"Oh," Alder said when she spun around in the pilot's seat to face Dalton.
"Oh what?" he replied.
"Finally get to see what you look like out of your armor."
"Ah, yeah."
Dalton looked down at himself. He thought he looked like crap, honestly. He'd gotten out of his suit and then he'd made a beeline for the bridge, wanting to get this out of the way. Because even after all the shit that had happened to them so far, there was still so much to do.
"Hmm, you've got one of those 'we need to talk' looks on your face," Alder said.
"Yeah…"
"Well let's have it. Not much for suspense."
"All right. While I am very appreciative of your flirtations, and while I don't necessarily want them to stop, I need to say here and now that I am spoken for and the flirtations will not go anywhere."
"...huh. Who?" she asked.
"Frost."
Her eyes widened considerably. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. You hadn't picked up on that?"
"No. No, I had not. And thanks for telling me now, because-wait, you said you don't want the flirting to stop. What does that mean?"
"It means Frost and I spoke about it, and she told me flatly she doesn't mind if you keep hitting on me. Or if I hit on you," Dalton replied.
"Huh." A moment of silence passed, broken only by the soft beeping and gentle chimes of the instrumentation panels behind her. "Well, I do like to live dangerously. And you're positive this isn't bait of some kind?"
"I wouldn't do that, Alder. And neither would Frost. I know a lot of Ghosts can be...sinister, but she's more no-bullshit than anything else."
"You might as well call me Autumn. And I guess I'll trust you, since I already apparently do enough to follow you into the void. And...to be honest, I really like the flirting. Well, with you. I mean, I'm kinda flirtatious in general, but it feels real good with you. I wonder why that is."
"Uh...couldn't say," Dalton replied, rubbing the back of his neck. God, was he fucking blushing? Well, she was extremely attractive. So was Frost, but...Autumn was hot in a very different way that called to a very different part of him.
She chuckled. "You're cute like this. Okay, go on, run along and let me do my flying."
"Okay. Also, um...you think you could search the cockpit over? Find any useful supplies that might be tucked away, hidden compartments, stuff like that? We're gonna have to do some trading once we get to Blizzard Station."
"I can do it. I'll set everything I find there," she said, pointing to an empty crate someone had left in the cockpit.
"I really appreciate it."
"Hey," she said when he tried to leave, "you sure Frost won't rip my throat out to mark her territory?"
"I'm sure, Autumn," he replied.
She smiled a smile that he couldn't quite interpret and nodded and turned back to her console. Dalton lingered just a few seconds more, wondering if he should say something else, then decided that he'd probably just end up saying something stupid and stepped out of the cockpit. For a moment, he looked around, unsure of what to do. Then his eyes fell on the nearest door, and he knew what he should be doing.
He moved over to it and opened it up, finding the messhall waiting for him. He stared at the sad, stained, rundown room for a long moment before deciding it was time to maybe cut himself a little slack. Instead, he went to the next door down, which opened into the captain's quarters. He'd been wrestling with whether or not he was going to claim it for himself and Ari, and as he stepped back inside, settled the matter.
He was definitely taking this room.
Although it wasn't like it was all that much better. The room was a bit bigger, had a bit more furniture, and a queen size instead of a single wide. As he looked at the bed with its dark blankets and pillows, he felt a strong, strong pull of lethargy. He could sleep for a year right now. But no, not yet. As he took a step deeper into the room, something on the bed moved. He grasped for his sidearm, expecting the worst, but then relaxed as he realized he was looking at an all black cat. It had been blending in with the bedding. He laughed. He could just barely make out anything but its eyes.
"A void," he muttered, staring at the cat. The cat sat up, staring at him intently. He took a step closer to it and it tensed up and let out a low growl. "All right, all right. Look cat, we've gotta live with each other now, whether we like it or not. You don't take any shit and I respect that, but I don't either."
The cat continued staring at him, sitting up properly now, its tail twitching faintly against the blanket, heard more than seen.
