Things you do not wish to Chapter 4: Do, an alpha centauri fanfic

Things you do not wish to...

An Alpha Centauri fan fiction by Shade

I say this only once before beginning. I don't own Alpha Centauri, I don't even think I want to. I intend no harm. Now that we're clear about this, let us begin...

4) Do

When Zakharov and Deirdre arrived at the meeting room, the captain was already waiting for them, along with the others. From the corner of his eye, Zakharov saw Morgan cast Deirdre covert looks – he shot the leading engineer a covert look of his own, speaking of his earlier threat, and the tall African looked away from Deirdre and shot both the captain and Zakharov a look of purest loathing. The captain sighed.

"People, I have terrible news…" He looked crestfallen despite the supportive smile Santiago gave him. "Who noticed the beautiful array of fireworks this morning? …No one? Well, I did. A series of explosions lit up space behind us – nearly impossible to see in the light of the sun, but very obvious nevertheless. I worried and sent a message to Mission Control back on Earth. There was no response. The Earth mainframe of the mission is dead. A look through our telescope confirmed my fears. Ladies and gentlemen…" Santiago sobbed, and Deirdre looked up at the captain, seemingly dumbstruck. Zakharov anticipated the answer. "Earth lies in ruins." It took a moment to seep in, and then Miriam slowly pressed her hand over her mouth, which seemed unwilling to close. Zakharov put his hand on Deirdre's shoulder in a friendly gesture – she looked about ready to collapse. He sighed as he felt a feeling of deepest desire wash over him – the desire to take her into his arms and comfort her, no matter who was looking in. It was a feeling he had become quite familiar with over the course of the past three weeks. Every time he had seen her, if it were for a game or chess or just a friendly chat, he'd feel his insides doing back flips or his blood leave his brain altogether. His stomach clenched, his heart stopped, his brain blocked – all because of her. She looked his way and smiled shakily before sobbing silently again.

"What do we do now?" No one had suspected Yang's voice to sound so unwavering.

"We continue, of course," Lal replied firmly, "like the UN charter tells us to. 'If the mission is not aborted, it will continue whatever the situation on Earth.' Besides, if we are the last of humankind, like the captain says, we cannot just die out here."

"Indeed, we've come too far. I will not let this come to my heart. …Everyone is relieved of duties for the next twenty-four hours. Have a good night's sleep, wake up when you want to wake up, have a good meal and come to terms with it." With that, the captain was off, followed by Santiago. Deirdre lingered for a while, as did Zakharov. Then, she turned around and went to her quarters, leaving Zakharov to go to his own. He did so hesitantly.

Earth gone… 'My friends, my niece, everyone gone… It…' He sat down in his quarters, which he had decorated soberly, and took the bottle of vodka that stood on his desk, between heaps of blueprints and experimental set-up designs. 'My home, the University… All memories?' He downed his first glass in one long swig and immediately poured another. 'Beslin, Salandro, Stephenson… only a thousand survivors…' "This is all that is left…" The scientist couldn't help but feel his eyes fill with tears. Sadness – how long had it been since he last cried?

"Prokhor?" The sound of Deirdre's voice startled him. As he looked around, he saw Deirdre stand in the doorway. "A-are you c-crying?"

"Deirdre… who hasn't got anything to cry about now?" He motioned for a chair beside his. "Sit down, please."

"I c-came to ask… might I h-have some?" She pointed at the bottle of vodka he held. He smiled weakly and nodded, rummaging around his desk for another glass and pouring her a small measure. "Oh, Prokhor… my parents… my friends, my family… my brother and those on board are all that I have left…" She sobbed as tears ran over her cheeks. "Y-you must've had someone t-too… A wife, or family…"

"Only one niece, but she was raised by someone else. But I had friends, a home, and a place at the University… Deirdre, I had nothing but memories, yet they were as tangible as everything you lost."

"Prokhor…" Deirdre downed her drink just as Zakharov had only moments before, and motioned for another. "Oh… you know… you care…" She hugged him – very much like she had when she was drunk, but this time it was different. Zakharov felt all reason leave him and he stroked her hair. He couldn't help himself.

"I care, Deirdre, I care… I care more for you than I do for anyone else…" he whispered into her hair, taking in her scent and warmth – he cared not for anything else in that moment. They drank and talked of their memories, getting more and more drunk and carefree.

