Chapter 12

Everett had often heard the expression "small blessings". He didn't think there was any such thing, because if it was big enough to make an impact, it should not be considered small. It was the little things that could sometimes mean the most, like a new flavor of liquid protein Becker invented. Or a new, unworn pair of socks. A sharp razor blade. It's the little things that keep you going, especially during a crisis, while you're waiting for the big thing that you really need. Everett tried to focus on little things while he lay in bed, long before the simulated daytime came on.

That was one. Ability to control the ship's lighting so they could maintain some pretense of a routine. Working wristwatches. Beds with pillows. Showers. He needed one. Loyal soldiers. Clean air. He tried to keep thinking, but his mind repeatedly wandered again and again to the one thing, the big thing, that they were waiting for, and that they knew they wouldn't get. A miracle. A healthy Rush. It was this that kept him from sleep, that was slowly wearing down his appetite, that was giving him a deeper feeling of helplessness than anything else could do.

Guilt was nibbling away at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he owed Rush yet another apology despite having offered several already. Rush had deflected each one, not exactly rebuffing them, but also not regarding them as either important or necessary. Like they weren't what he wanted. Probably because they weren't what he wanted. He didn't care how sorry anyone was, because sorry didn't change the fact that Everett had gone back on his promise. "You lied to me," were his bitter words. His blistering indictment. Everett had argued that no, he hadn't, because he'd absolutely resolved to do what he promised, which was remain on the ship that time. His intention was to not return to Earth when everyone else did while they were dialing within a star. That was the deal. And even though he didn't actually get the chance to put his promise into action, his intentions were good. "Semantics," Rush had said. He was wrong, but somehow Everett still felt like he was at fault. What is the road to hell paved with?

Everett didn't regret his decision to return to Earth. He did regret that his friendship with Rush was the price he had to pay. That, he suspected, was the true root of the problem. It wasn't simply that he wanted to go home that had Rush in a tailspin; it was that he had actually put his desire to return, or indeed anything at all, ahead of their relationship. Ahead of Rush himself. He was apologizing for the wrong thing. He was sorry that Rush didn't trust him, but he had never apologized for the act that had broken that trust. And now Rush felt disposable, worthless, and left behind. Again.

Nothing with that man was simple. Why did it have to be like this? Why did everything have to be a battle to be fought, a side to be taken, a line to be drawn? Why couldn't something be easy, just once?

Didn't matter. Couldn't answer that, so didn't try. He got up from his bed and dressed in the semi-dark, then began making his way to the infirmary to go be the bigger man and apologize once again. And maybe do it right this time. He knew it was early, and he genuinely hoped to find him sleeping. He would return later if it came to that.

He found the door open. He approached silently and peered inside, and what he found made him hesitate, unwilling to interrupt. He could see what they were doing, but he didn't know what they were doing. The room was dark, the lights off but for a lamp in a faraway corner, left on probably out of necessity. Rush was sitting on the edge of his bed, bent over with his hands supporting his head. Chloe - what was she doing here so early? - was standing in front of him with her fingers buried in his hair, slowly and gently massaging his scalp. T.J. was on the bed behind him, kneading the muscles of his back, neck, and shoulders. There was gentle music coming from somewhere. Violin, Everett thought. Quiet, soothing.

He came closer into T.J.'s field of vision, and she turned at once. She shook her head and stopped him with her eyes. Everett stopped in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at her, and she gave an apologetic smile. Chloe noticed something was wrong and looked up to seek out the cause of the intrusion. Seeing him, she frowned. He frowned back at her.

"Chloe," T.J. said, very, very softly, and Rush let out a small breath. Whatever T.J. said next was too quiet for Everett to hear, but she flicked her eyes from Chloe to him and the girl seemed to understand at once, though she didn't look happy.

"I'll be right back, Nick, I promise," Chloe whispered. Rush just nodded. Chloe hurried to the door, waving Everett along. They left the bulkhead open.

A safe distance away, he asked, "What was that all about?"

Chloe was walking quickly. He had to make an effort to keep up. "It's not you, Colonel. He's got a raging headache and he's hyper sensitive to light and sound right now. T.J. thinks he's clotting so much that it's causing his blood pressure to spike. We're trying to keep quiet."

Everett couldn't help a snort. So, they thought he was loud.

"Plus he was complaining about feeling stiff. She thinks the blood clots are lodging in his muscle fibers. He can't sleep."

"So T.J. is…?"

"Trying to break up the clots."

"And you are…?"

"Trying not to let his head explode."

He wanted to tell her to slow down. She was almost running toward the mess hall. "When's the last time he ate?"

She sighed. "Two days ago. He can't keep anything down anymore. We'll have to go to I.V. pretty soon."