Dalton sighed. "I need a peace offering, stay here," he said, and went back to the messhall. A moment later, he returned with a can of tuna. The cat immediately perked up. "Yeah, I thought that'd be a good peace offering," he muttered as he set the tuna can on the desk.
The cat immediately hopped off the bed, ran over, and leaped lightly off the floor onto the desk. He began eating the tuna immediately. Dalton cautiously probed around his neck, finding a collar. No tag dangled off it, but the word JONESY had been printed across the collar itself.
"Jonesy," he muttered. The cat paused in eating and looked up at him, though only for about a second before going right back to eating. Dalton chuckled and spied his water bowl, which was empty. "Boy, cat, you fucking lucked out with us, because I take very good care of animals," he muttered as he picked up the water bowl.
Stepping into the bathroom, he immediately was assaulted by the reek of shit and cat piss. He found a badly overloaded catbox and sighed heavily. Hunting down the scooper, he took a few minutes to scoop all the lumps and deposit them into the toilet. He flushed it, replaced the scooper, and then spent five minutes hunting for more litter. He found none and sighed. Walking over, he pet the cat a few times. Jonesy tensed at first, but then relaxed when it no doubt became obvious that Dalton wasn't going to try and make him stop eating.
"Don't worry, bud, we'll get more catfood and litter at Blizzard Station," he said. "You're gonna be okay." He frowned and then looked around the room once. "Hopefully."
So much was still uncertain about the future.
With a sigh, he got to work searching the room for useful supplies.
Three hours later, Dalton had finished performing an extremely thorough search of the captain's quarters, the messhall and kitchen, and the work area across the hall from the mess. He'd originally intended to search the other living quarters, but then he thought to the woman who was currently lying unconscious and possibly dying in the infirmary. He fully intended to save her life, and maybe she might want to stick around, or at the very least get her stuff, and it wouldn't be nice to wake up and find a bunch of strangers on your ship who just tore through your most personal possessions.
As he stepped out of the work room, finding himself deeply frustrated at the shocking lack of tools and parts this ship had come equipped with, he spotted Frost stepping out of the armory.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You look...concerned."
"Just frustrated with my lack of findings. Also, we have a cat now. Also, I need a break. You want to come see the room I staked out and fuck in the shower, then take a nap?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards the captain's quarters.
"...yes. And, a cat?" she asked.
"Yep. Jonesy is his name. I need to go let Dix know what's up, why don't you get started with the shower?" he asked.
"Does the captain's quarters have an actual bathroom? None of the others did," she said. "And I'm...less than thrilled at the idea of doing it publicly."
"It has its own private bathroom and shower, yes," he replied.
"Thank God," she muttered. "Before we go any further, I found a stash of drugs and booze in a secret compartment in the engine room. Otherwise, I found a handful of tools and parts and a few bullets scattered around, nothing significant."
"Excellent job. I'll look over it after our nap," Dalton replied.
She nodded. "All right, I'll get it ready. Don't take too long."
Ari gave him a little smile. He grinned back, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then hurried back down to the cargo bay. He found the first one empty and heard noises coming from the second. There, he found everyone but Forrester, Frost, and Autumn sorting through the contents of a dozen or so crates of varying sizes.
"Dix!" he called.
Everyone looked over, then went back to work, except for Dixon, who began striding over. God, even out of his power armor he was a big dude. Not just because of his height, (Dalton always found himself assuming Dixon was at least six six, maybe even six eight, but he knew he was six foot four), but because of his build. He worked out a lot, and it showed.
"What's up?" Dix asked.
"I cleared out the captain's quarters, mess and kitchen, and workshop. Frost cleared out the engine room, found a nice little stash of drugs and booze. Nothing else really significant so far. You?"
"Some useful stuff. Building materials, some clothes, some parts and tools, a few crates of minerals and a pair of canisters of Vespene, although I guess we'll have to use that to power the ship. We're still sorting, but...crates are running dry. I don't think we're gonna have any kind of major find," Dix replied.
