They abandon the ship as soon as they are able. They find a place to stay, in a rundown, shit-stained motel that probably has the hearts of murder victims underneath the floorboards. On the flight there, nobody speaks, other than what is necessary to answer the typical "is everyone okay?" inquiries. They turn in for the night, but Three is restless. He tosses and turns in his bed, making the ancient springs creak excessively until One barks at him to shut up. Four is the only person in the room that is actually asleep, the bastard.
Giving up, Three gets up and makes his way across the hall, where the girls are bunking. He has a feeling that he's not the only one with a lot on his mind. He knocks on the door and sure enough, Two answers, wide awake. Wordlessly, he holds up the bottle of whiskey that he had swiped from downstairs. She nods and follows him outside.
The planet they landed is a wet one. They sit on the cold beach sand, listening to the waves crash onto the shore. It's Two that finally breaks the silence.
"I should have known."
He snorts. "We all should have known. I mean, the guy was way too nice. Nobody is that calm unless they're hiding something. Creep."
"Always the pessimist." Two smirks, although her eyes seem more sad than amused.
"I'm not a pessimist, I'm an optimist with experience."
She hums a laugh, taking slow, leisurely sips from the bottle. Her face looks younger under the dim light, even vulnerable.
"You were right."
" 'Bout what?"
"About us. This team, we should have never stayed together. We were doomed from the start."
He keeps his eyes trained ahead, not looking at her. "Maybe. Maybe not."
"Are you saying you like us, after all?"
"I never said that." He grabs the drink from her and takes a long swing. After he sets it back down, he stares at her for a long while, eyes softening. "You're alright." He says, gruffly.
When he kisses her, her lips slide underneath his easily, still tasting of whiskey. He shuts his mind off and allows himself to be pulled into a dream-like haze, lulled by the constant rolling of the ocean and steady rise and fall of her chest. All thoughts of betrayal, of the Galactic Authority and whatever the hell else might be coming for them, leaves him. That is a conversation for tomorrow. For tonight, they will just feel.
They've never been very good at talking, anyway.