"…And to think, I-if it were m-my father…"

"Don't think like that, Deirdre – dear Deirdre – but think of it as an opportunity. Your father m-must have known. He insisted on your going…"

"Y-yes… he must've- must've known!" Deirdre took another sip of her third glass. "P-prokhor…" She grabbed his arm and turned her face to him. "Y-your friendship means s-s-so much…"

"I know. Your friendship means as much to me. …But you must be tired", he said as he saw her suppress a wide yawn. "Do you want me to escort you to your quarters?"

"P-please…" He offered her his arm and she held it as if it was the only steady thing in the world. They walked through the empty corridors together, musing drunkenly on the quietude on the ship.

"Everyone m-must be s-s-sleeping…" Deirdre said slowly. "P-prokhor, here… it's here…" She steered him to a small door, where she punched in a security code: it opened with a soft hissing sound and Zakharov was confronted with the messiest room he had ever seen.

"S-should've cleaned but… meh, you don't care 'bout how messy it is, do you?" He smiled broader than he wanted to and shook his head.

"Of course not. I'm used to order, but if you're used to chaos, then chaos is what you need. I won't mind it at all." He looked around. "Where is your brother?"

"The captain put him in cryosleep already, said he was ma-making too much trouble… Can I…" She hesitated, Zakharov knew, to ask him something.

"What is it you want, Deirdre? Please, I'll oblige." He wouldn't dare refuse her anything, not at that moment – not when she was drunk and in need of company.

"Stay here…" He turned around, surprised by her request, and stared into her round green eyes. "I can't stand it alone, I needed someone to stay with me, and Santiago was unavailable…"

"I think I know who occupied her…", Zakharov said with somewhat of a devious smile.

"…And then I saw you sitting in your room and I thought 'why not' and… Please? For me?"

Zakharov was torn: if he would, there was no telling what his alcohol-clouded brain would have him do – she was tempting as it was, but the drinking had made her as soft and innocent as a schoolgirl and he would not be able to hold himself up if he… But on the other hand, if he said he wouldn't, he would hurt her and he couldn't face that, either.

"I will stay, if that is what you want. But where can I sleep then?"

"Well, there's a sofa in my bedroom… but if you're not comfortable with that…"

"It's no problem, really." He resolved to steel himself for the temptation. Deirdre retreated into her bedroom and called for him moments later: Zakharov came in to find her in her bed already, the sheets drawn up to her waist only. Zakharov swallowed.

He would not sleep easy if he had her on his mind. No, he wouldn't sleep at all when all he had to do was look at her.

But he fell asleep almost immediately while looking at her sleeping form, the alcohol drowning out anything but her.

The next morning, Zakharov awoke only to find her up and about already: he rose himself and walked to her living area. She greeted him cheerily, though she put her hand against her forehead almost immediately after that.

"You have a hangover", Zakharov stated the obvious. "I can fix that. Do you have any tomatoes?"

"…Maybe. Check the fridge." She pointed to a small rectangular metal cupboard. As he opened it, he saw an array of vegetables inside it. "And?"

"You have them. I'll juice them for you. Then, with a few herbs in it, you'll have something that will give you more energy." He went to work with various appliances and after five minutes presented her a smooth drink. "Here, drink it to the bottom." She obliged, remarking after having downed it completely that it tasted very good. She smiled.

"I can feel it working already. It really helps! …It's better than what I got after last time…", she added with a wry smile. Zakharov looked at her intently.

"I am a better man than Morgan. He only wanted to… Well, I don't."

"You want the same, only in a different way…" Deirdre said softly. Zakharov looked up at her, shocked. Sean did tell her… he was at a loss for words. But she smiled. "Prokhor… I want us to be friends, because I do value your friendship above everything. I know you're different from Morgan in that you won't take what I won't give you."

"I would never dare. And your friendship means just as much to me. …I'll go now. I'll come by your lab later, one of my assistants needs a mouse for one of our tests."

"Why can't he come and get it?" she asked.

"Because I want the pleasure of seeing you today." Zakharov winked as he left her quarters. She winked back and smiled a beautifully broad smile. His heart felt elated: she trusted him, and he would never dare shame that trust. Never.

The next two weeks passed faster than Zakharov had expected, and the time had come for the seven to be put in cryostasis. Zakharov eyed the tanks that lined the lower part of the ship with awe and unease. He didn't expect it to be unpleasant or boring, but the thought of sleeping for forty years was one that he didn't like. He saw Deirdre eye her cryotank with the same apprehension and smiled at her. She smiled back.

