'Hope' is the thing with feathers
Title: 'Hope' is the thing with feathers
Characters: Koyama, Massu
Rating: PG
Words: 2,260
Warnings: Space AU, insanity (like… really.)
Summary: When a crisis occurs on space station Nem, counselor Koyama keeps everyone's hopes up, but who raises his?
Notes: Okay, I did what research I could on the science-y aspects of this but I have no idea what the long-term effects of oxygen deprivation are and think that probably they wouldn't have lasted that long. But… just… wave that aside, k? :D Also, this concludes my personal goal for the year. <3
---
"Hope" is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all-
And sweetest-in the Gale-is heard-
And sore must be the storm-
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm-
I've heard it in the chillest land-
And on the strangest Sea-
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb-of Me.
-Emily Dickinson
---
He'd read about acceptable oxygen levels in class - and like any typical textbook reading, he'd shrugged it off and forgotten. Couldn't forget it now, though, could he? Normal levels are 21% but with one of the oxygen generation systems operating at only 50%, they've had to back down to 20%. Just one little percent. You'd think it wouldn't make a difference. But it does. He can feel it dragging at him; he feels so heavy, something he's never experienced before with his high metabolism and sparse eating. It's like pulling double duty, hauling tired, sweaty limbs into his bunk every night only to tumble out much too soon to start all over again.
It puts Koyama on edge. Not that he can show it, because in addition to the work he puts into the research aboard space station Nem, he's also the station's counselor. There are only six of them, but that doesn't matter.
"Have they been able to move up the window?" he asks Nakamaru, their comms expert, keeping the fear out of his voice but not the weariness. That's something he just can't hide.
"Not yet. They weren't planning on anything leaving the atmosphere for another 2 months. I mean, the station was just refitted before we came up." He twists his fingers together and frowns. "We just had to have it happen in the perfect time frame."
Koyama pats his shoulder gently. "It's okay. They'll figure something out. In the meantime, everything else is running smoothly, we'll just have to remain calm."
He leaves the room. Two months. The thought of even spending another two weeks like this terrifies him, and he fights to keep his breathing even before he too-easily hyperventilates and blacks out right here in the hall.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Back to work.
When it becomes clear one week later that base isn't going to figure something out and that they actually are going to have to wait seven more weeks for rescue, Koyama stands in the midst of four panicked men and the stoic leader.
"Just calm down," Koyama says, making reassuring gestures and keeping his voice steady. "Yamashita? What does this mean? Let's spell it all out so we know what's happening, okay?"
Their leader nods and takes a deep breath. "In order to keep the oxygen generation systems from overloading, we'll drop oxygen levels another .2%. That's still within acceptable levels, you all know, it just means that we have to conserve energy and remain calm. Research will be, of course, put on hold for the next seven weeks. Our whole focus will be on staying safe."
Koyama nods wearily and eyes the other men. There is muted muttering and a general sense of dispiritedness but at least they aren't panicking. Yet. He follows Yamashita to his room and sits down beside him on the bunk.
"Doing okay?"
Yamashita nods tiredly. "Seven weeks," he whispers, dropping his guard, and Koyama sees the fear in his eyes. "This is between us. But I don't think generator 3 is going to stay at even 50%. It's showing strain and I'm going to have to bypass part of its system to make sure we even keep 40%. I'm guessing we'll be at 19.6% oxygen in four weeks." Taking a deep breath, he shudders and covers his face with his hands.
Koyama can feel terror clutching at his insides, but slides an arm around Yamashita comfortingly. "It'll be okay. Just do your best. I believe in you." He makes a mental note to check his store of sedatives. They'll need them soon.
Safely in his own room and free from worried eyes, Koyama collapses on his bunk, mentally exhausted and desperately in need of a good cry.
