Chapter 14

The day passed the way the day before had done. Everett tried to be productive, but all he managed to accomplish was break up a brawl in the mess hall over the last piece of jerky and get into another argument with Homeworld Command. He gave up on the day after that and spent the rest of the time hiding out on the bridge. The science team had gone adrift without Rush to boss them around, and they had reverted to spending all their time in the Apple Core again. Suited Everett just fine. He wanted the quiet.

They'd be home in four weeks. He should be celebrating. He should be down there with the rest of them, chatting them up, motivating them, encouraging them, congratulating them, praising them for their perseverance these last five years. But he wasn't. He was sitting here by himself, in these ugly amber lights, angry and sour and out of sorts. All over one dumb idiot whose fault it was that they were here to begin with. Of all the dozens of people on the ship, that one had the power to bring his mood down into the mud like no other. He always had. Probably enjoyed it, too.

Stop it! he scolded himself. You sound like the rest of those bellyachers down there. When had he slipped into this state? He was so tired.

And that was the other thing. Of course he was tired. He hadn't really recovered from last night's undertaking of the incongruous task of trying to keep a dying man from dying. A frail and broken Rush was so much harder to handle than a scheming, neurotic, belligerent Rush. Everett had years of practice navigating Rush's temper and inconstant moods, and now he could deal with them sleepwalking. Rush had always been predictable insofar as that his motives remained the same. And his motives were invariably either survival, the mission, or the crew. Now that he'd lost all of those things, this hopeless side was something else altogether, brand new, uncharted and alien. Ha ha. It required a totally different class of fortitude that Everett feared he'd bled dry of long, long ago. He wasn't cut out for this. They didn't cover this situation in officer training. No one had felt the need to develop a rulebook on how to relate to a man who was so out of touch with your world that his own had shrunk down to the size and shape of a single ancient spaceship, and then, having taken even that from him, how to cope with the consequences.

That word again.

He stayed away from the infirmary and went to bed early. He woke up in the middle of the night with Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah in his head. Unable to go back to sleep, he got up and got dressed and went for a walk, a ritual he had developed since Rush had gotten sick. All he could hear as he roamed was the thrum of the engine, the whoosh of the heating system, the faint sigh of life support. The harmony and rhythm were like a gentle lullaby, luring the ship's inhabitants into sleep each night.

But you don't really care for music, do you?

The ship seemed so big at night. He often felt, as he wandered in the wee hours through these dark and empty halls, like he was the only soul on board. It was always peaceful. It was sometimes lonesome. He didn't know how he felt tonight, so he wasn't sure what to do when he began to hear the voices. They were soft; quiet whispers. Muffled footsteps. Gentle laughs. Who could possibly be about at this hour? The sounds were coming from up ahead, around another corner, or perhaps two. It was probably a patrol. No big deal. Nothing worth interrupting. But he was bored, and he might have been a little lonely, so with nothing better to do, he went to investigate.

He found T.J. and Rush in the middle of the hallway coming from the observation deck. They were strolling along, chatting. At 0230. What in the world? "Hey," he said, too loudly. Rush flinched, making him flinch too. He softened his voice as they turned to face him. "Sorry. What are you two doing?"

T.J. looked at Rush and smiled. She was smiling at Rush. "New tactic," she explained.

Baby, I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you.

"Walking around in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah. He sleeps mostly during the day because he can't sleep at night. I'm trying to wear him out and get his sleep cycle reset."

Genius. "And?"

Rush looked exhausted, but not suicidal. His movements were very slow, probably still painful, but he seemed more at peace tonight. "Well, this is our first night trying it, but I think it's working," T.J. said.

Rush looked like he was trying to nod.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken…

"Hallelujah," said Everett.

They gave him a strange look. He shook his head. "We're just going to make a couple more rounds and then go back so he can sleep it off," T.J. told him. "Did you need something, sir?"

He could only shake his head. "Nope. Seems like we had similar ideas, though. I can't sleep either."

She offered him a lopsided smile. "Oh, I'm all out of sleep aids, unfortunately. I gave the last of it to Rush a few nights ago."

Rush didn't say anything. Didn't even apologize.

And why should he? his obnoxious mind demanded.

"Don't worry about it," Everett said. "I'll be fine."

