A/N: shoutout to the viper in sweatshirt who reviewed, you made me go back and add italics for readability. do you feel powerful? you should.
It's Kelly who asks, one evening as they're sitting around in the soldiers' living quarters. She, Peter, Osei, and Ramirez are playing cards and talking amongst themselves; Central stands behind the shabby couch they've set up, half leaning on it as he works on a drink. \
He's only half listening to their conversation, but Peter's incredulous "it was the sweater?" brings him to attention. He looks toward the table to find Peter giving him a disdainful frown.
Kelly nods. "All in a stasis tank," she says. "Honestly I thought it might have been a person. That would have made more sense." She places down a card; Osei makes a noise of annoyance and places down one of his own.
"When has any of these ever made any sense?" Central says, taking a swig from his drink.
"Touché," says Kelly, "but like really? I mean, artifact of power?"
The sweater, for its part, is pouting.
i AM an artifact of power!
"Keep telling yourself that," Central says to it; louder, he answers Kelly with "Besides being swathed in Psionic energy there's not much to it."
"I guess he'd know best," says Osei, "it's his after all."
Kelly looks unconvinced as she studies her card hand. "Maybe the sweater is the psionic one," she says, but the words end with a snort and she shakes her head. "That would be weird."
you're weird!
"Well, it'd answer the question of 'what the hell happened with the Reapers'," says Peter. He swears as Kelly plays a card, swears again as she sticks her tongue out at him.
"It wouldn't make sense, though," Ramirez says. "Objects can't be psionic."
"Have you tried shoving an object in a stasis tank and swaddled it in psionic energy for ten years give or take?" Central asks.
"Correlation doesn't always equal causation," Peter answers.
but it did in this case, says the sweater.
Central says nothing, takes a drink. Kelly is leaning back in her seat, giving him a look he cannot identify. "You think it's actually got some kind of abilities?" she asks him.
"I wouldn't trust his input on this," says Peter, quietly, in a hushed tone that Central thinks he wasn't supposed to hear.
"Hey, be nice," Osei says.
"I'm right, though," Peter says.
"Regardless of that," says Ramirez, "Central's probably biased. It is his, after all."
"I just think it's silly to assume nothing changed after all those years," he says. "Maybe it's something we can't pick up on."
"Sounds like a poorly written science fiction bit," Peter says. "Actually, it sounds more like fantasy than sci-fi."
"This last decade has felt like a poorly written science fiction bit, the most recent events especially," Central admits. "Like I said, it doesn't make much sense."
"Maybe not to you," says Peter.
Central straightens up a little, meets the other man's gaze. "That supposed to mean something?"
please don't fight.
"Guys, keep it together," says Kelly, cards forgotten now.
"If he has a problem with me he can go ahead and say it," Central says.
Peter stands up. "You know what? I do have a problem with you," he says. "We're supposed to answer to you, but you can barely answer to yourself." He waves a hand at Central's drink.
he doesn't understand, says the sweater.
Kelly opens her mouth, but Central beats her to it. "Don't defend me," he says, "he has a point."
"And another thing," Peter says, "is your insistence on keeping on looking for someone who's probably been dead for years. You're wasting time and resources, have been for a while, and I'm sick of it!"
Central grinds his jaw, but holds his tongue. Osei has stood up now too, has a hand on Peter's shoulder. He murmurs something Central can't hear to the other man, and Peter's expression flickers from angry to sympathetic to angry again.
"He's chasing something that's not even there," he says. "I'm tired of feeding into this delusional idea that the Commander is still—"
"All right, that's enough," says Kelly, who's on her feet now too.
"You're all just coddling him," Peter says, crossing his arms.
"If anyone thinks they need to coddle me," Central says, "then they're mistaken."
"Then why doesn't anybody say what we're all thinking? Why do I have to bring it up? Why do we still let it go on?"
"Have you ever lost someone you cared about?" Ramirez snaps, getting up and glaring daggers at Peter. "And then not knowing, not for sure, what happened to them? Do you know how that feels?"
"I'm sure all of us have some kind of similar sob story," Peter says. "I'm just saying he shouldn't, doesn't, get special privileges to wallow in it and make us go on wild goose chases just because he's senior staff or has some kind of survivor's guilt or whatever his deal is."
"That's enough," says Kelly. "Go bitch somewhere else."
Peter walks away, muttering something about how the rest of the crew are too nice. Osei and Ramirez exchange looks, and excuse themselves shortly after. Kelly comes over to Central.
"Sorry about him," she says.
"It's fine," he says. "He has valid points."
no he doesn't! well. not about the commander.
"We're behind you, Central," she says. "If you want to keep looking, we'll keep looking."
"He's right, though, isn't he?" He takes a long drink. "It's pretty likely they've been KIA. More likely than them still being held captive somewhere. Or having escaped."
"But knowing for sure would help you," she says.
Would it? He isn't sure. He's never sure. He stares into his drink, swishing the dregs of it back and forth. "Maybe," he says finally.
Kelly squeezes his shoulder. "I'll talk to him later," she says. "Once he's had some time to cool off. Try to get him to wrap his head around it."
"Thanks, Kelly," he says.
She leaves then, and Central is standing alone in the living quarters, still gazing down at the bottom of the bottle. The sweater squeezes him gently.
hope is good. you are good.
He shakes his head, says nothing as he finishes the drink. By the time he's left the living quarters and reached his small personal room, he is certain that no, hope is not good, and furthermore, neither is he.
Good is something other than this. Other than him.
He sits on the edge of his bed, idly passing the empty bottle between his hands. If there was someone to find, he would have found them by now.
"Delusional with grief," he mumbles to himself. "Delusional with hope."
you found me.
"And it feels like something from a shitty video game DLC," he says. "I didn't find you, I got lucky. I won't get lucky again."