"Fucking great. All right, uh, I need a nap and I'm staking claim on captain's quarters. So me and Frost are going to go sleep."
"Sleep, huh?"
"Yes. We're gonna nap for six hours because I'm really starting to feel it. Wake me if anything happens."
"Will do."
"Oh wait, one more thing," Dalton said, turning back. "We have a cat now."
"A cat?"
"Yeah, in the captain's quarters. I'm gonna keep him there for the time being, but I like him, so I'm keeping him. And you pass the word around: anyone hurts that cat, anyone's fucking mean to that cat, their ass is grass and I'm the motherfucking flamethrower."
Dixon nodded, his expression grim. "I'll put the fear of God in them about it."
"Thank you."
"Can I see it?"
"Yes. Although, um...later? I'd let you in but I told Frost to get the shower started…"
"Yeah, yeah, all right. Go have fun."
Dalton chuckled, then flicked a glance at Roscoe. He saw she'd paused in her sorting to look at them. Well, look at Dix.
"You gonna have some fun? Roscoe is giving you the eye," he said.
"Eh...I dunno," Dix replied, and it was one of the rare moments that his mask slipped and real vulnerability showed through. "I haven't since...you know. Dunno if I'm ready, even now." He started to say something, then sighed heavily, looking away. "You probably think I'm a fucking pussy with this shit."
"Hey, no," Dalton replied immediately, grasping one bulky shoulder, "no, fuck that, Dix. Fuck that right now. You are not a pussy, or a coward, or any of that shit. You are a good man and the hardest motherfucker I've ever met. We gotta squash that bullshit the moment it starts bubbling up, because the universe already wants us dead, and we aren't giving it any fucking help. And, honestly…" he sighed softly and flicked his gaze back to Roscoe for just a second. She had gone back to working. "I dunno, if you want my advice…"
"I always want your goddamn advice you stupid smart motherfucker," Dix grunted.
Dalton chuckled, his hand falling back to his side as Dixon finally met his eyes again. "Even if you aren't trying to get laid...you should let someone else in, man. I know you said I asked you to put your suicide shit on hold, but...I'll be honest, I'm asking you to abandon it. And I know," he said, raising his voice a little as Dixon began to respond, to argue, "I know. I'm not asking for a miracle, man. But...I want you to live. I want you to be happy. You think you can't anymore, and I really fucking understand that, man. But I think you gotta at least try. I mean, now at the very least, right? Not one but two alien races are invading, and we're actual, literal fugitives from the Confederacy, and we're going to build our own colony. I get that you've got some forever damage, and I respect that, and empathize with it, but isn't this at least fairly exciting?"
Dixon stared at him for a long moment, his expression flat, almost vacant. It shifted slowly, subtly, becoming more thoughtful. Finally, he slowly turned his great head towards the group of other survivors. Finally, he heaved a sigh and turned back to Dalton.
"I'll think about it."
"That's very fair."
"Yeah, yeah, go get your fuck on and get out of my hair," Dix grunted.
Dalton chuckled and nodded, then headed out of the cargo bay. He had noticed, even among the handful of men he'd found who were all right with talking plainly about their emotions, there was only so much they could take before it started feeling too weird. Himself included. He paused as he saw Forrester step out of the infirmary.
"Need you," she said.
"What's going on?" Dalton replied, following her into the infirmary.
"I am," a new voice said weakly.
The female crew member who had been torn up by the zerg was awake, though barely. She locked eyes with Dalton as soon as he stepped in.
"You the guy in charge?" she asked, then coughed, then groaned.
"Yep. Erik Dalton. Former Sergeant in the Confederacy Marine Corps, at your service."
"Former? What happened?" she asked. "What happened to my ship? There were these things…"
"So, I don't know what happened to your ship, except that it was empty of people outside of this room. Your crew is almost certainly dead, because the station that you were hooked to blew up...sorry. Also, those things were aliens. We're being invaded by aliens."
"...man, you really know how to put someone at ease, huh?" she muttered, then coughed. "Fuck. Okay, so what's going on right now?"