She nodded and bade him good night, then put one hand on Rush's shoulder and the other around his I.V. pole, gently guiding him along.

Everett wanted to follow, but he had no real reason to go to the infirmary, so he lingered behind as they went away without sparing him another glance. It was dark and his eyes weren't what they used to be, but he could swear Rush was smiling at whatever story T.J. was telling as they walked. He was smiling at T.J. Rush and T.J. were smiling at each other. When did this become a thing?

And all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.

Tea sounded good. He needed some tea. Or maybe some of Brody's white lightning.

—

Back in the infirmary some time later, Tamara felt lighter than she had in days. Rush had tolerated their little outing better than she could have hoped, and now he was out cold, really sleeping, not restlessly waking every ten minutes like he had been. She wished she had thought of this sooner. She thought that she could even sleep too, if she tried.

But here came Colonel Young. She rose with a smile to greet him, picking her way carefully through the dim light. "Hey," she whispered. "It worked. He's passed out, and it looks like he will be for awhile."

He nodded with a very small smile. "Good. That's good."

"Sir, you should get some sleep too. You don't look well." It was true, but she was also hoping he would take the hint and go so she could sleep. She wanted to catch some rest in case Rush woke up in the night again. He nodded, but didn't answer. The silence stretched on, and she waited for him to say something, or do something, or ask something. "Sir?"

"You look happy, T.J."

She couldn't fight a smile. "Well, it's nice for him to get some sleep for once. This is the most he's gotten in days."

"So you like taking care of him?"

That was an odd question, and now she couldn't fight a frown. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged. "Nothing, it just seems like you've been with him for so long that you've gotten…attached."

No way. He wasn't seriously going there. For the first time, she detected the smell of alcohol about him. And here she thought his red eyes were just from being tired. She deepened her scowl, biting back, "He's my patient. He saved my life. I've spent the last five years trapped on this ship with him. Of course I'm attached."

"So you love him."

He went there. Her mouth fell open. "What?"

He didn't back down. "You love him. I can tell." She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued, "It's okay, I mean, it's not like he's a total idiot all the time. Plus didn't Lieutenant James say there's nothing sexier than a widower?"

A furious heat spread from her head to her toes. "Good night," she hissed. She turned around and went back to Rush's side and made a show of covering him over with a blanket.

He didn't leave. He watched her from the doorway. "You can admit it to me, you know."

She reeled around to face him again. "I said good night!" She didn't mean to shout it, but the colonel jumped and she felt Rush jolt under her hand. Rush groaned, and she turned and watched him sit up holding his head. "Oh, no, no, no…" She put her fingers gently on his shoulders, trying to get him to lie back. "Rush, it's okay, I'm sorry, everything's okay, go back to sleep." He shook his head with a grunt, gritting his teeth. She thought she would weep. "Rush, I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, sleep, it's okay…"

Rush leaned over the edge of the bed and tried to vomit, but he hadn't eaten in so long that there was nothing to purge.

She heard Colonel Young swear clumsily. "T.J., I'm sorry," he said.

She spun to face him, pointing at the door. "Just go!" She watched him leave, then looked back to Rush, who was gripping his hair and gasping. She snatched his pain medicine from the table, scrambling to unscrew the lid, and shoved it toward him. "Here, take as much as you need."

He took it in shaking hands and gave himself a double dose. It was a horrifically long time before he was able to relax, and she spent it massaging his head and neck and combatting with the rage burning in her eyes. When he finally fell back against the bed, she brushed the hair away from his forehead, holding her breath and biting her lip.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She didn't know if he heard her. His breathing was steadying out, and in time he was asleep again. She stayed at his side the rest of the night, alternating between fits of unrestrained weeping and just staring at nothing. Several times she just checked out, and only when Rush would shift in is sleep would she come back to herself.

The night dragged on and on. She thought maybe the synthetic daytime lighting was failing, but every time she checked her watch she found out only a half hour had passed, at most. The darkness was deeper tonight. Lonelier, more painful. She was in agony for it to end. There were no windows in the infirmary, something she often lamented. Her only light was artificial. And for some reason, it seemed very dim tonight.

