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He doesn’t tell her the hug hurts.
He doesn’t tell her how his muscles screamed at the sudden, strong pressure, how his lungs ached, how his skin went all tight and prickly, how his bones creaked like they would crack apart, nor how he went lightheaded for a split second. No, he doesn’t tell Minkowski any of that. He doesn’t want to see her face fall, doesn’t want to watch her mouth contort into a shamed grimace and for her to look at her hands like they’re something dangerous, for her to, god forbid, back away from him. He doesn’t want her to feel anything like that because it had already been hard enough for her.
Besides, the hug had been nice. Really fucking nice. Nice in the way it showed him things could get better. He could survive some discomfort for that.
Eiffel didn’t tell his crew a lot of things.
The fact he doesn’t believe he’ll ever feel warm again is high on the lost.
The fact he knows what it’s like to look in a mirror and not recognize the person staring back at you is a close second.
The fact he felt his fingernails fall off is somewhere in the middle. Used to be a bigger deal, but c’mon, it pales in comparison to the others.
The fact he gets winded doing the simplest tasks, like lifting boxes or even moving around the room.
The fact he counts himself lucky if he gets more than three hours of sleep a night.
The fact that sometimes when he talks in an empty room or he hums while he works, he’s terrified to hear his own voice answer back.
Yeah, Eiffel contains many multitudes, all of which are locked up behind a very heavy, padlocked door labeled Do Not Touch At All, Please And Thank You. He got stuck in space, went through some shit, and popped out on the other side mostly sane and intact. That was it. Zip. End of the story. They had bigger fish to fry, fish with psychopathic levels of cold stares and smiles and very large guns. There wasn’t time to pop a squat and go over what had led up to his time aboard Urania because once he were to start, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it and the matter would quickly become everyone’s problem and that wouldn’t do any good.
So he goes about his life and does what he does best; staying out of his crew’s way, manning the communications and making stupid jokes to distract anyone from looking too close. He hides his health issues and eats and sleeps as much as he can manage. And it had been working fine, honestly, but he just had to forget the enormous sentient A.I. piloting the ship who’s entire job was, you know, looking close at everyone.
Don’t get him wrong, Eiffel loved Hera. She was probably his best friend— scratch that, she was his best friend, who was he kidding. Minkowski, amazingly, held second place, and wasn’t that sad? The ship’s auto-pilot and his commanding officer were the only ones he trusted and wanted to spend time with. Not that he had other options; there wasn’t a line out the door of people vying to put up with his useless ass. Since the whole Hilbert Tried To Kill Us Incident, Minkowski’s whole dotted I’s and crossed T’s attitude had taken a backseat. Realizing they weren’t being given the full story from Cutter helped him and her move past their… disagreements. Well, mostly. She still expected him to do his job and work just like the rest of the crew, which, fine, whatever, but she wasn’t so strict and impersonal. She’d opened up, slowly, mind you, and he enjoyed her company, more than he’d thought he would. And it was nice having a coworkers who didn’t plant a man-eating disease in his bloodstream. Small blessings and all that.
Hera was always there to listen and talk and play along with his ridiculous schemes, and he chose to ignore that there wasn’t exactly a way for her to not do any of those things. He supposed she could ignore him but he wouldn’t be able to deal with that for longer than an hour, and she couldn’t either. At the end of the day, she was the one he went to when he was feeling shitty, the one he could be more honest with, and she was the one who made him feel better. Maybe slightly less so these days, but that was more of an Eiffel Problem than a Hera one.
However, her ability to spread her attention and see and hear everything was really knockin’ on that door and testing its lock.
The first time she broached the subject was a few days after their reunion. He’d been under the communications panel messing with wires, getting more and more annoyed with the system’s weak signal. Kepler had made it abundantly clear what his expectations of Eiffel were and he didn’t want to push the man and slack off on his duties, at least not the ones that were given more scrutiny.
“Officer Eiffel,” came Hera’s voice.
He dodged a spark. “Yeah, babe?”
“...Hi.”
He smiled. “Hello, Hera. What’s up?”
“N-Nothing much. The usual. How about you?”
“I’d say the same.” He shifted enough to where he could look up at the ceiling and raised an eyebrow. “There a reason you’re askin’?”
“Mm… no, n-not really. Just checking in.”
Eiffel snorted and returned underneath the machinery. “M’kay. Let me know if you need anything.”
It’s at least ten minutes until Hera speaks up again.
“Officer Eiffel?”
“Still here, sweetheart.”
“Are you…u-um, alright?”
“Like, in this current moment?”
“Well…I guess so, yes.”
“Doin’ great. I love fighting with wires and connectors for hours on end just to get a snippet of some Beethoven.”
She made a sound similar to a sigh. It normally glitched out and became something else, but he knew the sentiment behind it.
“I suppose, I mean m-more…are you alright in general?”
