For the first ten years of his life, Hudson had a relatively normal childhood for a kid growing up in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Fort Worth. From a young age, he knew that his family was struggling financially, that his father was an asshole and his mother was gentle and loved her children, but was not without her flaws. He was aware that both of his parents battled addictions, had seen them using, and knew not to touch the syringes or anything else they occasionally left on the living room table.
Still, Hudson's memories of childhood were not all bad. He remembered his mother's patience, how she wouldn't get mad at him when he would ask a hundred questions, or would habitually take apart anything that had a circuit board, just to see how it worked. Even at the time, Hudson knew that his high energy and curiosity made him an especially hard kid to handle, but his mother seemed proud of him, and he remembered how she would sometimes bring home second-hand tools and bits of obsolete electronics for him and he would sit for hours dismantling parts and combining the working pieces.
After his mother died, things got significantly harder. It was around that time, living under his father's roof, that his stomach aches began.
Hudson had one now as they shuffled into the locker room of the deserted Sulaco. He assumed it was because of all the things he was feeling in that moment: the sadness, stress and fear, the heaviness of the day manifesting into the same internal discomfort and nausea he used to get as a kid.
He eyed up the stacked bins filled with their fallen comrades' belongings. Lockers had never been formally assigned, so their job was to identify which items belonged to which of their lost friends.
But everything was now a mess. Items had been pulled from lockers, chucked into bins and sterilized by quarantine workers—maybe steamed or doused with chemicals—clothing still damp to the touch, photographs and posters rippled from moisture. And while it was apparent that some effort had been made to keep everyone's belongings separate, it made Hudson angry that everything had been treated with such little respect, jumbled up in each bin, every item retaining the scent of an indoor swimming pool.
Larger bins also sat stacked around the room, holding the contents from the ship's sleeping quarters, and he guessed that those items were also reeking of over-sterilization. At least those bins had been labeled with a room number.
"Goddammit."
He turned to see Vasquez sifting through a collection of things she knew to be hers, pulling out a pair of damp cargo pants and checking the pockets with apprehension.
He knew what she was looking for, but not what it was; he had seen her place the folded note in the pocket for safekeeping before they had gone into cryo. She slumped on her crutches as she pulled out a soggy white square of paper that was blurred with ink and stared at it. Although her expression changed very little, there was a subtle movement of her brows, a tension in her jaw, which Hudson could only interpret as some combination of sadness and anger.
Hudson glanced down at one of the messy bins and a snort of frustration left his nostrils as he noticed a pair of Corporal Ferro's aviator sunglasses. "Like, are you fuckin' kidding me?!" he said in disbelief as he held up the glasses so the others could see that they had been bent from rough treatment. The former dropship pilot's trademark accessory, mangled due to Company negligence.
Hicks looked at the glasses and sighed. "Okay guys," he said, standing up a bit straighter. "Obviously this is a shit situation, but we got a job to do and not a lot of time to do it. These boxes are going home to our friends' families, so let's sort through and pack 'em up nice. Anything that we don't want the grieving folks back home to see"—and he demonstrated by taking the deformed sunglasses and placing them in an empty bin—"goes in here."
It seemed to be an unspoken understanding among the three of them that they would treat the task as something of a final mission because when the Company staff left them in the locker room, they worked away in silence.
As Hudson dutifully began sorting, nothing felt easy. Even as he pulled out his teammates' pin-up posters to put into the 'no-go' box, the images of boobs and butts didn't seem to have the same cheerful effect on him that they usually would.
Hudson's stomach churned in protest as he systematically repacked a bin of items and labeled it with the name, 'Ricco Frost'. Frost had been his first friend on the job, having spent a couple of their earlier missions roomed together. Frost was someone he could joke around with, but also talk about the things that were more serious. Two years earlier, when Hudson's fiancé, Louise, died suddenly of a heart condition, Frost was one of the few people he told.
Now, Hudson picked up a small stack of damp photos of Frost and his longtime girlfriend, Heather. He quickly flipped past the one of just Heather, knowing better than to gawk at his friend's girl in lingerie, but he paused at a photo the couple had taken of themselves, both mid-laugh like they had intended to take a serious one, but couldn't quite hold it together. They looked truly happy and the injustice of the current reality was staggering.
"He said he had a bad feeling," Hudson voiced aloud and Hicks and Vasquez looked up at him. "That morning on the dropship, Frost… he said he had a bad feeling about the drop."
"He always said that," replied Vasquez.
"I know… but still…"
Hicks just gave an acknowledging nod and mouthed an inaudible, 'yep,' before returning to his work. Hudson knew it was brutally painful for all of them.