She felt her breathing thicken. Suddenly she was claustrophobic. Everywhere she looked was blackness, and she stood from her chair to get her bearings. It felt like she was trying to breathe underwater. She felt the weight of the darkness closing her in. "Rush?" she whispered timorously, the selfish part of her hoping he'd answer. He didn't. There was no sound at all.

No sound. She couldn't hear him breathing. Her heart leaped into her throat and she reached down, but the bed was gone. The clicking of the I.V. was absent as well. She panted, wheeling around with her hands out, desperate to feel something, to see something, to hear something, but there was nothing. It was just her in the darkness. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone.

Something in the night went clang! and Tamara jerked upright in her chair, squinting blearily against the light of the simulated daytime. There was a hiss from somewhere to her left and she turned, disoriented, blinking, unable to understand anything. A metal tray was on the floor. And a mug. A puddle of water. A bowl, half its contents oozing out. Her arms were folded over the surface of the table by Rush's head. She raised her eyes to see him on the bed, sitting up with his eyes set apologetically on her. Colonel Young stood there at Rush's bedside, gazing at her with a grimace. She felt her anger flare.

"What-"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, that was me," Rush said. She stared at him, not comprehending. He gestured to the mess on the floor. "I don't know what happened. I lost my grip."

Her gaze tracked down, and the pieces slowly began to fit in their places. A dream? "Oh, um…it's okay. Umm…"

"T.J.?" Young said, shifting awkwardly. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept. "You all right?"

Was she? Rising from her chair, she said, "Well, I think so. What's going on here?" She indicated the tray and water.

"Just trying to get Rush to eat something," Young explained with a shrug. "You were asleep."

She looked to Rush, who was studying her like he couldn't figure out why she was acting so weird. "Oh. Thank you. Rush, you lost your grip?"

He nodded, looking at his hands. They were shaking. She took them in both of hers.

"How's your grip strength? Can you squeeze?"

He made a token effort, but his grip was pathetic. Like a dead fish handshake. She smiled anyway, squeezing gently back before letting him go. Colonel Young crouched down and began cleaning up the spill, scooping everything back onto the tray.

"Thank you, Colonel, but don't worry about bringing any more," Rush said. "I don't think I can eat just now."

The colonel looked disappointed, but he just nodded. He looked at Tamara. "T.J., can we talk?"

She looked at Rush, who shrugged his permission. She tasted bile as she followed the colonel out into the hall, and she stood apart from him with her arms crossed. He looked uncomfortable, as well he should; he kept sighing and darting his eyes around. It was the same look he had when he'd told her he was breaking it off to go back to his wife. At the memory, her heart sank to her stomach.

"What's this about, Colonel? I have a patient to tend to."

That seemed to get his mind back on track. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, T.J., I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what got into me."

She snorted. "Brody's moonshine, by the smell of it."

He grimaced. "Yeah, there's that. Listen, I don't know where that came from. I want to apologize. It was uncalled-for."

She nodded, touched that he'd taken the time to come by, but admittedly still hurt and shaken. "Okay."

"So…can you forgive me?"

She wanted to smile. She really did. She wanted to assure him and console him but she didn't have it in her. So instead she nodded, saying, "Yes, sir."

He looked less than comforted. But he knew he had to take what he could get, so he gave a sad little smile of his own and took his leave. When he was gone, she returned to Rush, who didn't even pretend that he wasn't watching.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked. She just sat beside him and sighed.

"What else is new?"

He stared at his hands. "Was it him you were yelling at last night?"

She groaned, having hoped he wouldn't remember that. "Yeah," she was quick to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Rush. I didn't mean for that to happen. That was so embarrassing and it…it shouldn't have happened."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. Sorry I woke you."

She smiled. "Don't be sorry. It's probably a good thing. Can't get anything done if I'm snoozing on the job."

His mouth curved just slightly.

"How about you? How did you sleep, eventually?"

The curve got a little bigger. "Throughout the night. It was a good idea you had."

"Yeah?" she said. "What do you say we make it a date every night?"

He rewarded her with an amused snort. She grinned. It may not have been in the way the colonel insinuated, but he wasn't entirely wrong: she did love Rush. She acknowledged that now. Bonus, she liked him. He turned to look at her, and the smile he gave her was genuine. "It's a date, then."