His stomach dropped. Sometimes he forgot that Rush wasn't just sick. He often found himself wondering how long until he got better and got back to work, but then reality would slam him sideways and remind him that Rush wasn't going to pull out of this. T.J. and Chloe weren't in there trying to help him heal; they were trying to make it easier to die. He watched Chloe's face, all focus and determination on the surface, but deeper within he saw her heart breaking.

When they made it to the Mess, Chloe said, "Becker," and suddenly there was Becker with a tray of food. Chloe whisked it all away and Everett followed.

"Any idea how much longer he'll last?"

As soon as he asked it, he regretted it. Chloe didn't stop moving but she threw him a glare that could have melted steel. "I don't know, and I'm trying not to think about it!"

He inwardly winced. They covered the rest of the distance in silence. Chloe hurried at once back to Rush's side, depositing the tray on the table next to T.J. They switched places, Chloe climbing onto the bed while T.J went around.

Everett watched Rush. The man's face was pinched with pain, his breaths came in short gusts, and he seemed on the verge of either throwing up or passing out. From a basin of water on the floor at her feet, T.J. took a wet cloth and pressed it against his head, and another she held at the back of his neck, and he leaned into her hand with a shudder.

Everett felt an overwhelming sense of indebtedness to Rush in that moment. Here he was, in the hands of probably the two most important people in his life right now. One was trying to keep him alive, and the other was trying to keep him sane. These roles could have been so different, where T.J. would be sitting on that bed, and Lieutenant James would probably be stroking her back, and Everett would be holding her head and thinking to himself how unfair this all was and how he couldn't imagine losing her after they'd come all this way. It could have happened. It would have happened, if not for this uncontrollable madman. Everett was angry that it was happening, but somehow he was angrier that it was happening entirely without his participation. Why hadn't he been given the opportunity to do the brave thing? How did Rush end up in a position to show him up once again? How was Rush, with all his flaws and faults and bloody hands, now suddenly everyone's hero?

Because you're perfect, right? his mind taunted him.

No, because I'm supposed to be the one who cares about these people, and he's supposed to be the one who doesn't. It's simple. But he screwed up the status quo and now look where it got him.

Chloe was speaking. Her voice was soft and slow, and whatever she was saying, Rush was responding to. He reached behind himself and held on to one of her hands while she continued to caress his back with the other.

Everett found this very strange at first before he realized he probably shouldn't. These two had a bond, he knew that. No one else on the ship had been abducted by aliens. Common ground went a long way when you were trapped on a ship billions of lightyears from Earth. But he observed the way Rush was sitting, with these two women running their hands all over him, and he wondered about the reputation Rush had developed. People had this idea that he was the type of person you knew by instinct not to touch, and if you didn't know then you learned real quick. It was like they thought physical contact was an issue for Rush, but Everett suspected it was an excuse they made because it was an issue for them. They didn't want to touch him. Like they'd created these imaginary scenarios about why they shouldn't - like touch had been so largely missing from his life that he was used to going without it, or he'd had too much of the wrong kind, or he just plain didn't like it. But Everett had spent plenty of time with the man even before Destiny, and he had never seen anything that would give anyone such an idea. He knew that Rush was human and he craved human affection as much as anyone. He'd heard a rumor that Rush had hugged the body of Camille while it had been occupied by Amanda Perry. Future Rush had let T.J. examine him with no fuss. After the ship lost power and he was about to collapse, Rush had reached out his hand, not for something because there was nothing there, but for someone, to help him, to catch him. And Everett had.

Maybe that was why this scene caused him so much unease. Everett had only touched Rush a handful of times, and half them had been to hurt him. Their relationship in the past had been strange, unpredictable, and sometimes violent, but in time they had learned how to coexist. They tolerated each other on bad days. On good days they even enjoyed each other's company. It was in Everette's nature to care and he didn't like letting people suffer if he could help it, but here he could not picture himself in either T.J.'s place or Chloe's, and he didn't know if it was because he thought Rush wouldn't want him there or because he felt with their history that he had no right to try. This version of friendship they had did not seem to allow that kind of intimacy, and when Everett realized he felt relieved about that, he wondered if that sort of thing was how the opinions formed to begin with. Excuses. Reasons not to reach out. Because people didn't actually like Rush that much, and they didn't want to make the effort to try, and Rush wasn't about to go out of his way to help them. Mutual mistrust. Mutual distance. It was just easier that way.

He watched as Chloe slowly scooted closer to the edge of the bed. She was partly massaging, partly pulling Rush's shoulders toward her, toward the raised back. TJ followed them, holding the cloth against his head. Gradually they got him to lie back. Chloe kept on him, gently squeezing his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck, until finally she withdrew her hands and lifted his feet to place them straight out in front of him on the bed. When TJ took the towel away, they could see that Rush was finally out, his breaths slow, deep, and even. The girls smiled at each other, oblivious to Everett completely.

It was the little things. Like helping a dying man go to sleep. He chose this moment to slip away.