It becomes a habit - outside his room he is Koyama the counselor, everyone's shoulder and always calm. Inside his room he's Koyama the man and he allows himself to worry and cry in frustration and let his mask slip away until he has to leave again. Yamashita checks on him after that first week and Koyama meets him at the door, steps outside and shuts it behind him before he'll talk to Yamashita. The leader gives him a funny look but Koyama doesn't want his safe haven to be in jeopardy and then laughs at himself.
"Are you okay, Koyama?" he asks quietly, voice laced with concern. He looks either way to make sure they're alone. "It's got to be difficult always having to be the strong one. You can talk to me, I hope you know."
He can't. He sees the stress cracking Yamashita around the edges, so he just smiles peacefully. "I am hopeful," he replies. "I know we can make it." He knows they can. The question is will they.
Yamashita's look is skeptical but he grudgingly nods, claps a hand on Koyama's shoulder. "Just let me know if you need anything."
The fourth week and Koyama is crouching next to Yamashita in front of generator 3. "Well?" he prompts.
Yamashita just grunts and shakes his head ruefully. "Gonna have to go." Steepling his fingers under his chin, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Call the guys."
Week five and Koyama is making visits. He doesn't want anyone in his room and the tension and anxiety is almost palpable everywhere in the station.
"I'm having trouble sleeping," Nakamaru says, making a face. "I … keep having…"
"Nightmares?" Koyama flinches. Gasping, clawing at his throat, drowning but there's no water.
"Yeah."
Koyama rubs at his face, probably a little pale, just like everyone else's, with the barest hint of blue. He wonders if it's just his imagination, though, and the horrid fluorescent lighting.
"Koyama?" Nakamaru asks hesitantly.
"Ah. Sorry." He tries to think. Can't give him sedatives before bed or he might just not wake up. Thinking is making his head hurt. What he needs, what they all need, is oxygen, of course. Damnit. He's not a doctor. "Do you have any music you can play while you sleep? Something soft or soothing?"
Nakamaru nods slowly.
"Good. Do some light stretching before bed and keep the music on all night." He can tell Nakamaru has no idea why that would help, but he's desperate, like they all are, so he'll try it. Koyama knows it won't work. Not well, anyway, since he's already tried, but maybe it will have a placebo effect coming from him. "And check with Sho so he can make sure it's not obstructive sleep apnea. We're certainly tired enough, I guess. He'll take care of that end."
Week six and Koyama hasn't slept in a full week. His face is gaunt and he's got deep bruises under his eyes. He really doesn't look much different than the others, but he's having trouble hanging on to the calm and determination he's desperately instilling in his five crewmates. He misses huge stretches of time and wonders what he was doing, not that it matters. When he steps into his room and shuts the door behind him, he'd like to be shocked at the stranger standing against the far wall, but he's too tired to think so he just accepts it with a shrug.
"Who are you?" he asks, tongue thick in his mouth.
The round-cheeked man smiles. "I'm Massu."
"And what are you doing in my cabin?"
Massu looks around thoughtfully before taking three long strides forward until he's barely an inch from Koyama's face. "It's more of a cabinet than a cabin, wouldn't you say?" Smiling brightly, he brings his hands up to cup Koyama's head. "Not that I'm one to talk." Then he hops up to sit cross-legged on the desk against the wall, opposite Koyama's bunk. "Who counsels the counselor, Koyama?"
Koyama lowers himself onto his bunk and stares at the man. "I do."
Massu just nods. "I know what's going on in your head. You're terrified. Overwhelmed. Tired of being strong. Afraid that in two weeks no one will come. Or that generator 3 will finally give up too early. Yamashita's been saying that."
Koyama just looks at him with wide eyes. "How do you know?" he whispers.
"Why don't you tell me about it?" Massu asks gently.
And Koyama does, mouth moving of its own volition, words pouring out he'd never even realized he'd been thinking. And when he's done, Massu moves to his side and pushes him down on the bed, kneels beside him and strokes his hair, humming softly, until Koyama falls asleep.
