Day 2
Medic slept that night in what looked -and felt- to be a soviet children's cot. It was hard, made funny noises when you turned and had grotesque pictures of the Russian version of Mickey Mouse "Morso" printed on it. Heavy meanwhile slept strapped to the wall. The way cosmonauts sleep he told Medic. But it was Medic who had to strap Heavy in the bed. He didn't mind at first and in fact like how he knew he could have a chance to be alone if he wanted. However, he also had to un-strap Heavy whenever he had to use the facilities or wanted a glass of water. Or space-water-cubes in this instance.
Medic spent the day sitting near the window, listening to the hours of useless space facts Heavy had to offer. There was nothing to see outside, besides the empty void of cold space. And a chunk of floating rock orbiting their tiny, insignificant planet. No stars, no northern lights, no colour. Just bland, grey, lifeless grey of the ship, surrounded by total black.
Packaged macaroni with cheese and peach cobbler were on the menu that night. Yet the pasta resembled more like pencil shavings plopped around a rotted yellow cinder block. Any other day Medic would forgo food and settle for vitamin pills. But since Heavy 'forgot' the 'pills' and he was starving, he took a sample. It didn't taste like either pencil shavings or a rotted cinder block, but rather bitter, cold pieces of glue covered in briny chewed up gum with shaved beetles mixed in. The cobbler was no different, only in a mushy, orange form.
Heavy appeared to be having the time of his life, eating it slowly and daintily like it was some sort of rare delicacy.
"Enjoying yourself Heavy?
Heavy swallowed, "This is the highlight of my day! Other then dismantling Sasha, jogging and reading."
"Funny. How you do exactly the same activities here that you do on Earth."
"Oh no! Totally different experience. Cabin three has zero gravity." Heavy's eyebrows wagged suggestively.
Medic shifted his thighs away without trying to be discreet. Heavy put down his soup spoon.
"Perhaps you could tell us a story. From your adventures. Like when you went fishing with that man with an iron lung!"
"Well." Medic chuckled, "That was very funny."
Yet, the Medic's friendly chuckles faded as he remembered a better time. A time back on Earth, on the crystal-blue lake with a rusted bonesaw and an unsuspecting Welshman.
Heavy noticed Medic's sadness.
"I know you are not adjusting as well as I wanted, but it's not forever."
"I know Heavy."
Silence fell again between them. It was going to be a while.
Important Note- No, I do not envision Heavy to be a naive, man-child. He has much more dignity, intelligence and pride with a cold confidence. It's just in this story, he's a dumbo.