Eiffel frowned, both at the circuit board and her tone. He was oblivious at times, but he could tell where she was going with this. Not fair, Miss A.I. Got me cornered.
“While I appreciate the concern, especially with these wackos we call crewmates, I’m fine, Hera. Never been better, actually. Believe it or not, this situation is all a vacation compared to being a popsicle.”
“That’s what I’m g-getting at. You say you’re fine and ‘all good’ despite going through something trau-traumatic.” Her voice softened and it’s worse than if she were angry. “You were g-gone for 223 days. That’s seven months. Seven months where there was no one to talk to while you drifted farther and f-farther into space and the only thing you could do was fr-freeze yourself and hope someone heard your distress calls. All of that would point to someone being, in fact, n-not alright.”
He swallowed and focused on unplugging a blue cable. He tried to ignore the sweat forming on his neck at her oh so helpful summary. “The human spirit is truly undefeatable, Hera, what can I say.”
“But what happened is m-more than an inconvenience,” she stressed and her voice seemed to get louder and louder, hammering into his skull. “You didn’t even k-know of anyone was listening or coming to res-rescue—”
“I sure didn’t! Buuut it’s okay, it all worked out great!” he rushed to cut her off, strained laughter backing the words. He looked at his nonexistent watch, tossing pliers to the side. “And wouldja look at the time, lunch break already! Strange how fast it goes by when you’re having fun!”
“Officer Eiffel, w-wait, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—”
“Wonderful talking to you, Hera, as always. See ya in a bit!” Eiffel scrambled out from under the deck and all but launched himself at the door, ignoring the A.I.’s nervous protesting. He couldn’t really escape further questioning as she controlled the whole ship, but thankfully he didn’t hear anything past a quiet, “See you” as he floated into the hall.
He felt bad but the panic that had risen as she’d spoke was stronger. Eiffel steadfastly shoved the feeling to the back of his mind and directed himself to the rec room. He wasn’t hungry, not by any means and hadn’t been for longer than was probably healthy, but he needed a distraction. A distraction that came in the form of annoying Lovelace or Jacobi.
The second time Hera prodded at the issue was three weeks after her first attempt.
He was with Minkowski in the pantry, taking stock of their rations.
“Commander.”
“Yes, Hera?”
“Have you had any memorable dreams lately?”
Minkowski glanced at the ceiling, then back at her clipboard while Eiffel frowned. “Not any that I can recall. Is there a reason you’re asking?”
“Mm, j-just curious.”
Okay, maybe she’ll leave it—
“What about you, Officer Eiffel?”
He nearly groaned. “Can’t say I have, Hera.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nope.”
“Are you s-sure?”
“Yup.”
“Last week you were talking about o-one you had where Maxwell had been taken over by sent-sentient marshmallows and was trying to convert Captain Lovelace and Jacobi,” she recited. Minkowski glanced at him with bemusement between counting jars of peanut butter. “You haven’t had a s-single dream since then?”
“No, sorry to disappoint,” he replied, giving the wall a look. “Anyway, Commander, we have a month’s worth of synthesized apples until Hilbert needs to make more, and—”
“You can’t th-think of one dream you’ve had?” Hera interrupted. “ No eventful ones? None so v-vivid you jumped up in bed and believed they’re r-real?”
Eiffel glared at the camera in the corner. “No, Hera, I haven’t.”
“Maybe you just forgot. I can h-help with remembering the date, I have tons of logs to look through—”
“Hera, we can table this conversation for another time. Let’s stay focused on—”
“Oh my God, can you just leave it—”
“I cannot ‘just l-leave it’, that would conflict with my very nature, Officer Eiffel, and it would be helpful if you would s-simply coop-coop- cooperate—”
“Hera—”
“Why can’t you just t-talk about it?”
“What are you two—”
“Hera!”
“We’re all fr-friends here, we can help.”
“Don’t—”
“I’m only t-trying to—”
“Oookay! Shut it, both of you!” Minkowski snagged Eiffel’s shit and yanked. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been drifting toward the ceiling in his agitation. She thumped on the wall in the same moment and they fell silent.
“Let’s all take a deep breath, hm? How does that sound? I think it sounds great.” She leveled a glare at them as she inhaled and held it. She raised her eyebrows at Eiffel until he copied her and turned to the camera. It took a moment for a static-filled sigh to come through, then a gust of not-quite air.
“Good. Amazing what we can do when we listen.” She let go but he didn’t move an inch. “Now, I would appreciate it if one of you would tell me what that whole thing was about.”
“Hera’s poking her nose in stuff she doesn’t need to—”
“Eiffel’s being ri-ridiculous and cagey about—”
“For God’s—one at a time, people!”
They glared at each other, at least Eiffel imagined her glaring.
He cleared his throat. “Hera is fussing over something that has nothing to do with her, and she won’t leave it alone.”