—

Everett had woken up to the same headache he'd gone to sleep with. He wanted to blame the alcohol. He wanted to blame the stress. He wanted to blame the insomnia he had suddenly developed. But these were only symptoms, side effects of a bigger problem he couldn't fix, and he wasn't used to being unable to fix problems. There was always a solution. He was not accustomed to situations in which he had no say, where things just happened whether he allowed them to or not. The universe was built on rules. Planets and stars followed certain laws. People followed orders. And he was used to being the one who gave the orders. He hated each day he lived through now, where he had no influence, no authority, no clout. He'd lost control. And he had no way to get it back. He'd lost control over everything, including his ability to regain control, and over even himself. Nothing made sense anymore.

He really felt bad about his behavior in the infirmary last night. He hadn't been himself. Or…heaven forbid...had he? It was getting harder and harder to ignore. Was that him? Was that the Real Everett? That brute had come to the surface several times since boarding Destiny despite Everett's best efforts to bear him down. The time he'd pinned Spencer to the wall came to mind. When he'd attacked Telford. The time he beat up Rush and left him on the planet. The time he beat up Rush on the alien ship after learning about the bridge. The time he'd almost vaulted over a console at Rush after Rivers was killed by Kiva.

Interesting. It did seem like the worst of it happened when Rush was involved. It was Everett's nature to protect, to support, but when it came to Nicholas Rush, all of his instincts seemed to change. And it was so, so easy to surrender to his savage streak. He turned into someone to be protected from. How many times had he hurt him? How many times had he wanted to? Why was that so often his first impulse? Once is a mistake, twice is a pattern. What did that mean then? That it wasn't his nature to help, but just to react? For better or worse? He had always considered himself a caring man. He liked to think people could trust him. But he had to admit, he couldn't overlook the irony that the crew had spent an entire day trying to prove he wasn't a murderer just for him to turn around and try to kill Rush at the end of it all.

This was all Rush's fault. The man was working his way like a splinter into every stupid little parcel of Everett's life and he couldn't dig him out. He kept him awake at night and distracted during the day, a nagging pain that wouldn't let up. He was even infringing on his relationship with T.J. Rush dared accuse him of taking a last revenge? If anything he was trying to cause as much misery for the colonel as he could before he finally croaked, and Everett was starting to feel like that couldn't happen quickly enough. He was glad Rush was dying. He hated Rush. He hated this ship. He hated his job.

He might have hated himself slightly more.

A knock on his door halted his furious pacing. He stood in the middle of his floor and glanced to his reflection in the mirror. Wild hair, red eyes, flushed skin, minimal sleep and a hangover. He looked like death. "Who is it?"

"It's T.J."

Of course it was. Why hadn't she called him instead? He dashed to his bedside, splashing some water on his face from a glass he had there. He smushed down his insubordinate curls and wiped his face with his shirt, then checked the mirror again. Better. Not good, but better. He went to the door and opened it, standing to the side.

T.J. strolled in. "Colonel," she greeted him.

"Lieutenant," he said, wondering if that was the right thing to call her. He didn't know how to read her right now. Her voice was cool, her face guarded. He couldn't tell what sort of mood she was in, though he had an idea. She waited for permission to stand at ease, and he let her set the tone, gesturing to the room for her to find a place to put herself. She perched on his desk. That helped. She was feeling informal enough not to hover by the door, but she had chosen the farthest possible spot away from him to sit. At least now he had a baseline.

He closed the door and opted for the bench at the foot of his bed. He was exhausted, and for once the mattress looked terrifically inviting, but relaxing there might come across as some sort of inappropriate invitation or imply that he wasn't prepared for an adult discussion. He sat stiffly, hands at his sides, conscious of her eyes on him. When no one spoke for a minute, he asked, "Where's Rush?"

She stretched her neck, lolling her head from side to side. "Varro is helping him take a shower. I'm hoping it'll loosen him up and help him relax a little better."

He nodded. "Good idea."

"It's nice to have a man assisting in the infirmary. I think it helps put some of the men on the ship more at ease."

Everett didn't think many of the men really cared, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah, maybe, even though it's a man who tried to take the ship over." He said it with a smile, but his comment only hit a stone wall.

"He's come a long way from when we first met him," she remarked staidly. "He's done a lot for us."

He nodded, cringing inside.

"He's helped me a lot in particular."

"I know."

"He saved my life."