Massu's not there when he wakes up and he barely remembers him. But he feels good. Light and airy. It makes his job easier, and he can feel the tension easing from his crewmates as he flits among them, chatting them up. Yamashita watches him, head tilted.
Massu waits for him every day in his bunk, waiting to hear the news, waiting for Koyama to unburden himself. Koyama has decided that he is crazy. But that's all right, isn't it? He feels better than he has any right to feel under the conditions. If his psyche wants to split up the middle and give him a confidante, he won't argue with it.
"Good day?" Massu asks hopefully when Koyama comes through the door into the tiny space he calls sanctuary.
Koyama just grunts and sits down at his bunk, struggling to yank off his boots, and then stretches out, shivering uncontrollably as the weary muscles pull uncomfortably. He wants to cry, he's that tired, mentally and physically. And Massu knows it, climbs over Koyama to settle behind him and wraps his arms around him and lets him relax. Koyama can feel the gentle flicker of happiness in him flare to life as he slips into the darkness. He wonders how long it will last, but at least he's sleeping now.
Generator 3 drops to 30% on the first day of week seven and they finally drop below the acceptable oxygen levels to 19.4%.
"We have oxygen in the suits," Yokoyama screeches, and Yasuda forcibly restrains him.
"No." Yamashita's voice is like steel even though he looks like he's ready to pass out. "There are maybe 2 days' worth of oxygen in the suits. We need to save it in case…" He looks uncertainly toward Koyama who sets his lips in a hard line and nods at him. "Just in case. We have six more days. Right, Nakamaru?"
Their comms expert nods. "Maybe five, but we should hold out for six."
Yasuda lets go of Yokoyama who sags dejectedly and moves to Yamashita's side, whispering something. Yamashita's eyes slip closed and flutter a bit, then he opens them. "Okay. Every day we'll spend one hour in the suits."
There's a ragged cheer and they set their schedules.
Koyama cries his first hour in the suit, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he doesn't even care that he can't rub them away even if it tickles because he swears he'd forgotten what it felt like to be alive. He's glad he pushed to be first, though, because it means he's the first to experience the crushing depression that follows his reentry into the low-oxygen atmosphere of the station again. Means he can shore himself up to handle the other five as they come out. But it was totally worth it.
Massu is smiling brilliantly that night, which is good, because Koyama feels lower than shit, dragging and pulling his body as though it has rocks tied to it, and Massu catches him before he falls, hauling him up onto the bunk to cradle his body in his arms as Koyama sobs. He whispers to him about how beautiful his hour in the suit was and that soon, soon the rescue ship will be there and he can go home. The shock of suffocation wakes him often, and Massu is always there, running comforting hands over Koyama's body and singing him to sleep again. He thinks, when he really wakes and Massu is gone, that he's glad he's crazy, closes his eyes and reaches behind him to drag fingers across Massu's abdomen, and his own stomach flutters.
On the fifth day of week seven, they get in their suits to stay, generator 3 having completely failed. They all sit on the observation deck side-by-side, watching, praying, hoping that everything is still on line. Nakamaru receives the call through his suit with four hours of oxygen left in their tanks that the rescue ship is within sight and will be there in three hours. They jump and hug and cry, and Koyama closes his eyes and takes Massu's hand in his own and squeezes.
Back on Earth, Koyama isn't allowed to leave base after the required two-week stay for 'psychological reasons' and he hugs each of his crewmates as they leave, smiling at them.
Yamashita hangs back. "Koyama. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I shouldn't have made you take the strain of five people. That's my job and I…"
Koyama crushes Yamashita to him. "It'll be okay."
They stay like that for minutes until finally Yamashita pulls away, rubbing at his face. "You always say that."
"I know," he replies, and smiles.
"You just… you just get better, okay?"
Koyama nods gravely, waiting until Yamashita turns away before curling his fingers around something no one else can see.
"Well," he whispers with a giggle, "the counselor has a counselor, now."
Massu squeezes his fingers and smiles widely at him and Koyama laughs in delight and thinks that he likes the one he already had.