“Ohhh, I see. So it’s fussing instead of worrying when you don’t want to talk about it. What’s the difference? You’re hiding it either way.”
“Hiding what?” Minkowski’s eyes flew to him.
“Hiding nothing, thank you very much—”
“Officer Eiffel has refused to acknowledge or speak on a serious matter, one I haven't been able to determine.”
“Serious matter?” His commander’s irritation changed to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t k-know, he won’t tell me anything, it’s been so—”
His arms flew out. “Nothing’s wrong! Jesus, can’t a guy keep to himself?”
“You? Keeping to yourself?” Minkowski put her clipboard on the shelf and floated closer. The action made him stiffen. “You let anyone and everyone know about every little thing that you find stupid or funny every minute of your life, Eiffel. I’d be shocked if I didn’t hear you complain at least twice an hour.”
He scoffed. “I don’t do it that often.”
“You do, but I’ve gotten used to it.” She glanced at the ceiling. “Is there something that’s been bothering you?”
It left his mouth before he could even blink. He’d be damned if this was how it came spilling out. “No.”
Her expression didn’t falter. “Nothing at all?”
“No, Commander.”
“He’s lying.”
“Shut it, gameboy advance—”
“I don’t think I w-will, meat sack—”
“Hera,” Minkowski said warningly and she let out a glitchy huff.
Eiffel smirked but it fell when he saw how the woman was staring at him. It was her look when she was studying a problem, taking in all the details and signs of what could be wrong. He hated it.
“Eiffel.”
“Commander.”
“You can talk to me, you know.”
“Well aware of that.”
“This isn’t an interrogation.”
“Sure feels like one. Got me backed into a corner in a closet.”
“You’re not backed—” She stopped and looked at him again with that same analyzing face.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell her so it would stop rotting inside him. He wanted to throw his pen at her and run away.
“Eiffel, I’m not trying to force something out of you. You can leave at any time.”
“Uh-huh, and the door won’t magically close?”
“Well, you never know with these s-sorts of vessels, they can be tricky—”
“Hera.”
“Alright, alright, fine. L-Leaving. Good luck, Commander.”
There was a quiet click but Eiffel had known her to fake the sound and still be listening in. It had saved their lives a few times, but right now he wanted to bang on the walls until she truly left them.
“Eiffel—”
“Minkowski—”
“Doug.”
“No need to whip out the first names. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound like it. And you don’t look it, either.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He forced a laugh. “Didn’t know our leader had started takin’ jabs at her crew members.”
She didn’t smile. “It’s not a jab. It’s an observation and it’s not aimed at your lack of hair.”
“I’ll give you that one, though. My beautiful flowing locks are but a mere memory in the wind—”
“Doug, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong, how many times do I have to say it? Do I need to get on the intercom and announce to the whole damn ship?
“If that’s what it takes, then yes! I can tell something’s not right and it’s not because of Hera’s obvious interest.” Her voice softened. “We’ve survived a whole lot of crazy stuff together and that means I’ve come to care about your mental and physical wellbeing. More often than I would like, given our situation, but I still care and as your commanding officer and a friend, I want to know what’s up with you so I can help.”
Eiffel ignored the voice in the back of his head, which sounded like a mix of all his crew yelling to listen to her. “There’s nothing up with me.”
Her expression made his chest hurt. “I know you.”
“You know, you really don’t.” He sneered and pushed off the wall, getting up in her space. “So we spent a few years stuck in a janky spaceship. Big whoop. Nobody told us to be friends, they just said to not kill each other. You don’t know a fucking thing about me and I’m more than happy to keep it that way if it means I don’t have you and Hera harping on me every second to share with the group. My business is my business and that’s all you need to know, so how about you two get off my fucking back!”
Minkowski didn’t smack him nor did she call the others to come and throw him in the brig for his blatant disrespect, all of which were called for. She just calmly stared at him.
He had to force the words out of his mouth. “Permission to be dismissed?”
She took a moment to reply. “Granted, Officer Eiffel.” She pressed her lips together and turned away, picking up the clipboard and resuming their counting.
Eiffel resisted the incredibly strong urge to apologize and exited the pantry. He heard a click and a “Commander? Are you okay?” and could have laughed.
Of course she had listened in.
He wanted to be mad, wanted to be annoyed by her lack of respect for both him and their privacy. But he wasn’t. Because Hera lying about leaving meant she had cared enough to listen to him. It meant she wanted to understand him so she could help and that made him feel worse.
