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The dull, scarlet light of the cockpit flickered, the sound of retching echoing off the metal panels. Swansea paused in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. The acrid stench of bile mingled with the sterile tang of burnt wires and coolant stung his nostrils, but he didn't seem to care. He simply watched, waiting for her to finish.
After a moment, Anya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her body hunched over the waste bin. The fit didn't last long, but it was rough, her heart racing, her mind reeling. When it was over, the large, unsteady man finally approached, and Anya tensed, casting him a fearful glance.
"Swansea?" she wheezed, as if expecting someone else.
"You good?" he asked, his tone flat.
"Y-yeah," she choked. "I'm fine. Just a bit too much stress."
"You don't gotta pretend," he muttered, lowering himself into the seat across from her. "Not the brightest guy in space, but I've had enough kids to know prenatal puke when I see it."
Anya's head snapped up, her expression shocked and pale. Her lips parted to deny it, but no sound came out. The silence between them thickened, pressing down like the crushing gravity of the moon they were stranded on.
Then, Swansea leaned back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a half-empty bottle of mouthwash. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, the minty burn doing little to ease the sourness in his gut. He swirled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing and murmuring, "It's Curly's, right?"
Anya's shoulders bucked. She began to cry, a sound so quiet it could've been mistaken for the wind outside, while Swansea flinched. He lowered the bottle, his weathered face softening slightly.
"Aw, hell," he sighed, his voice gravelly but not unkind. "Don't cry. Even a burnt up wreck like him can manage to be a decent dad. You know we got all kinds of medical shit back home, enough to make him... somewhat functional. He can definitely afford the surgeries. It's not the end of the—"
"It's not Curly's," she whispered, cutting him off.
Her voice cracked as she wrapped her arms around herself, desperate for some modicum of comfort—and Swansea froze, the weight of her words sinking into his chest like a stone. As the bottle of mouthwash dangled in his hand, his gaze sharpened. He studied her, taking in the way her body curled inward, how it shuddered, how her cheeks flushed an almost greenish hue, disgusted and sickly.
A dreadful understanding crept over him.
"Jimmy," he growled, the name heavy with venom. He shot to his feet, his fists clenched. "You mean he—?"
Anya's sobs deepened; louder, exacerbated, despite her best effort to contain them.
"That bastard!" he shrieked. "I'll kill him!"
"No!" Anya panicked, blocking his path. "Don't. Please."
"Why the fuck not?!"
She cringed, her fingers curling. "If you fight him, he might... he might get the upper hand. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I... I can't handle it."
"But he—!"
"We don't have enough supplies for any more injuries. Swansea, please."
He stared at her, his body trembling with rage, but he suppressed it. Slowly, he forced himself to breathe, then rubbed a hand over his face.
All if his anger gave way to despair.
"We're dead anyway," he said bitterly. "No one's comin' for us. No rescue crew's gonna find us out here before we run outta supplies. Might as well face facts."
Anya didn't respond. She stared at the floor, her tears leaving dark spots on the dusty metal. He was right, and she knew it. They all knew it. For a long while, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the distant hum of failing systems, until Swansea broke it with a heavy groan.
"I've been keeping somethin' from you," he said. "Well, not you specifically. From everyone."
Anya looked up, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his. "What?"
"One of the cryopods survived the crash," he admitted. He gave her a chance to react, but she didn't. "One. The rest are either fried or buried under foam. I've been saving it for Daisuke."
Anya blinked, confused. "Why for Daisuke and not yourself?"
"He's the youngest. The strongest. Got the best chance of makin' it." His voice lowered, a mix of envy and compersion. "And he's got a good life to go back to. A mom who loves him, money out the wazoo. We ain't got none of that. Seemed... seemed right. Whatever the fuck 'right' means, anyway."
Anya frowned, her brow furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Dunno," Swansea shrugged, the motion almost helpless. "Just felt like I should, given the circumstances."
"I see." Anya swayed, processing his words.
Then he chuckled dryly, though there was no humour in it. "If you wanna fight me for it, you can. You'd probably win. Like you said, upper hand and all that. My back's shit. My knees are shot. I'm too old and too broken to—"
"I have nothing to fight for," Anya interrupted, her hand subconsciously moving to her stomach. "Nothing."
Swansea's eyes followed her movements, wincing as her nails pierced her skin through her suit. He said nothing, only nodding as he reached out, offering his bottle of mouthwash.
She shook her head. "There's not enough alcohol," she said hollowly. "I'd throw it up before it could do any damage."
He pulled the bottle away, and again they stood in silence, the unspoken hanging heavy between them. After a while, he took another swig, his throat tightening against the burn.
"What about Jimmy?" he asked, his teeth bared.
Anya hesitated, cupping her chin. "He'll destroy himself eventually. People like him always do."
Swansea scoffed in agreement, though his jaw remained tight. "If he tries anything with you again—or Daisuke—he's done. I don't care what he does to me."
Anya nodded, her expression grim but grateful. "No. I understand completely. If that's how it has to be—"
Suddenly, the doors slid open with a shiver, and Jimmy entered, taken aback by the sight of them.
"Hm? Oh, it's you," Swansea huffed, crossing his arms.
"Jimmy!" Anya squeaked, wiping her eyes. She was startled, but quickly composed herself. "Not able to sleep either?"
"It's 'nighttime'," he groused. "Why are you talking this late?" His tone was acerbic, his eyes drifting to the woman. "...Anya. Are you crying?"
"No, don't worry. I'm okay," she sniffed, her only solace Swansea's watchful presence.
"We all need to keep it together," he hissed, oblivious to their schemes.
"Oh, I'm keepin' it together," Swansea said, his voice as sober as it had ever been. "Don't you worry, Captain."