"You'll have pleasant dreams in there, Deirdre. Dreams of a new green planet, of a new life… and I'll be waiting when you wake. I'll help you make your dreams come true."

"I know you will. You dream the same, dream of science and of the advances the new world will bring us. I'll be wanting to see you first thing after I wake."

"I expect you'll see John first."

"Darn it. And here I was hoping to see the face of a genius first."

"Hey, I resent that!", sounded the captain's voice across the platform, with a tinge of a laugh in it. Deirdre winked at him and his hoarse laugh resounded. "Okay… Cryotank four-zero-five, lieutenant-commander doctor Deirdre Angelina Skye!" Zakharov heard Deirdre's titles and smiled. "Deirdre, it's your turn. Have a nice sleep and I'll try to drag Prokhor over to you when you wake up."

"I don't need to be dragged, I'll come on my own accord." He turned to Deirdre with a smile. "Have a nice sleep, dream of the future and you'll awake safely into that future."

"See you in forty years…", she said as she stepped inside. The cryotechnicians attached the electrodes to her bare arms and legs and forehead. Zakharov drank in the sight of her in the tight outfit that was required for those that would go into cryostasis – he too wore it – and smiled at her. He gave her thumbs up as the lid of the cryotank closed and looked in until he heard his own name called.

"Cryotank four-zero-zero, commander professor Prokhor Leonid Zakharov!" He stepped into the tank and felt the soft sting of electricity enter his arms and legs as he was put into an artificial sleep by means of a drug he had been required to take earlier. Before he closed his eyes, he thought of Deirdre's words and smiled.

"I'll be wanting to see you first thing after I wake"

Deirdre arrived at the meeting room together with Zakharov. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and she felt a cloud hanging above them all. Deirdre noticed Morgan casting her weird looks and shivered: yet, a moment later, he looked away and glared at Zakharov, who had apparently made it clear that he wanted her left alone. She smiled. 'He's so caring…' She heard the captain sigh and looked up again.

Her heart broke slowly into painful fragments as the seconds passed. Deirdre saw sister Miriam raise a hand to cover her mouth that seemed unwilling to close. A hand touched her shoulder softly: it was Zakharov's. She saw the hurt in his eyes and knew she had to look exactly the same: with a shaky smile, she thanked him for his care and sobbed.

"What do we do now?" Yang, his voice sounding oddly even, voiced the thoughts of all gathered – or so it seemed.

"Indeed, we've come too far. I will not let this come to my heart. …Everyone is relieved of duties for the next twenty-four hours. Have a good night's sleep, wake up when you want to wake up, have a good meal and come to terms with it." Garland gave a curt nod and was off, followed by Corazon. Deirdre stayed a bit longer, shaking slightly, before slowly walking to her quarters, seeing people flee around her, flee to the safe haven of the arms of friends and other loved ones…

Deirdre stopped walking as on impulse, then turned around. She made her way to Zakharov's room. He would know how to comfort her.

Besides, he'd need some comforting as well, no doubt.

She was surprised to see the door to his quarters was open: the scientist was staring into a glass of vodka that was definitely not his first. He was lost in thought, didn't notice her standing there…

"This is all that is left…" She saw tears leak over his cheeks: undoubtedly he was thinking of those dear to him. She felt awful for looking in – it felt like spying – yet he clearly felt the same deep grief she felt. She, too, had pondered; she, too, had cried on her way to her quarters. She spoke carefully when she felt the tears flow over her own cheeks again. She felt weak and strong at the same time.

"Prokhor?" As he looked up, Deirdre saw that his eyes were clouded by sadness. She had never seen emotion of any kind in his eyes and it felt like a secret that would bind them together. "A-are you c-crying?"

"Deirdre… who hasn't got anything to cry about now?" She smiled weakly, as did he. "Sit down, please." He pointed to a chair next to his own, which Deirdre gladly sat down on. His proximity felt soothing.

"I c-came to ask… might I h-have some?" She knew she would never have asked if she hadn't been grief-stricken. Drinking seemed like a way out… and silently she wondered, while he was rummaging around and pouring her a glass, if that was why he had dug up the bottle himself. "Oh, Prokhor… my parents… my friends, my family… my brother and those on board are all that I have left…" She sobbed as tears ran over her cheeks. "Y-you must've had someone t-too… A wife, or family…"

"Prokhor…" was all she could whisper before the pain hit her hard. She took the glass she held and drank the entire contents in one deep swig, then winced as it burnt its way through her: she motioned for more. "Oh… you know… you care…" she said. She practically fell around him, hugging him tightly as compassion and grief took over her mind. He put one arm around her in turn, and gently stroked her hair with her other hand – something her father had often done when she was only a girl – which encouraged her, soothed her, filled her heart with something other than grief: profound and genuine adoration.