Characters: Koyama, Massu
Rating: PG
Words: 2,260
Warnings: Space AU, insanity (like… really.)
Summary: When a crisis occurs on space station Nem, counselor Koyama keeps everyone's hopes up, but who raises his?
Notes: Okay, I did what research I could on the science-y aspects of this but I have no idea what the long-term effects of oxygen deprivation are and think that probably they wouldn't have lasted that long. But… just… wave that aside, k? :D Also, this concludes my personal goal for the year. <3
---
"Hope" is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words-
And never stops-at all-
And sweetest-in the Gale-is heard-
And sore must be the storm-
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm-
I've heard it in the chillest land-
And on the strangest Sea-
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb-of Me.
-Emily Dickinson
---
He'd read about acceptable oxygen levels in class - and like any typical textbook reading, he'd shrugged it off and forgotten. Couldn't forget it now, though, could he? Normal levels are 21% but with one of the oxygen generation systems operating at only 50%, they've had to back down to 20%. Just one little percent. You'd think it wouldn't make a difference. But it does. He can feel it dragging at him; he feels so heavy, something he's never experienced before with his high metabolism and sparse eating. It's like pulling double duty, hauling tired, sweaty limbs into his bunk every night only to tumble out much too soon to start all over again.
It puts Koyama on edge. Not that he can show it, because in addition to the work he puts into the research aboard space station Nem, he's also the station's counselor. There are only six of them, but that doesn't matter.
"Have they been able to move up the window?" he asks Nakamaru, their comms expert, keeping the fear out of his voice but not the weariness. That's something he just can't hide.
"Not yet. They weren't planning on anything leaving the atmosphere for another 2 months. I mean, the station was just refitted before we came up." He twists his fingers together and frowns. "We just had to have it happen in the perfect time frame."
Koyama pats his shoulder gently. "It's okay. They'll figure something out. In the meantime, everything else is running smoothly, we'll just have to remain calm."
He leaves the room. Two months. The thought of even spending another two weeks like this terrifies him, and he fights to keep his breathing even before he too-easily hyperventilates and blacks out right here in the hall.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Back to work.
When it becomes clear one week later that base isn't going to figure something out and that they actually are going to have to wait seven more weeks for rescue, Koyama stands in the midst of four panicked men and the stoic leader.
"Just calm down," Koyama says, making reassuring gestures and keeping his voice steady. "Yamashita? What does this mean? Let's spell it all out so we know what's happening, okay?"
Their leader nods and takes a deep breath. "In order to keep the oxygen generation systems from overloading, we'll drop oxygen levels another .2%. That's still within acceptable levels, you all know, it just means that we have to conserve energy and remain calm. Research will be, of course, put on hold for the next seven weeks. Our whole focus will be on staying safe."
Koyama nods wearily and eyes the other men. There is muted muttering and a general sense of dispiritedness but at least they aren't panicking. Yet. He follows Yamashita to his room and sits down beside him on the bunk.
"Doing okay?"
Yamashita nods tiredly. "Seven weeks," he whispers, dropping his guard, and Koyama sees the fear in his eyes. "This is between us. But I don't think generator 3 is going to stay at even 50%. It's showing strain and I'm going to have to bypass part of its system to make sure we even keep 40%. I'm guessing we'll be at 19.6% oxygen in four weeks." Taking a deep breath, he shudders and covers his face with his hands.
Koyama can feel terror clutching at his insides, but slides an arm around Yamashita comfortingly. "It'll be okay. Just do your best. I believe in you." He makes a mental note to check his store of sedatives. They'll need them soon.
Safely in his own room and free from worried eyes, Koyama collapses on his bunk, mentally exhausted and desperately in need of a good cry.