Across from him, Vasquez sat on the floor, sorting through the bin of Drake's belongings. He could see Drake's chicken bone necklace sticking out from the mix. While her face appeared stoic, he knew how much she was struggling inside.
Briefly, he imagined what it might feel like if he had to go through Vasquez's belongings; how it would feel if he had lost her too. He knew how close they had come to that being a reality. And they still weren't out of the woods yet. He worried about her surgery, what was about to happen to her and the more he thought about it, the more his nausea intensified.
Hudson moved onto the next bin. Dietrich's personal effects.
He took extra care folding each garment of hers, one at a time returning them back to the box. There was nothing belonging to the former field medic that needed to be censored. No centerfold of an oiled-up construction worker in nothing but steel-toed boots and a hard hat, like the one from Ferro's locker. Just a picture of her old dog, a collie named Riley with a blue bandana around its neck; a photograph of her and her family on their property in Connecticut, her smiling face next to her parents, her brother with his wife and their two small children.
And when he opened up one of her hardcover novels to dry out the damp, wavy pages, something light fluttered out and he picked up the delicate item from off the floor.
A dried flower, pressed. He remembered picking it for her on Gliese 667 Cc, back when they were casually sleeping together. It was at the end of a long day of surveillance work that he had spotted the hedge of turquoise flowers on his way back to the airbase, the color of the thing unlike any plant he had seen on Earth, or any other planet for that matter. So he discretely picked a small bud, slipped it into his pocket, and for the next two days, he kept the short stem in a cup of water in his room. When it bloomed into a delicate ruffle of turquoise, he knocked on Dietrich's door and watched her face light up when he handed it to her.
An image of Dietrich's smile flashed through his mind. But then, just as quickly, came the memory of her with the spider-like facehugger covering her face with its sickly gray appendages.
"Uugh." Instantly, Hudson was sitting down on one of the benches and he leaned forward, his head in his hands, his level of nausea just about reaching its tipping point.
"What is it?" he heard Vasquez ask and he knew she was looking up at him from the floor. He couldn't look back at her. He was still worrying about her surgery and he was afraid that if he looked up and pictured her lying on the operating table, that he would get sick.
"Just everything," he groaned and the back of his hand came to his mouth, even the barest thought of her upcoming procedure sending a reflux of stomach acids backtracking up his esophagus. He shut his eyes, trying to subdue the visceral reaction.
Hicks sighed. "Just breathe, buddy." He sounded tired.
Vasquez seemed less patient. "Come on Hudson, let's get this done," she said and it was the voice she used when she was irritated. He opened his eyes and looked at her, but she avoided his gaze, continuing to fold a pair of Drake's track pants until she eventually looked up with an impatient shrug. "What?"
Hudson shook his head to say, 'nothing'. He turned away and he knew he had been put in his place. Leaning into the bench, he still felt like he might be sick, but was now feeling more embarrassed than anything else.
He had gotten the message. Everyone was hurting. Everyone was feeling like shit. They were sucking it up and he wasn't.
Avoiding eye contact with both of his fellow marines, Hudson grimaced and stood. He regained his focus on what he had been doing, placing two of Dietrich's items into the box he was packing.
Then he promptly turned and vomited into one of the empty lockers.
No one said a word as Hudson finished retching, swore as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then shut the locker door and locked it.
Hicks shook his head, unable to hold back his laughter.
"Jesus Christ, Hudson."
.
By the time they had placed a lid on the final bin, it was already noon and the realization sent an uncomfortable jolt through Hudson's already sensitive stomach. Hicks, Ripley and Newt were meant to leave on a shuttle for Earth in less than an hour.
"Fuck, man, you ain't got much time," he said to Hicks.
"I know, I should really get back."
"No need, we came to you!" called Ripley's voice as she walked into the locker room with Newt, the two of them accompanied by a security officer. Ripley turned to the officer and gave him a side glance. "Thanks for the assistance," she said as the officer stepped away and Hudson could pick up on her sarcasm. "It's like they think we're going to hijack the ship or something," she said to the rest of them.
Hicks moved in with a grin, took Ripley's chin in his hand and kissed her softly on the lips. "Well, maybe we should," he offered and she smiled as he gazed back at her.
Vasquez exchanged a look with Hudson from the floor; a subtle gesture in response to their friends' display of affection. Hudson reached down and helped her to her feet.
Ripley parted from Hicks. "You guys get all the lockers sorted out?"
"For the most part," Hicks gave a laugh. "Don't open locker number 12."
Hudson made a face, feeling sheepish.