"I care, Deirdre, I care… I care more for you than I do for anyone else…" His words spoke of love – Deirdre did not pay it any heed. She felt intensely sad and intensely loved at the same time – and safe, safer than anywhere else. Their hug ended but the feelings didn't leave, and as they talked about their memories over increasing amounts of vodka, she felt all care left her. She was free with him.

"…And to think, I-if it were m-my father…" She didn't fear the thought of her father.

"Don't think like that, Deirdre – dear Deirdre – but think of it as an opportunity. Your father m-must have known. He insisted on your going…"

"Y-yes… he must've- must've known!" It was not a thought that made her happy, but it settled something in her heart. Her father had given her a chance while denying himself one. The conversation they had when she had handed in her application form came to her mind vividly. The look of determination in her father's eyes… it was determination to see her safe in space, with a longer future than he would have. She looked at the professor with a smile that didn't shake anymore. "Y-your friendship means s-s-so much…"

"I know. Your friendship means as much to me. …But you must be tired" She had indeed suppressed a yawn, but dreaded to fall asleep when she was sure to dream of the past. The professor saw and reacted: "Do you want me to escort you to your quarters?"

"P-please…" She nodded, and took the arm he reached gratefully. They walked though the empty halls, which were oddly quiet. Deirdre was not at all amazed: who was there on board that had no one to turn to? Even she… she knew she could always turn to Zakharov, who had proven not only a true friend, but one of infinite patience and wisdom at that.

"Everyone m-must be s-s-sleeping…" She sounded drunk – she had to be drunk after three glasses of the strongest stuff she ever had touched – and didn't feel embarrassed at all. The door to her quarters came closer. "P-prokhor, here… it's here…" She opened a box and punched in her security code: her door opened with the hissing sound she would normally love, but now… Now, it meant she would be on her own, subject to the memories that would haunt her in her sleep… Her room, messy as she had left it that morning, was cold. "S-should've cleaned but… meh, you don't care 'bout how messy it is, do you?" She saw him smile as broadly as he could and smiled back at him.

"Of course not. I'm used to order, but if you're used to chaos, then chaos is what you need. I won't mind it at all." Deirdre snickered softly as he looked around silently. "Where is your brother?" Those words seemed to hit her, and she frowned slightly.

"The captain put him in cryosleep already, said he was ma-making too much trouble… Can I…" She knew she couldn't ask. She knew he wouldn't say yes, because of… But yet, she felt like she had to ask…

"What is it you want, Deirdre? Please, I'll oblige." It hit her: he would say yes. She was drunk and lonely and in need of company, he wouldn't refuse.

"Stay here…" She saw him turn around incredulously, staring at her as if she had spoken some unforgivable profanity. She stammered as she explained: "I can't stand it alone, I needed someone to stay with me, and Santiago was unavailable…"

"I think I know who occupied her…" Zakharov grinned – Deirdre giggled slightly as she thought of the looks the captain and her friend had been exchanging.

"…And then I saw you sitting in your room and I thought 'why not' and… Please? For me?", she concluded in her most innocent and convincing tone of voice. Deirdre could nearly read the struggle that was taking place in Zakharov's mind from his eyes – undoubtedly he found it too much of a risk – but then he smiled her way.

"I will stay, if that is what you want. But where can I sleep then?"

"Well, there's a sofa in my bedroom… but if you're not comfortable with that…" Was she asking too much of him now?