He nodded again, but he was beginning to wonder if she was still talking about Varro. Probably not.

Just then she stood, crossing her arms and frowning at him. He bristled by instinct. "Colonel, will all due respect, what is wrong with you?"

Okay, he deserved that.

"I am trying to take care of a very sick man," she continued. "He's weak and in a lot of pain. He needs rest when he can get it. He doesn't have much longer..." Her voice cut off, and her face twisted up as tears sprang suddenly to her eyes. It occurred to him how tenuously she was holding herself together. He watched her cover her mouth and try to breathe, and he was preparing to cross the room and reach for her when she choked out, "And you are not making it easier."

He hung his head, feeling very small. "I know, T.J., and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I wish I could undo it."

She appeared to make an effort to settle herself, folding her arms again. "Do you mind explaining what that was all about last night?"

He minded very much, thanks, and he wasn't sure he understood it enough himself to try to articulate it to her. T.J. and Rush getting cozy was a prospect that had never before crossed his mind, and even now, even then, he knew it wasn't really true, but the sight had so nettled him that he'd wanted to chase Rush down in the hallway and chew him out for monopolizing T.J.'s attention and equipment and causing everyone so much trouble. The still-sane part of his mind knew that was totally irrational and impelled him to find a necessary distraction. Truth was, he didn't hate Rush. Not really. It was just easier to pretend that he did to avoid dealing with all the little emotions that caring dragged in with it. He was tired of being helpless, tired of having to deal with problems that had no solution, tired of waiting for something terrible to happen that he couldn't stop. He was sick of how hard everything had become. He was sick of the man he'd turned into, sick of the anger, sick of the fear, sick of the guilt, sick of fighting. Sick of facing himself. He just wanted things back the way they were. That's how he'd wound up in the distillery. Alcohol had served him well in the past; it did a remarkable job of silencing that little voice telling him he should just go back to bed, forget what he saw, and not start stupid fights even though that would be a problem he could actually manage at a time when he really needed to be able to manage something. He never remembered until too late just how ugly the aftermath was. And he was dealing with it now.

He ruffled his curls and sighed. "I don't know. Okay? I just didn't like seeing you and him together like that."

"We are not 'together'," she snapped.

"I know. I didn't mean it like that. There's just a whole lot going on right now. I really can't explain it."

She kept her frown. "So you don't really have an excuse, then?"

He watched her. She held her ground. Finally, he sighed. "No. I guess I don't. I was completely out of line."

"I mean, you don't actually think that, do you?" she pressed. "Because you know that's absolutely ridiculous."

She really knew how to drive a nail. He nodded, saying, "I know."

She continued to stare at him. Those blue eyes in that pretty face could sometimes look so menacing.

"I'll behave," he promised, smiling weakly and hoping to reach her through the icy shell she'd put up.

She just nodded. "Please don't make this harder for me, Colonel. Or for him. I don't care how you feel about him. You have no idea what he's really going through."

That was probably extremely true. He nodded, solemn once again. He was so tired. He needed a shower, and a nap, and a meal. "You're right. You're right. I'll try harder."

"It's not like you'll have to play nice for much longer anyway," she added as if he hadn't spoken, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

He cursed inwardly. How was she doing this? She was normally the strong one, the solid one, and here she was on the edge of a razor, looking like a light breeze would send her plummeting to the ground where she would simply…shatter. He wished he could spare her all of this.

"How…how long do you think it'll be?" he cautiously asked.

She averted her eyes, staring at something on the far wall. Or perhaps not even seeing it. Those pretty blue eyes filled up with tears again. "Not long," she whispered. "I'm expecting either today or tomorrow."

It felt like a foot in his gut. So soon. He hadn't realized. "T.J…"

"I can't save him. The next best thing I can do is make this easy for him. That's all I want."

"I understand." He dared to step closer to her, and when she didn't send him away, he tenderly took her into his arms. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with this. If there's anything I can do, I want to do it. Trust me. How can I help?"

Her hands locked together between his shoulder blades, and she pulled him in tighter. She was trembling. He thought she might shake herself to pieces. "Just don't let go for awhile."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of her hair. It had probably been some days since she'd had a shower, but he didn't mind. He just liked the scent of her. He didn't say anything. He just held on, afraid that if he let go she would fall apart for good.