"We are currently on our way to Blizzard Station. After that, we're starting a freeport on a snowy world, because the Confederacy...is falling apart, and I hate it, and so does everyone else on this ship, except for him probably," he muttered, looking at the still unconscious Confederate tech, "but he was here when we got here, so no idea how he feels."
"No idea who he is either...what are your chances of actually establishing a freeport?"
"Not great," Dalton admitted. "But I like all the alternatives a lot less."
She stared at him for a long moment, then at Forrester. Her expression suddenly resolved into something a lot firmer, and in that moment, he saw a real hardass laying in that bed. Suddenly, for a reason he couldn't articulate, he wanted her for his colony.
"My name is Alina," she said. "I'm a drifting cargo hauler. I had just signed on for this job a month ago and I didn't know or really like any of the other crew all that well. But I want in. I've got great endurance, I love manual labor, and I'm a great shot."
"So you're pitching yourself to me?" he asked. She nodded. "Okay, you're hired."
"Just like that?" she asked.
"Yep, just like that. Welcome to the team, Alina. Don't try to fuck us over, be chill and don't cause problems, pull your weight, and we'll get along just fine."
"That works for me," she said.
"Will you let me give you that morphine now? You need to be unconscious," Forrester said.
"Yeah, yeah, give it to me," she muttered, closing her eyes. They snapped back open suddenly. "Yo, Dalton, is Jonesy okay?"
"Jonesy is fine. He's secured in the captain's quarters. I fed him tuna, replaced his water, and cleaned out his catbox," Dalton replied.
She relaxed and closed her eyes again. "All I needed to hear," she murmured as she began drifting away to a no doubt extremely welcome sleep.
Forrester set aside the syringe she'd used and looked at Dalton. "She's tough, I'll give her that, but she needs help. I can keep her stable for maybe a day at the outset."
"We'll be to Blizzard Station before then, and we'll get it then. Now, what about him?" he asked, looking to the Confederate tech.
"He's stable, but that wound...is really weird. If I didn't know any better, I thought it might be made by a...leech? Or something similar. Like a big bug bite. It's just that it's bizarre looking, the shape, but also the nature of the wound. I ran whatever scans on him I could think of, but there was nothing out of the ordinary."
"Hmm. Any thoughts?"
"Not really, no." She paused. "Well…"
"Let me hear it, I don't care if it's outlandish," Dalton said.
"I guess, the only thought I really had was that maybe somehow it was the aliens? But so far, all the encounters we've had with them has resulted in attacks. In killing blows, designed to do maximum damage. What if they have other abilities? What if they infected him with something somehow?"
Dalton stared at her for a long moment, then looked over at the unconscious tech. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "Keep an eye on him for now. We can't go making huge assumptions based on such little evidence, not when someone's life is on the line."
"That's fair, and that was my inclination," Forrester replied. She chuckled grimly. "I guess if a bunch of aliens show up at Blizzard Station and try to kill us, we'll know I was right."
"Yep. Anything else?" he asked, eager to be gone.
"Baker's still good and we need more medicine. Also, can I assume that I'm going to be in charge of the medical portion of things for now?"
"Yes, that is a correct assumption. Probably keep that going for awhile, if we can," he replied.
"Great," she muttered.
"You shouldn't be so good at your job," he said.
She sighed. "Yeah, real good at it. Fine. Not like we got a lotta choice. No, there's nothing else."
"Okay. I'm sleeping in the captain's quarters soon, so if you need anything, that's where you can find me."
"Noted."
Dalton headed out, more eager than ever to get to Frost. As he slipped inside, he looked around and was just able to make out Jonesy asleep on the bed. The shower was running. He quickly stripped and stepped into the bathroom. He could see the blurred outline of Ari's slim, pale body behind the frosted glass of the shower stall. He pulled the stall open.
"Ohhhh...wow," he muttered.
"What?" Ari asked, looking around. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You are just...I'm marveling at your body. It's a work of art."
