(no subject)
Like a Stellar Bomb
Sunshine
Mace/Capa
14,000 words (This is post 1 of 2)
Adult - sex and language
Big, huge thanks to rhythmsextion for her quick, awesome beta. ♥
Part 1
Two months into the trip, two months into life on Icarus II, Cassie snuck into Capa's bunk for the first time and asked him what his life had been like back home. Bleary and out of sorts, he made the mistake of telling her about his parents, his sister, even the cat he'd had for a few years during college who had died of some mysterious cat illness that he still didn't quite understand. Laughingly, his head hurting and still half asleep, he asked her if that was strange. If it struck her as weird that he could build a bomb as large as Manhattan that was meant to reignite the sun, but he couldn't understand something as simple as a feline immune deficiency.
He didn't remember what she'd said in return.
When he woke the next morning, there was no sign she'd been there at all and he wondered if maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing. Too often, his dreams were nothing but the surface of the sun, burning bright and orange and hot, and his skin peeling back as he fell down and down and down, but at the beginning, he dreamed of other things now and then. His cat, one night, and Mace's hands another. Maybe Cassie had been a dream, too.
The morning had been rough. Groggy and feeling vaguely ill, Capa made his way to the small room where the crew took their meals and nearly threw himself into one of the chairs. With his elbows propped up on the table, he cradled his head in his hands and turned only when he heard the scrape of a chair on the ground next to him.
Mace took the seat beside him, gave him a look and then nodded a greeting to Cassie, who was coming to Capa's side. He and Mace stared at each other for a moment and Capa frowned in response.
"I don't think it's strange," Cassie said suddenly, touching his arm with her fingertips.
Capa drew back, surprised by both her words and the touch.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"I don't think it's strange," Cassie repeated in a low voice, watching him with those large, soft eyes. "That you didn't know how to help your cat."
"Oh." Silence for a long moment, the realization that both Searle and Mace were watching, although pretending not to, and then Capa nodded and turned away. He wasn't on this mission to make friends or, more difficult still, develop any sort of romantic connection. There was the payload and nothing more.
*
It was five weeks before Cassie visited him again.
She never woke him as she came in. Her footsteps, the pressure of her body on the bed next to him; it was all very distantly registered, like part of the dream he always seemed to be having.
"Capa," she whispered and he woke abruptly, hands clenched in fists, sheet damp with sweat.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she murmured, looking concerned and he shook his head; turned away. His fingers curled over the edge of the sheet and pulled it closer, over his shoulders, blocking her out.
"I don't feel like I know anyone else," she protested quietly, reading his rejection in the line of his shoulders. Immediately, he felt a rush of guilt, as inexplicable and annoying as his inability to fully predict whether or not the payload would reach the destination that was required of it. The mission was not meant to be about forging bonds and yet he couldn't help but feel connected somehow. To all of them.
"I'm just tired," he replied, turning back to her. "It's been a long day."
Cassie hesitated, then nodded. "We'll talk to tomorrow."
Then she was gone, as quietly as she'd come. Capa turned onto his back, the sheet clinging to his thin chest as his mind wandered, caught up in the calculations that never seemed to find a finishing point. He could do the math as many times as he wanted, it always ended the same and if it always ended the same, then what was the point? Why did he spend so much time and energy on a product that would never change?
Because it could change. He knew it could. Cassie and the others would have to understand that. Friendships came second. The payload came first.
As he turned over again, his eyes closing, Capa thought that Mace, of all people, would understand that.
*
"It isn't healthy, you know," Searle commented, elbows bent and rested on his knees, chin in his hands, gaze turned forward. He and Capa were alone in the observation room, the filter turned down as low as Capa could stand it before feeling as though his skin was beginning to freckle.
"What isn't?"
"This sense of detachment about you," Searle replied, not looking away from the sun. "I understand that you have a job to do here, Capa, probably the most important job in history, but we all have jobs. Our jobs will get you to the place you need to be in order to finish your job."
"I understand," Capa answered. "Without any of you, there would be no Icarus II, there would-"
"I'm not suggesting you don't appreciate the work we do," Searle interrupted, finally looking away from the observation window. Lifting his sunglasses, he studied Capa for a long moment before he lowered them again and returned his attention to the sun. "Try to relate to someone on board this ship in the next few days. I know Cassie seems to display a special interest in getting to know you a little bit better. Would that be so bad?"
"It... it isn't about good or bad," Capa answered uneasily. "That doesn't matter. It's about this job and what we have to do."
"At the end of the day, if you save the world, Capa, who will be there to celebrate with?" Searle asked. "What's worth saving down there if you have no connections?"
"I have my family," Capa protested. "My sister."
"Learn to let people in, my friend," Searle suggested, getting to his feet and giving Capa's shoulder a gentle pat. "Some of us are weird, I grant you, but most of us are not so bad. Think of one person on Icarus you'd like to get to know better. Make it a project."
A project. Because he didn't have enough to work on without having to make friends on top of it. Frowning faintly, Capa scrubbed his hands over his face before saying, "Icarus, dial up the filter, please."