The rest of that day was spent avoiding Minkowski and doing his best to avoid their friendly neighborhood auto-pilot. The latter obviously could only be done somewhat given she could know his exact location at any point. Minkowski didn’t avoid him, which made sense considering she was his literal higher up and couldn’t sulk away from her crew. He didn’t sense any anger from her, even in how she spoke to him, but something had shifted. It was in the way she looked at him the few times he caught her eye or snuck a glance.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others, either. Lovelace pulled him aside to bluntly ask what he’d done to piss their commander off while their resident mad scientist asked if he had ignored one too many protocols. Eiffel had cheerfully let them both know he was fine and to kindly focus on the mission instead of him and Minkowski. That had earned him a none-too-gentle punch in the arm from their captain, but she thankfully hadn’t asked again. She and Hilbert had settled for simple suspicious looks.
Eiffel was being unreasonable and immature, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her, not yet. He would, he owed her that much, but he had to figure out what to say first. He couldn’t simply say sorry because he knew she would ask what he was apologizing for and he would try to be vague and be chill and she wouldn’t fall for it and then he would have to be honest and that conversation wouldn’t be short nor sweet. He was tabling the matter for another day, another lifetime, honestly, and it seemed like he would succeed, especially with their whole being forced to cohabit with a more insane version of their crew deal.
He should’ve known it would come crashing down around him. After all, that’s how it had been his whole life and you couldn’t escape that kind of luck even lightyears away.
It goes like this; a solar storm knocks out the power in one of Urania's labs. The fuse for the room blows and and it’s bye-bye for the lights and controls until the event has passed. But of course, because he loves to make their lives as miserable as possible, Kepler tells them to work on the damages despite that information. No amount of groaning and arguing dissuade him, and because he loves to go that extra mile and screw him over, he tells Eiffel and Minkowski to do the repairs. His commander gives him a singular unreadable look before agreeing and leaving the room.
Eiffel sends his snickering crewmates a withering glare and follows her.
They’ve been…civil since the pantry incident. They move as a normal team. Minkowski treats him like any other person under her command and it bothers him immensely. They don’t chat while they run maintenance checks. They don’t eat together and they don’t share glances or laughs and don’t stay too late in their rooms shooting the shit. Those were things friends did and Eiffel made it pretty damn clear he didn’t consider her a friend. The wall he’d put between them became thicker and more obvious as the days went by and he hated it. Nothing was stopping him from apologizing and explaining why he acted so closed off. Nothing besides his own ego and anxiety and crippling inability to be honest.
Hera, at least, hadn’t changed the way she treated him. They talked constantly and it felt as easy with her, but she hadn’t brought up the issue again. He knew he needed to talk about it, it would help him eventually get over it, but the thought was too paralyzing, too exposing. Once he said the words, he wouldn’t be able to take them back. They would float around in space like they did every day and remain until they physically left the stars.
Wonder if I could sneak past Maxwell and fling myself out the airlock, Eiffel thinks as cranks the wrench to the right. The screw refuses to budge and he scowls.
“You’re gonna snap it off,” Minkowski drawls from behind him.
“At least it would be out of the way,” he replies and twists the tool until it hurts his hand. “God, this stupid—”
“For Pete’s sake.” He hears a woosh before a hand nudges his arm. “I’ll do this. Go record how many wires need replacements.”
He huffs and refuses to turn around. “I almost got it, just let me—”
“Eiffel. Go look in the wall. Now.”
He holds out the wrench and pushes off the fuse box, determinedly not looking at her. Inwardly, he’s relieved; his arms had begun aching since they started the repairs. None of his limbs felt particularly strong today, in fact, but he wasn’t about to say anything. He doubted he would be taken seriously, which he supposed was the downside of complaining and exaggerating all the time. Not that he would stop doing that, mind you. He had to have some release stuck aboard the U.S.S. Deathtrap.
They work in silence. The most Minkowski does is mumble to herself as she takes notes on the damage and quietly requests a tool. Other than that, she leaves him alone. Which is what you asked for, a voice reminds him. Eiffel angles his head to talk and tell a joke no less than eight times and has to physically bite his tongue every damn time. He’s certain she notices the lack of noise from him and how he's acting like a pouting child, but he does his beat to ignore it.
They’re halfway done when he straightens from being under a circuit board and shivers.
Eiffel stiffens. He looks down at his arms. Tiny goosebumps cover them and the sweat on his forehead and neck is sticky and damp.
When did it get so cold? He searches for the screen that displays the room temperature. It’s only when his gaze lands on the darkened control pad does his heart drop.
He must make some sort of sound because he sees Minkowski move in the corner of his eye.
“Eiffel?”
“Yeah?” he says, tone strained.
“What is it?”
He takes too long to answer, preoccupied with trying to calm himself down because he knows where this is headed.
“Did the wires get fried? Did you get shocked?”
He clenches a hand tight and forces his head to turn and face her. “No. It’s fine.”
“...Did you break something?”
“What? No.”
“Because you can tell me if you did, I won’t be mad—well, not too mad.”
“No, no I didn’t break anything, it’s not—” Eiffel stops and fights off another shiver. Fuck, it’s like the room has dropped ten more degrees in seconds.