It becomes a habit - outside his room he is Koyama the counselor, everyone's shoulder and always calm. Inside his room he's Koyama the man and he allows himself to worry and cry in frustration and let his mask slip away until he has to leave again. Yamashita checks on him after that first week and Koyama meets him at the door, steps outside and shuts it behind him before he'll talk to Yamashita. The leader gives him a funny look but Koyama doesn't want his safe haven to be in jeopardy and then laughs at himself.
"Are you okay, Koyama?" he asks quietly, voice laced with concern. He looks either way to make sure they're alone. "It's got to be difficult always having to be the strong one. You can talk to me, I hope you know."
He can't. He sees the stress cracking Yamashita around the edges, so he just smiles peacefully. "I am hopeful," he replies. "I know we can make it." He knows they can. The question is will they.
Yamashita's look is skeptical but he grudgingly nods, claps a hand on Koyama's shoulder. "Just let me know if you need anything."
The fourth week and Koyama is crouching next to Yamashita in front of generator 3. "Well?" he prompts.
Yamashita just grunts and shakes his head ruefully. "Gonna have to go." Steepling his fingers under his chin, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Call the guys."
Week five and Koyama is making visits. He doesn't want anyone in his room and the tension and anxiety is almost palpable everywhere in the station.
"I'm having trouble sleeping," Nakamaru says, making a face. "I … keep having…"
"Nightmares?" Koyama flinches. Gasping, clawing at his throat, drowning but there's no water.
"Yeah."
Koyama rubs at his face, probably a little pale, just like everyone else's, with the barest hint of blue. He wonders if it's just his imagination, though, and the horrid fluorescent lighting.
"Koyama?" Nakamaru asks hesitantly.
"Ah. Sorry." He tries to think. Can't give him sedatives before bed or he might just not wake up. Thinking is making his head hurt. What he needs, what they all need, is oxygen, of course. Damnit. He's not a doctor. "Do you have any music you can play while you sleep? Something soft or soothing?"
Nakamaru nods slowly.
"Good. Do some light stretching before bed and keep the music on all night." He can tell Nakamaru has no idea why that would help, but he's desperate, like they all are, so he'll try it. Koyama knows it won't work. Not well, anyway, since he's already tried, but maybe it will have a placebo effect coming from him. "And check with Sho so he can make sure it's not obstructive sleep apnea. We're certainly tired enough, I guess. He'll take care of that end."
Week six and Koyama hasn't slept in a full week. His face is gaunt and he's got deep bruises under his eyes. He really doesn't look much different than the others, but he's having trouble hanging on to the calm and determination he's desperately instilling in his five crewmates. He misses huge stretches of time and wonders what he was doing, not that it matters. When he steps into his room and shuts the door behind him, he'd like to be shocked at the stranger standing against the far wall, but he's too tired to think so he just accepts it with a shrug.
"Who are you?" he asks, tongue thick in his mouth.
The round-cheeked man smiles. "I'm Massu."
"And what are you doing in my cabin?"
Massu looks around thoughtfully before taking three long strides forward until he's barely an inch from Koyama's face. "It's more of a cabinet than a cabin, wouldn't you say?" Smiling brightly, he brings his hands up to cup Koyama's head. "Not that I'm one to talk." Then he hops up to sit cross-legged on the desk against the wall, opposite Koyama's bunk. "Who counsels the counselor, Koyama?"
Koyama lowers himself onto his bunk and stares at the man. "I do."
Massu just nods. "I know what's going on in your head. You're terrified. Overwhelmed. Tired of being strong. Afraid that in two weeks no one will come. Or that generator 3 will finally give up too early. Yamashita's been saying that."
Koyama just looks at him with wide eyes. "How do you know?" he whispers.
"Why don't you tell me about it?" Massu asks gently.
And Koyama does, mouth moving of its own volition, words pouring out he'd never even realized he'd been thinking. And when he's done, Massu moves to his side and pushes him down on the bed, kneels beside him and strokes his hair, humming softly, until Koyama falls asleep.
Massu's not there when he wakes up and he barely remembers him. But he feels good. Light and airy. It makes his job easier, and he can feel the tension easing from his crewmates as he flits among them, chatting them up. Yamashita watches him, head tilted.
