SPACE: 1999 YEAR 2

JOURNEY BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

SECTION FOURTEEN: We Who Remain

While John sat nearby, giving Tony the space to unleash his bottled-up emotions, neither of them noticed the faint movement further down the corridor.

Alan and Sandra had been walking that way, their conversation light and easy, their mutual quiet attempt to shake off the weight of another long day on Moonbase Alpha.

But the sight ahead brought them both to an abrupt halt.

Alpha's most senior officers, Commander John Koenig and Security Chief Tony Verdeschi, were sitting on the corridor floor.

Unmoving. Silent.

Koenig's posture was tight, watchful. Tony looked hollowed out, displaying the kind of emptiness carved by too much held in for too long.

Sandra's dark eyes widened, a pause faltering her steps. She turned to Alan, her expression already shadowing something near dread.

A ripple of unease passed between them. Something in the stillness ahead settled like ice along Sandra's spine. The kind of stillness that signaled that something was broken. Broken and a long way from being fixed.

Koenig's posture was tight, watchful. Tony looked hollowed out, displaying the kind of emptiness carved by too much held in for too long.

Sandra opened her mouth to speak, but Alan's head gave the smallest shake.

"Not now," he murmured, voice low, eyes locked ahead.

He reached for her hand without looking. Her fingers slipped into his with quiet trust, the tremble in her grip echoing his own unsettled breath. He gave a reassuring squeeze, though he wasn't sure if the gesture was more for her or for himself. They exchanged a knowing look, the kind that only came from many shared experiences, both good and bad.

Without a word, they turned and retreated the way they had come. Whatever had unfolded, was unfolding in that corridor wasn't something they could approach. This moment was not theirs to intrude upon.

They walked in silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Alan finally stopped after they had turned into another corridor. Sandra halted beside him, her slim shoulders rising and falling as she exhaled deeply.

Alan glanced at her; his blue eyes soft but searching. He wanted to offer her something. Something that would chase away the heaviness of what they had just witnessed. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he offered the simplest comfort he could think of.

"My place. Cup of coffee?" His voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of need, a quiet plea for connection. It wasn't just about the coffee. It was about finding a moment of normalcy, of refuge, in a universe that rarely offered either.

Sandra hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yes." Her voice was soft, almost a sigh, but it carried a note of gratitude.

Alan slipped an arm around her shoulders, a casual gesture that spoke of their longstanding friendship. The contact was comforting, grounding as they walked the rest of the way to his quarters in complete silence.

Inside, Alan motioned for Sandra to sit, and she sank into his couch with a quiet grace, her hands clasped lightly in her lap. Moments later, he returned, offering her a mug before settling down onto the couch beside her. The space between them was small but deliberate, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken understanding they shared.

Sandra wrapped her hands around the mug, savoring the warmth against her palms. She stared into the dark liquid for a moment before speaking, her voice soft and thoughtful. "Do you think… it ever gets easier? Any of it?"

Alan leaned back into the couch; the mug cradled in his hands as he considered her question.

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was low, tinged with the weariness of a man who had seen too much.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think it's not about it getting easier. It's about finding ways to keep going, even when it doesn't."

She nodded slowly; her gaze distant. "And when you feel like you cannot keep going?"

He turned to her then, his expression serious but kind.

"That's when you lean on the people who've got your back." He paused, a faint, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Even if all they've got to offer is a lousy cup of coffee and some company."

A small, genuine smile broke through Sandra's solemnity. She reached out, fingers brushing his forearm briefly. "It is not lousy," she said softly, the expression on her face saying that it really was, compared to real coffee, but that it would do, for now.

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was a comfortable one. In the quiet of the room, the universe outside seemed a little less daunting, if only for a moment.

"That looked intense," Alan finally murmured, the understatement heavy with everything he didn't say.

Sandra nodded. "Very." Her voice was barely above a whisper, the single word conveying unspoken things.

Alan took a sip from his mug, the warmth seeping into his hands as he stared at the dark liquid. The artificial coffee flavor barely registered, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

"You'd think we've all been through enough by now," he finally murmured quietly, his tone laced with a reluctant resignation.

Sandra forced a smile, faint and fleeting, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "

It will all get better, Alan," she said, her voice filled with a conviction so brittle it could shatter under its own weight. "It has to."

She patted his leg gently, a small, almost hesitant gesture meant to reassure, though Alan could see the uncertainty in her dark eyes.

"You will see," she continued, her tone brighter, too bright, as if sheer willpower alone could reshape the chaos of their lives. "In a few weeks, Maya will be better. The Commander and Tony will not be so worried. Alpha will be safe. We will be happy. You will see."

Alan didn't respond immediately. He watched as Sandra wrapped both hands tightly around her mug, holding it as though it were an anchor tethering her to the moment. She sipped slowly, her gaze drifting, lost somewhere out in the endless void beyond Moonbase Alpha's fragile walls.

Her heart, he realized, was very far from this room, very far from the present.

He chose silence, sensing that anything he might say would shatter the fragile composure she clung to. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears, the faint shimmer betraying her struggle. He knew if he spoke now, she would lose the frail hold that she had fought so hard to regain these past few weeks and her tears would fall. Hell, they might fall anyhow.

Alan swallowed hard, the sight stirring something deep within him. He knew her well enough to recognize the battle she was still fighting. A battle to hold on, to keep going. A battle to find hope in a universe where hope seemed nonexistent.

He also knew what weighed most heavily on her.

Paul.

The sting of his own emotions caught him off guard. Paul's absence wasn't just a person no longer here, among them. It was so much more than that. It was everything that had been Main Mission. It was everyone who had been on Eagle 5, lost on the other side. It was the very thing that had propelled them out here, this far into space to begin with. It was wounds that hadn't fully healed. It was healing that they often lacked proper time to do. Losses they all felt, borne in different ways. But for Sandra, it was something so much deeper. It was a dark void she carried with her every day, in her heart.

The silence stretched between them, filled with the quiet hum of Moonbase Alpha and the unspoken truths they both understood but didn't voice.

Alan shifted slightly, his hand brushing hers where it rested on her lap. "We'll get through this," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet determination.

Sandra looked at him and, for a moment, her smile softened into something real. Fleeting, but it was enough.

They didn't need more words. Sometimes, the silence said everything. Silence over a cup of coffee.

And, in that shared stillness, the vastness of the universe felt just a little less overwhelming.