Minkowski puts the screwdriver she was using in the toolbox. “If you got hurt, you need to tell me. Electrical burns aren’t a laughing matter.”
“I didn’t get burned! Or shocked. It’s not that, I promise, I’m fine, it’s—” His skin prickles and he fights the urge to rub his arms. “It’s just…is it, uh… chilly in here to you?”
Her brows pulls together and she looks like she’s going to ask if he hit his head. “What are you…” She frowns at the air. “Oh. It–yeah, it is kind of cold. When did—”
“I don’t know, I just noticed.” Eiffel is painfully aware of how little layers he has on; a t-shirt, jumpsuit, and sneakers. They don’t dress super warm unless they’re told the ship’s temperature will drop. Hera keeps it otherwise perfect every single day. “Wanna, ah, call our auto-pilot and let her know?”
“A little chill won’t kill us, we should be fine—”
“Commander.” He doesn’t mean for the title to come out so sharp. “Please.”
“...I’ll let her know.” Minkowski gives him an odd look. “Hera?”
“Yes, Commander?” Her voice comes in clear for a moment before she makes a surprised hum. “O-Oh. Wow, this system’s…geez, that storm did a n-n-number. What’s up?”
“Are you able to take a peek at the temperature controls in here?”
“Yes, just give me a—hm.”
“Hera? Everything okay?” Eiffel calls out, dread pooling in his stomach.
“U-Um. Hm, okay. Okay, slight problem, y-you two.” They groan. “Normally, I would be able to help, but the storm’s radiation has s-sent the system into a…deep sleep, for lack of a b-better word. It’s gone dark and unresponsive. I’m unsure when it’ll get it’s charge back. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Hera, just wanted to check in. Thanks, we can—”
“Woah, woah, hold on! That’s it?” Eiffel’s not even embarrassed from how high his voice goes because this is not happening, not right now. “You can’t do anything?”
“Officer Eiffel, i-if the system for the lab won’t allow access, I c-can’t—”
“Oh, c’mon, baby, you can’t just leave us here!”
“No ones leaving anyone, it’s okay! We’ll be fine, it won’t be that much longer,” Minkowski tries to placate but he hardly hears her.
“What about the vents? Can’t you send some hot air our way?”
“I guess I could t-try to redirect some ventilation to the room, but it might not—o-ow!” A static filled exclamation rings out and they cover their ears.
“Hera? What’s wrong?”
“The system, it—augh, ow, ow— it’s not even l-l-letting me access it’s secondary functions.” A few sounds similar to error messages come through her end. “Some of the r-relays are fried badly and I can’t manually open the vents.”
“There’s nothing else you can do?”
“Eiffel,” Minkowski barks. “Leave it, we’ll be done soon. Hera, you can return to whatever Kepler has you doing—”
“H-Hold on, Commander, I might be able to get it to work…maybe if I…try…” There’s a beat of silence before she cries out again in pain and the room’s doors that were propped open with a utility bag beep loudly. Minkowski and Eiffel watch them then shut abruptly, ripping the bag and sending tools flying. The sensor above it flashes red like a warning and goes dark. A warped, droning hum fills the room, rattling Eiffel’s teeth.
“O-Oops…uh, that w-wasn’t supposed to—” is all Hera’s able to say before her voice cuts out.
He and Minkowski look at the ceiling.
“Did those doors just lock us in?” he asks.
“Most likely.” Minkowski sighs and pinches between her eyes. “Alright. The lights are still operational so we can fix what we can until the system comes back—”
The overhead beams promptly shut off with a hiss.
“Yeah, it’s so bright in here I might get a tan—”
“Shut it.”
Eiffel fights off the incredibly strong urge to scream and finally rubs his arms. It doesn’t do much considering his blood feels like it’s being turned to ice but it’s reflex. He tugs his jumpsuit up and over his shoulders and zips it up, hunching into himself.
Minkowski raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re that cold already?”
“Not a lot of meat on these bones, took a bit of a long vacation recently,” he can’t help but snark and she rolls her eyes.
“Our suits are designed to retain heat, we’ll be okay.”
“Didn’t do much last time I needed it,” he mutters and falls quiet.
The room isn’t pitch black, some soft light from the stars illuminate the walls and mechanisms, but it’s difficult not connect the similarities between it and Lovelace’s shuttle. Eiffel sucks in a breath and holds it and he tells his brain he is not there anymore. He isn’t alone, stranded in the vastness of space, he isn’t hallucinating his friends’ voices, he isn’t rationing the little food stored away, he isn’t killing himself slowly just for a chance to be rescued. He’s back with his team, back with other people and can see things other than a void in front of him.
He’s okay, he’s alive. It should be easy to believe because he’s right here with Minkowski, there shouldn’t be a doubt in his mind.
Why won’t his useless brain get that?
Why won’t his body believe that?