"It's no problem, really." She was stunned and relieved at the same time: 'He cares for me, this much…' She went back into her bedroom to change, not needing to tell him that he should wait outside, and called for him as soon as she felt herself decently tucked in – or as decent as she could bear, for the sheets felt scratchy on her shoulders and she usually left them at her waist or so. As Zakharov entered, she could see that he felt uncomfortable and wondered if she was really definitely not asking too much of him. But then, as she sank back onto the pillow, she felt sleep overwhelm her and her mind fall into a blissful void…

She woke remarkably early and rose immediately, taking care not to wake the scientist that was still asleep. 'Oh, he's even kept his lab coat on…', Deirdre mused as she retreated behind a screen and dressed. She kept quiet while rummaging around for breakfast – or at least tried to. The sound of the closing cupboards resounded in her head and every clang of the metal spoon against the metal bowl as she ate her oatmeal was a gong-like note that reverberated through her tender brain. Zakharov awoke not too long after she had finished her breakfast, and she greeted him cheerily as he straightened his lab coat. She felt sorry immediately after as her voice – somehow amplified between her mouth and her ears – felt like a big red-hot needle in her head.

"You have a hangover", Zakharov stated the obvious. "I can fix that. Do you have any tomatoes?"

"…Maybe. Check the fridge." She pointed to a small rectangular metal cupboard. He rummaged around in it for a while. "And?"

"You've got them." He came up with a box of ripe tomatoes. "I'll juice them for you. Then, with a few herbs in it, you'll have something that will give you more energy." He shuffled around in her kitchen, using a few appliances here and there and finally presented her a blood red drink. "Here, drink it to the bottom." She downed it in one and couldn't help but notice that it immediately soothed her stomach plus tasted good.

"I can feel it working already. It really helps! …It's better than what I got after last time…", she added with a wry smile. Zakharov's smile slid off his face.

"I am a better man than Morgan. He only wanted to… Well, I don't."

"You want the same, only in a different way…" Deirdre said softly. She saw him look at her incredulously and realised he knew that Sean had eavesdropped. She smiled, but in her mind felt awful for having to tell the scientist that she just wasn't interested in him that way. "Prokhor… I want us to be friends, because I do value your friendship above everything. I know you're different from Morgan in that you won't take what I won't give you."

"I would never dare. And your friendship means just as much to me. …I'll go now. I'll come by your lab later, one of my assistants needs a mouse for one of our tests."

"Why can't he come and get it?" she asked.

"Because I want the pleasure of seeing you today." She looked at him and now she was the one that was looking incredulously. But it was over in a split second and she smiled. Zakharov winked as he stepped outside, and Deirdre smiled. They would be friends; Zakharov would never let anything get in the way of that. She felt safe – he would be there for her no matter what.

She felt as if the next two weeks had passed like a jolt of thunder. The time had come to put the seven leaders of the mission in cryostasis – for the captain would remain awake and alternate shifts with Lal, the second-in-command. Deirdre had changed and was now standing in front of her cryotank (number 405) while Zakharov was standing a little ways from her at his cryotank. They both wore the suit that was required for the cryostasis: Deirdre thought it was uncomfortably tight and icy cold. But then again, her body would be icy cold by the time the cryotank had fully charged itself. A forty year long sleep… Deirdre saw Zakharov cast her an encouraging smile and she smiled back.

"You'll have pleasant dreams in there, Deirdre. Dreams of a new green planet, of a new life… and I'll be waiting when you wake. I'll help you make your dreams come true."

"I know you will. You dream the same, dream of science and of the advances the new world will bring us. I'll be wanting to see you first thing after I wake."

"I expect you'll see John first."

"Darn it. And here I was hoping to see the face of a genius first."

"Hey, I resent that!" Garland's voice drifted over the cryobay, tinged with laughter. Deirdre winked at him, which caused him to laugh out loud. "Okay… Cryotank four-zero-five, lieutenant commander doctor Deirdre Angelina Skye! … Deirdre, it's your turn. Have a nice sleep and I'll try to drag Prokhor over to you when you wake up." This was followed by a 'hmph!' from Zakharov.

"I don't need to be dragged, I'll come on my own accord." He turned to Deirdre with a smile. "Have a nice sleep, dream of the future and you'll awake safely into that future."

"See you in forty years…", she said as she stepped inside. The cryotechnicians attached the electrodes to her bare arms and legs and forehead. The electricity that prickled her forehead elicited a fatigue in her – she knew the drugs she had had to take were taking effect. She smiled as she drifted off into a long sleep, thinking of Zakharov's words.

"I'll be waiting when you wake. I'll help you make your dreams come true…"

A/N: just a few quick remarks:

- I know I don't follow the exact character backgrounds and such, but I played Alpha Centauri long before I knew that those even existed.

- Deirdre's quarters on the space ship are a fair distance from Zakharov's, it's their labs that are relatively close to each other.

- and Deirdre just needed to escape. It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, really, with the drinking.