Vasquez was still hanging onto Hudson for balance as he helped her back onto her crutches. It was one of those strange moments when they were physically close, yet in reality, he felt so far away from her in every other way. It was like their interactions were a constant ebb and flow, the intimate moments of connection drawing him in deeper, making it increasingly harder when she retreated again, cold and distant.
When she seemed steady on her crutches, they let go of one another and she looked at him with her dark eyes and it looked like she was about to say something, when Newt's small voice spoke first.
"Ripley says you're not going with us."
Hudson looked down at Newt's sad face. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Scout," he replied. "Vaz and I have some things we still need to do here. But, I promise you that we'll stay friends and see each other again."
"When?" Newt raised her shoulders as she asked the question and she looked so sad that it nearly broke his heart.
"Um." Hudson thought hard, trying to determine an answer to the girl's question, but the truth was that he had no idea. He was staying there to be with Vasquez, to help her as she recovered from her surgery. He had no real concept of how long it was going to take, whether she would entertain the idea of him staying with her during her entire rehabilitation or whether he would be heading back to Earth sooner than anticipated, dejected and alone. Instinctively, he looked at Vasquez, but she had already turned, as if sensing how the question implicated her.
"Time to go, kiddo," Hicks said to Newt, allowing the question to go unanswered. Hicks picked up the two duffel bags he had filled with his and Ripley's belongings from their rooms and lockers and passed one of them to Ripley. The other, he slung over his shoulder, wincing a bit as he did so. He turned to Hudson and Vasquez. "Well guys, I guess this is where we say our goodbyes."
Hudson's heart was heavy in his chest as he hugged Ripley and then Hicks, giving his friend a couple light thumps on the back.
"Good luck with everything, Vaz," Ripley said as she embraced Vasquez. "You're strong. And you're in good hands," she added with a look at Hudson.
Newt's eyes began to fill with tears as Hudson knelt down in front of her.
"Aw, come on Scout, don't," he said, the sight of her making it impossible for tears not to come to his own eyes. He wiped his face with his hand. "Remember this?" he said to her, and he held out the cast on his arm where she had drawn a series of pictures on the hard plaster, entirely in black marker for lack of other art supplies in their quarantine quarters.
He pointed to the one she had drawn of the five of them under a cloudy sky with a sun added in as an afterthought. At the time, he had suggested she add in the sun to show that the five of them were on Earth together. "See?" he prompted, "that's all of us together. We'll meet you there one day."
Newt nodded but gave a little sob as she went in for a hug and Hudson gave her a squeeze. He stood and held his fist out to her.
She bumped it, wiped her tears and turned to Vasquez, her small fist ready.
"Stay cool, kid," said Vasquez, returning the gesture and Newt gave a determined nod.
"Good luck, guys."
"Adios amigos."
Hicks and Ripley each held a hand of Newt's as they walked away; a perfect vignette of a nuclear family, Newt's innocent face looking back only once before the three of them departed the docked Sulaco.
.
Hudson and Vasquez walked in silence as they headed back to the living quarters of the quarantine unit. They both carried their standard issue duffel bag of belongings, Hudson with the bin of the eclectic mix of items they had self-determined to be their friends' contraband. On top of her own duffel, Vasquez carried a bag of Drake's belongings as well and she was struggling now, the bag repeatedly sliding off her shoulder and knocking against her crutches.
She stopped to reposition the bags and Hudson took hold of one of them, winding the strap around his cast so that the weight of the bag was no longer on her shoulder.
"I can carry it," she said, "it's just awkward walking with these damn things."
"It's fine. I got it," he said and she reluctantly let him sling it over his own shoulder, adding it to the other bag on his back.
In his peripheral vision, Hudson could see Vasquez looking over at him a few times before she spoke.
"I didn't know you were actually feeling sick earlier," she said as she moved on her crutches beside him. "I just thought you were being, you know, over the top."
Hudson shrugged, pretending like he had already brushed it off. "I know."
But Vasquez reached out and held his arm to put a halt to him walking any farther. They both stopped together in the middle of the hallway and the box was heavy in his hands as a couple bottles of cheap whiskey rolled around at the bottom.
"Hudson, I don't know if this is a good idea," she said. "It's not too late for you to take the shuttle with those guys... I…I think that you should."
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you here alone. I thought we talked about this already."
She looked at him and her mind seemed divided, uncertain of what to say.
"Vasquez, I don't think you get it," Hudson stated, "I'm staying here whether you want me to or not." He stared ahead with resolve. "For as long as you're going through this, I'm staying on this goddamn station."