“—ou okay? Eiffel!”
“What?” He opens his eyes and finds Minkowski looking at him. When did she get closer? “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I said your name three times. Did you not hear me?”
“No, no, I heard you, I just…” He shivers, touches the back of his neck. He missed his hair, the area felt so bare and cold without it. “Thinking of stuff. Didn’t mean to zone out.”
“Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup. Positive.”
“We won’t be stuck here forever. The storm’s probably almost over.”
“Did Hera tell you that?”
“No, but according to our previous solar recordings, they don’t last long.”
“You can’t base this one off all those others.”
“I’m trying to reassure you about the situation.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to!”
Her face falls and Eiffel can only look at her for so long before he turns away, guilt turning his stomach. He didn’t mean to snap, the words had been too quick to swallow. All the memories and feelings he’d had are rearing their butt-ugly heads just from them being trapped for a few minutes. How pathetic is that? He hugs his knees to his chest and wraps his arms tight around them.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, after the silence has stretched on too long. “You’re just trying to help and I’m…I’m being a dick. I don’t want to be, I just…” He gives up, the freezing air choking him.
“Eiffel.” He flinches at the soft way she speaks his name. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me you’re fine, ‘cause I’ll throw the wrench at you.”
He smirks and is sure it’s a poor imitation of his usual confident one. “Pullin’ a Kepler, eh, Commander?”
She doesn’t say anything and he lifts his face. She’s staring at him, worry written into every line in her expression.
He blows out a breath. “It’s nothing. Really. Just me being…my normal dumb self.”
“I would bet my next ration of cookies it’s not dumb,” Minkowski says firmly. “And neither are you. Something’s been bothering you for weeks, Eiffel, and I’m very concerned.”
“Kinda got bigger problems at the moment.”
“You’re a part of my crew. Your safety and wellbeing are my top priority.”
His chest hurts a bit at how fast the reply is, how no-nonsense. “Kepler wouldn’t agree.”
“I don’t give a shit what Kepler thinks, especially when it comes to you and the others.” Minkowski pushes off the wall and floats closer, though she stops a few feet from him. Probably giving him space because she doesn’t know how he’ll react. It almost makes him laugh. “You, Hera, Lovelace, and unfortunately at the end of the day, Hilbert, are my number one focus. And that means when something is wrong with you, I can’t and won’t ignore it. So, please, tell me. Tell me anything, tell me as little as you want, but just talk to me, Doug.”
He wants to. He wants to so goddamn bad. The thought of finally getting the experience out of him sounds amazing. Seeing how earnest she is makes some of the anxiety fade, too. Eiffel bites his lip and fidgets with his jumpsuit until he sighs and untangles his limbs.
He gets as far as saying “Alright, but you have to promise you won’t—” before he stops. He stops speaking, stops moving entirely and stares in front of him because he can see his breath. A puff of air that’s already disappearing but his brain has already flipped a switch.
No no no no no. He got out, he did. Didn't he? Fuck. What if he's still in the shuttle? He only has so much power left, he can't keep freezing himself, he has to—he needs to breathe. He has to get up, he has to move because he’s been stuck inside for too long and it’s going to kill him—
Eiffel gasps. He lurches forward, hands flying to his chest as he coughs.
“Eiffel!”
Something brushes his arm and his breathing stutters in his chest. He jolts away, his nerves are electrified, his senses feel like they’re all on overdrive. He hates it, hates how terrified he is after waking up.
“What’s wrong? Can you hear me? Officer Eiffel, what’s—”
It’s so cold, it’s so fucking cold, his lungs feel like they’ll break apart and shatter any second. How long was he under? Two days? Four? A week?
“H-Hera!” he instinctively calls out. “Hera, I n-need you to-to—”
“Eiffel!"
His ears ring from the loud voice and he flinches.
“G’way, h-have to talk to Hera,” he mumbles, rubbing his arms jerkily.
“Hera’s not here right now, Doug. Listen to me.”
He shakes his head, he doesn’t want to hear her voice. It’s too painful. However, he doesn’t get a choice because his face is grabbed without warning.
Minkowski’s eyes are huge and bright and the sight just makes his breathing even more uneven. Fuck, he thinks helplessly. I’ve used the pods so much I’m having physical hallucinations on top of the auditory ones.
“You need to tell me what’s wrong.” The words are loud and shake just the tiniest bit. “That’s an order, soldier.”
“C-Can’t,” Eiffel manages to get out. Her hands provide some weak warmth, but it doesn’t chase away the biting sensation. He shuts his eyes as the temperature drops even more and hugs himself. His fingers and toes turn numb and useless. “T-Too much, too c-c-cold.”
She looks around them. “Eiffel, it’s–it’s not that cold, the ship couldn’t have gotten that cold so quickly. It’s okay, just breathe—”
He shakes his head and it pounds and aches with the movement. “N-No, Renée.” Her hands fall from his face. “S’not gonna be okay! I’m t-trapped!”
