand, the Robinsons watch their sister and the Robot disappear behind the airlock hatch. She waves back through the window, gives a thumbs up before turning to face the unknown.
"Lining up the doors now. Launching activation sequence. Wait for my mark."
Will tugs his sister's hand, straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath.
"Mark."
...
Four hours into their journey the Jupiter Two drops out of orbit, moving as swiftly and silently as they can towards a set of given coordinates. Relief is tinged with caution as they linger in the shadows beneath the Amber Planet, waiting for Victor to re-open communications. And when at last they do the pleasantries are quick to pass. It's with growing restlessness that John, Ava and Don listening to the meandering lines of inquiry that alternate with extraordinary speed between calm collection, fear-induced panic, and back again.
"One thing's for certain," Victor is saying, attempting to retain an air of affability. "We can't afford to sit here and wait."
Observing the other members of their colonist group on the viewscreen, John quickly makes an assessment. Not everyone has come to terms with what has passed. He recognises anger when he sees it, and there's no doubting the anger now brewing beneath the surface. Anger that has yet to receive an outlet or destination, simmering just out of sight.
"A few more hours won't hurt," John offers, setting a much needed tone of optimism. "The gravitational pull from the planet should keep the Jupiter in place without sending us into orbit and into the path of the robots, but until we can find a reliable source of fuel we're going to be stuck here."
"There's nothing down on the planet," Beckert responds sharply. "We looked."
Ava nods her head in agreement. "And we don't want to risk infecting the Jupiters again."
Victor drums his fingers, allowing the silence to grow.
"What about biofuel?"
"If you want to go and pick up more dino-poop, be my guest," Don laughs, garnering a few more from the other colonists, even if they're laced with sarcasm. Ava stares at him inquisitively, and he leans over to whisper, "I'll tell you about it later."
"Alright, then what about the other planets in this system?" John questions. "You spent seven months on the Amber Planet. We spent seven months on the Water Planet. There's water there but the air isn't breathable. The water on the Amber Planet is contaminated. That one over there is a Gas Giant which I don't think any of us would want to willingly re-visit so... What do we know about the other two?"
"I'm afraid all that information was stored on the Resolute." Captain Kamal, who has been strangely absent until this moment, appears on screen beside Victor, her voice firm and steady but not without accusation. "Perhaps, Mr Robinson, if you'd seen fit to consult us first then we would now have that information."
The eyes staring back at him are quick to judge, quick to ignore any explanation he might have given.
"Not forgetting we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."
"Actually..." Don shuffles out of his seat, waving his hand slowly from side to side. "Excuse me, madam captain, I hate to interrupt, but if we were still on the Resolute we'd all be very much not alive because all those robot ships out there would have blown the Resolute to pieces. So, the way I see it, the Robinsons did you guys a favour by doing it for them."
"Thank you," Kamal acknowledges, "for that very enlightening piece of information, Mr West."
"Mmm. You're welcome."
Order soon crashes back into frenzied communication, each colonist desperate to make their voice heard, their opinions known, throwing questions and theories out into the void that no one can hope to answer. They are, once again, refugees. Tired travelers in search of their home who, after having only recently found their feet, have landed back at square one.
"The robots are still out there. We don't have any idea what they're going to do-"
"If they were looking for us they would have found us by now."
"Maybe they've got bigger fish to fry."
"Yeah, as long as we're not the fish."
Twenty minutes later John is beginning to wonder if they'll make any headway when Kamal's commanding voice rings out above the others.
"Let's all keep our heads here. What we need right now is to stay calm and figure this out."
"Yeah," Beckert mumbles, gaze fixed upon John's with deliberate recrimination, "except one of the people who could be figuring this out is doing absolutely nothing about it."
He's about to open his mouth, a torrent of defensive, angered words teetering precariously on the tip of his tongue, when a hand lands on his shoulder, familiar fingers pressing into the crook of his neck. Beckert's plalor turns beet-red, mouth clamping shut, and all eyes turn to the person standing behind him.
His wife.
She places a pad of paper on the dashboard, scratched calculations littering the sheets that billow together with purpose. Her smile is small, but hopeful.
"I have an idea."
A/n: And that's where I'm gonna leave it. Thank you to everyone who has read and/or reviewed! Hope you've enjoyed this story x