Now she looked down at herself. "Truly?"
"Yes, truly," he replied, and then got in and pulled the stall door shut.
"Is that why you love me?" she asked after a brief pause. Dalton opened his mouth, looking at her, but nothing came out. She frowned. "I just said something offense, didn't I?"
He chuckled. "Um...yes."
"I would like to understand why it was offensive."
It occurred to Dalton that he was already starting to get used to this. "The short of it is, the type of relationship you just described is a more transactional relationship. And typically speaking, a transactional relationship is one that is absent of love. It's transactional because there's no love."
"All relationships are transactional," she replied uncertainly.
"...technically. So, um, shit." He yawned and grabbed a bar of soap, then began lathering it up. "I don't have a lot of time because I'm exhausted and I still want to have sex if you do."
"I do. But I would like at least a basic explanation."
"I'll do the best I can. I think something that will help you going forward is this particular fact of life: love is not logical. It isn't an equation you can formulate and work out on paper. It isn't always going to make sense. But basically...what's something you like about me? Just something simple. Something physical."
"Something physical...your physique," she replied uncertainly, like he was asking her a trick question.
"Would you still love me if I lost it? If I became sick with something? I mean, I won't look like this forever."
"I would still love you even without it, yes. I believe...but by that logic, wouldn't it then become a question of finding some kind of 'tipping point', where you strip away your positive qualities one by one, determining where the demarcation line between love and lost love lays?"
"It can be, but only if you let it." He paused, then groaned. "It's complicated because there's so many little addendum and asterisks added on. Contingencies. Relationships are, in some ways, pretty malleable. We need to adjust on the fly sometimes. Other times, we need to set a standard and stick to it."
"Can you give examples?" she asked.
"So something that's a standard that's not really going to change is, for example, hitting each other. Which some people do and think is acceptable, from their end at least, because they never really learned how to properly express or regulate their emotions. Something adjustable, however, is arguing. We have to figure out how to argue with each other without hurting each other. I guess, a better way to put it is: we have to learn how to settle disputes without it becoming an argument."
"I think I have a better grasp of what you mean...and yes, it does seem like this is a vast and complex topic."
"It is, and that can be intimidating. Relationships are...a mix of things. Some of it you just kind of go with the flow, some of it you make up as you go along, some of it is a choice, some of it you do without realizing it, some of it you won't like, some of it you will love, some of it you will tolerate. All of this stuff together is kind of like...a real-time equation, constantly being reevaluated and refined to both better suit itself to a given situation, but also to adapt to real-time changes."
"Okay see that makes sense," she said, perking up a little. "That spoke to me in a more direct way."
"Good! And that's what we have to do, keep trying, keep figuring each other out, learning how to adjust ourselves to match the other person better, without losing who we are in the process. It's a complicated process. But if you are with a person that you truly trust and love, then it's a lot less scary...what? You're giving me a look."
"Sorry," she murmured. She stood with one hand on her chin, frowning a little, staring intensely at him. She ran her hands through her wet, red hair and then switched places with him so that he could have the shower. "I'm just realizing how...fortuitous it is that I met you when I did. I'm also realizing...I had basically no idea what I was going to do out here."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I had no idea what I was going to do besides 'work for the Sons'. That was it. I didn't really know what I wanted, only what I didn't want. And I suppose I'm beginning to see the vast shape of just how insane that was and how poorly it probably would have gone if we'd never met. I feel indebted to you."
"I understand that feeling. That's a whole other can of worms. Suffice to say, I do not intend to call in that debt, because I view it as not doing you a favor in exchange for a future reward, but...a nice thing. I was doing a nice thing...and fell in love in the process."
"That's very nice," she murmured.
"It is, and I have a lot of patience, but I'm getting very tired and this shower isn't helping. You still interested in taking my dick?" he asked.
She snorted and began blushing, then cleared her throat. "Yes, I am interested in that."
"Good for me," he said, and kissed her.
"Good for us," she replied, and kissed him back.