“You’re not trapped, the system will work soon, you just have to—”
“I am!” he yells, eyes snapping open to glare at her. His vision blurs and he fears it’ll freeze and take his sight away. “You’ve been w-watching this whole t-t-time! Y-You and Hilbert and Hera and Lovel-lace! You k-know there’s n-no one coming! All I h-have is this s-stupid shuttle is this pod and a fu-fucking dead signal. I’m-I’m… I’m gonna d-die out h-here.” He wheezes, the air so thin and wishes for nothing more than to be on the Hephaestus, bored out of his mind and talking to an empty channel. He’d do anything Minkowksi told him to do, hell, he’d do anything Cutter wanted him to do to go back.
He just wanted to live. He just wanted to be warm again.
“I-If you’re n-not gonna help, just l-leave me alone.”
He figures she’ll fade from his periphery like usual and lets out a hoarse squawk when his hands are pulled away from him. A rush of hot air blows over them and his body spasms from the abrupt heat.
“Eiffel, listen to me.” Minkowski's voice cuts through the ringing, cuts through his hammering heartbeat, the pulsing of his limbs. “You’re not on Lovelace’s shuttle. You’re on the Urania, with me and the rest of the crew. Jacobi heard your distress call and you were rescued. You’re safe.”
His eyes burn. “N-No, I’m…it’s so cold, the cr-cryo pods, they—”
“It’s cold because the lab’s system is down,” she tells him calmly. She blows more air on his hands and they tingle sharply, pins and needles stuck under his skin. “Remember the solar storm? It knocked the power out and Kepler had us come do some repairs. The power will come back soon and we can leave.”
“Not gonna trick me a-again, Commander.”
“I’m not tricking you, Eiffel.”
His mind flashes to waking up from a dream of getting rescued, a dream of seeing her face and hearing his best friend’s voice and being able to breathe only to almost suffocate.
“I-I don’t…I don’t believe you,” he whispers.
Her face tightens like she’s in pain and he feels awful for hurting her, but it’s the truth. He’s not going to get his hopes up only for them to be crushed.
After a beat, Minkowski nods. “Okay.” She looks down at their hands. “Can I ask you something, though?”
“W-What?”
“Can I touch you?”
He blinks. “U-Uh…sure…?”
She nods again and wastes no time yanking him forward. Eiffel’s yelp is muffled by her jumpsuit as she wraps her arms around his back.
“C-Commander, what—”
“It’s okay if you don't believe me,” she says into his shoulder. He swears he hears a sniff. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” She doesn’t say any more and he’s frozen against her as his brain tries to make sense of it all.
He’d never imagined being touched like this in the shuttle. Even his strongest hallucinations and dreams hadn’t provided such visceral, lifelike sensations. He’s dumbstruck, hearing her breathe against him, feeling her arms and fingers press into him. He inhales and smells the shampoo Hilbert manufactured for them, artificial vanilla and orange. His vision goes blurry.
He never smelled that in the shuttle. Not once.
Eiffel slowly lifts his arms. He rests them on her shoulders and leans in hesitantly. Minkowski tightens her grip so hard he’s breathless in reply. He shoves the doubt and fear to the side and hugs her. It sends a shock through his body, warmth spreading throughout it and thawing his nerves and muscles. He shudders and thinks he’s crying and can’t bring himself to be mortified. He tucks his nose between her neck and shoulder, and clutches like he’s adrift at sea and she’s a lifeline.
“You’re okay, Doug.” Minkowski squeezes him. “You’re not there, you’re with us. You’re safe and you’re gonna be okay, and I don’t care that you don’t believe me, I’m going make sure you are.”
“Promise?” he asks raggedly.
One hand snakes up and cups the back of his head, threading through the short, new curls. “I promise.”
Eiffel makes a wounded noise and lets go of the emotion that had been building in his throat. He holds onto her, probably gripping too hard, and commits every feeling to his memory.
“I’ll…I’ll tell y-you about it,” he manages to gasp out between sobs. “I’ll tell you and Hera and L-Lovelace and-and—hell, even Doctor Strange—about what happened, s-shouldn’t have hid it, sorry, m’sorry…”
“You can tell us when you’re ready,” Minkowksi says firmly. “We shouldn’t have pushed. Not when it was so bad for you. I’m sorry.”
He sniffs, shakes his head. “D-Don’t need to apologize. Wasn’t good, t-to bottle it up. I was an idiot. And was a d-douchebag. We are friends, we are. And I want to k-keep being friends, even if I’m not a good one sometimes.”
She rubs a hand down his back and fresh tears wet his cheeks. “I would’ve been worse if I were you. We all know how I handle stress.”
“You yell a lot. And throw things.”
“Yeah. Not a very good habit to have for a commanding officer.”