Massu waits for him every day in his bunk, waiting to hear the news, waiting for Koyama to unburden himself. Koyama has decided that he is crazy. But that's all right, isn't it? He feels better than he has any right to feel under the conditions. If his psyche wants to split up the middle and give him a confidante, he won't argue with it.
"Good day?" Massu asks hopefully when Koyama comes through the door into the tiny space he calls sanctuary.
Koyama just grunts and sits down at his bunk, struggling to yank off his boots, and then stretches out, shivering uncontrollably as the weary muscles pull uncomfortably. He wants to cry, he's that tired, mentally and physically. And Massu knows it, climbs over Koyama to settle behind him and wraps his arms around him and lets him relax. Koyama can feel the gentle flicker of happiness in him flare to life as he slips into the darkness. He wonders how long it will last, but at least he's sleeping now.
Generator 3 drops to 30% on the first day of week seven and they finally drop below the acceptable oxygen levels to 19.4%.
"We have oxygen in the suits," Yokoyama screeches, and Yasuda forcibly restrains him.
"No." Yamashita's voice is like steel even though he looks like he's ready to pass out. "There are maybe 2 days' worth of oxygen in the suits. We need to save it in case…" He looks uncertainly toward Koyama who sets his lips in a hard line and nods at him. "Just in case. We have six more days. Right, Nakamaru?"
Their comms expert nods. "Maybe five, but we should hold out for six."
Yasuda lets go of Yokoyama who sags dejectedly and moves to Yamashita's side, whispering something. Yamashita's eyes slip closed and flutter a bit, then he opens them. "Okay. Every day we'll spend one hour in the suits."
There's a ragged cheer and they set their schedules.
Koyama cries his first hour in the suit, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he doesn't even care that he can't rub them away even if it tickles because he swears he'd forgotten what it felt like to be alive. He's glad he pushed to be first, though, because it means he's the first to experience the crushing depression that follows his reentry into the low-oxygen atmosphere of the station again. Means he can shore himself up to handle the other five as they come out. But it was totally worth it.
Massu is smiling brilliantly that night, which is good, because Koyama feels lower than shit, dragging and pulling his body as though it has rocks tied to it, and Massu catches him before he falls, hauling him up onto the bunk to cradle his body in his arms as Koyama sobs. He whispers to him about how beautiful his hour in the suit was and that soon, soon the rescue ship will be there and he can go home. The shock of suffocation wakes him often, and Massu is always there, running comforting hands over Koyama's body and singing him to sleep again. He thinks, when he really wakes and Massu is gone, that he's glad he's crazy, closes his eyes and reaches behind him to drag fingers across Massu's abdomen, and his own stomach flutters.
On the fifth day of week seven, they get in their suits to stay, generator 3 having completely failed. They all sit on the observation deck side-by-side, watching, praying, hoping that everything is still on line. Nakamaru receives the call through his suit with four hours of oxygen left in their tanks that the rescue ship is within sight and will be there in three hours. They jump and hug and cry, and Koyama closes his eyes and takes Massu's hand in his own and squeezes.
Back on Earth, Koyama isn't allowed to leave base after the required two-week stay for 'psychological reasons' and he hugs each of his crewmates as they leave, smiling at them.
Yamashita hangs back. "Koyama. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I shouldn't have made you take the strain of five people. That's my job and I…"
Koyama crushes Yamashita to him. "It'll be okay."
They stay like that for minutes until finally Yamashita pulls away, rubbing at his face. "You always say that."
"I know," he replies, and smiles.
"You just… you just get better, okay?"
Koyama nods gravely, waiting until Yamashita turns away before curling his fingers around something no one else can see.
"Well," he whispers with a giggle, "the counselor has a counselor, now."
Massu squeezes his fingers and smiles widely at him and Koyama laughs in delight and thinks that he likes the one he already had.