“No, y-you…you’re great.” Eiffel draws back. He most likely looks ridiculous, eyes red and nose full of snot. “Even when I don’t say it o-or act like it, I love having you as a commander. The stiffs back home would’ve lost their shit or thrown me out the airlock by now just from my personality. You’re doing good.”
Her face pinches and he sees her eyes shine briefly. “Laying on the charm pretty thick, Officer Eiffel.” She pulls him back into the embrace and presses her face to his hair. “But…thank you. For saying that. Gets hard to think otherwise after everything that’s happened, you know?”
“Anytime, captain. Anytime.”
___
The nightmares don’t stop, not even after the solar storm. He still is shocked awake by the sensation of choking. He still thinks he’s back in that hunk of metal and he still has to cough and count his way to a normal heart rate.
He’s sitting on the edge of his bed one night. His hands grip the bar like it’ll disappear and he’s thinking of his next shift instead of getting out of the cryo-pod and not being able to see. When it hits the half hour mark and he’s about to give up on the idea of trying to sleep, there’s a knock on his door. He stares blearily at it for a moment, unsure if it happened or if he’s still dreaming.
“You should get that, Officer Eiffel,” Hera pipes up softly.
He scrubs at his face. “What, did you send Lovelace to knock me out or something?”
“No.”
“Is Kepler gonna tell me one of his stupid stories till I pass out from boredom?”
“Just get up and look.”
He doesn’t have much else he can do this late without waking up anyone else so he pushes off the bed toward the door. He unlocks it and blinks.
“Um…hi?”
“Hey.” Minkowski’s in her night clothes; a faded Goddard Futuristics t-shirt and sweats.
Eiffel’s eyes are drawn to the rolled up blanket held in her arms. He puts two and two together and groans. “Hera, please tell me you didn’t…”
“Hera didn’t do anything, I was already up.”
“Like hell you were. I’m not five years old, guys.”
“Mmm, debateable.”
“Rude.”
“It’s not out of the ordinary for a commanding officer to check up on her crew.”
“Oh, yeah? Is Hilbert the next one on your list? Gonna get him a glass or warm milk and a seaweed cookie?”
Minkowski stares flatly at him and he can tell Hera’s doing the same despite having a known lack of eyes.
He sighs. “I’m fine. Seriously. Just a… bad dream. Which wasn’t even that bad, so ignore whatever our beloved pilot told you.”
“She didn’t tell me anything, Officer Eiffel but I appreciate you letting me know why you’re actually up.”
“You’re an awful liar, Minkowski.”
“And you are?”
He snorts. “Didn’t say that. But now that we’ve had this lovely, definitely not awkward conversation, you can go.”
“Hm. I could.”
Eiffel raises an eyebrow and waits. Then she pushes past him without a word. He sputters.
“Sure, come on in, make yourself comfortable—” She starts pulling back the tether cords and bedding. “Oh for the love of… what are you doing?”
“I’m tired so I’m going to sleep,” she answers and casually climbs into his bunk.
“So go back to your room!”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The mattress is lumpy.”
“We all have the same mattresses!”
“Eh, yours is better.”
“Minkowski, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t have to, what?”
“If this is ‘cause of what happened in the lab, you already helped. You don’t need to come in here and—”
She gets under the covers. “Eiffel?”
“What.”
“Shut up and get in the damn bed.”
He looks to the ceiling, past Hera and past the star for some support. He finds none so he blows out a breath and gets in the damn bed. It’s not a necessarily comfortable fit, not when Minkowski is built and lives a healthy lifestyle and Eiffel is tall and currently making up for not eating regularly for months. No, it’s honestly kind of uncomfortable because she pushes him to the wall and kicks his legs so they move and hogs his pillow.
“Mm, so cozy,” he mutters.
“Close your eyes and go to sleep, Doug,” Minkowski orders.
“Gee, if only it were that easy.”
She takes a deep breath and nudges him in the ribs repeatedly. He curses at her but she’s undeterred and keeps at it until he’s on his side. Then she presses close and wraps an arm over his waist.
Oh, he thinks.
“That better?”
“...It’s not horrible,” Eiffel says quietly and after a moment of hesitation, relaxes. “Yeah, that’s… that’s nice. Thanks.”
“Good. Now sleep.”
He entertains the thought of making a joke or teasing her for being such a softie. However, he’s too tired to muster up the energy and the sleeping arrangement isn’t all that bad. The weight and warmth behind him are grounding. Reassuring. He’ll fuss at Hera later and maybe thank her, too.
“‘Night, Minkowski. ‘Night Hera.”
She shifts and settles her head between his shoulders, yawning. “Goodnight, Eiffel.”
He hears a soft click and a “Goodnight,” from above them.
He smiles faintly and feels around and wraps his hand around Renée’s, holding tight.
She squeezes back.