"Yes, Capa," the computer answered promptly and immediately, the room went dark.
*
There was no logical or sane reason to choose Mace.
When they passed each other in the hall, Mace's shoulder would often bump against Capa's, sending him grunting into the wall of the ship. At meals, Mace would lean his elbows on the table and Capa would occasionally catch him staring, pinning him down with his gaze. Had Capa been the kind of man who was easily intimidated, he would have gone out of his way to avoid Mace and the confrontation that almost always seemed to be brewing between the two of them. He didn't know why Mace didn't like him, only that his distaste seemed to be evident to everyone else on the crew.
So rather than Cassie, who would have been easy enough to connect with, Capa chose Mace. Searle didn't question when he spotted Capa studying Mace one day, only looked on in amusement and made some muttered comment about always wanting a challenge.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Capa picked Mace simply because he would be the most difficult to get to know. There was always the hope that it would be outright impossible, which would leave Capa exactly where he'd begun and Searle could no longer say he hadn't tried.
Five months into the trip, more than a month after his talk with Searle in the observation room, Capa paused in the door to the gym and watched Mace for a moment.
"What?" Mace asked, lifting the weight bar over his head and then tilting his neck to look over at Capa. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, slipping into his damp hair and Capa watched, transfixed, for what felt like absolutely no reason in the world. "Either spot me or get lost."
"Is there a reason you're always so cheerful?" Capa asked, pushing back from the door with a disgusted expression.
"Yeah," Mace grunted, lifting the weights again, muscles straining with tension. "Five months in space with absolutely nothing to do except occasionally check on Icarus and make sure she's running smoothly, which she always is, and watching the sun get closer and closer. That's the reason I'm so damn cheerful. Thanks for asking."
It was easy to lose track of time here. The days slipped by the same way the nights did and Capa could see how one might begin to go a little stir crazy. At least he had the payload to work on. Mace had Icarus, who was such a complex, perfect machine that she rarely needed any work. It had to be frustrating and for a moment, a rare, strange moment, Capa felt sympathy for Mace.
"Spot me or get lost," Mace repeated, but the bar was already clanking back down, held above Mace's head as he slid down the bench and sat up, glaring at Capa. "And let me point out the emphasis I've placed on get lost."
For a moment, Capa simply watched Mace, then did as asked, and left the room.
*
"Any progress?" Searle asked, barely a glimpse of his mischievous expression visible beyond the sunglasses he rarely seemed to take off these days. Six months in space and Capa was beginning to wonder if their psych officer was starting to lose it.
"The numbers are all coming out the same," he admitted in exasperation, running a hand through his long hair. If the payload didn't reach its destination, if the detonation didn't go off exactly as planned, there was a chance -- a good chance -- that the world would die off. Because his bomb didn't work.
"I'm not talking about the bomb, Capa," Searle said in an amused tone. "I'm talking about what we discussed before."
There was frustrated silence, then the tapping of Capa's fingers against the mainframe buttons resumed. With his mouth set into a thin, hard line, he looked older than he was.
"Mace isn't responsive," Capa said finally, refusing to look at Searle. "I gave it a shot, but it didn't work. I have things I need to do here, you know. Things that are slightly more important than making friends with the meat head next door."
"He isn't a meat head," Searle answered and Capa sighed. Dropping his head forward, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to block out Searle and the atmosphere and everything that complicated the numbers.
"I know," he said finally. Lifting his head, he looked at Searle, held his gaze steadily and admitted, "I've never been good at making friends, but to be perfectly honest, I've never cared before either. It's easier to concentrate when I don't have to worry about maintaining relationships."
"Easier, maybe," Searle agreed. "But still not healthy."
Capa wanted to ask what, exactly, was so healthy about developing relationships with people who would likely die before their time, go off into space on another mission and be gone for the better part of ten years or just up and decide they didn’t want him around anymore. As far as he could see, that wasn’t the healthiest way of going about things. Instead, he kept silent, returning his attention to the calculations in front of him, hoping that, in his frustration, they might begin to make a little bit of sense.
"It wouldn't hurt to give it another shot, would it?" Searle asked, scratching his chin. "We do have the better part of ten months stretched out in front of us, after all."
"Ten months in which I have to figure out the accuracy of the bomb and the likelihood of our survival," Capa answered tightly, trying not to sound angry and failing. It was like this entire mission was an afterthought sometimes, like no one realized just how close everything was to failing entirely simply because they still had ten months to go. When it came down to it, ten months really wasn't that long.
"Have you ever given thought to the fact that you and I are friends?" Searle asked, then flashed a bright, cheerful grin before he disappeared from the doorway, whistling loudly as he headed down the hall and away from Capa.
"No," Capa muttered, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. "I like it better when I don't have to think about that."
*
"Do you think we'll make it?" Cassie asked one night, curled into the corner of Capa's bunk, her feet tucked under her body and her fingers laced around one knee. It was impossible to see her expression in the dark, but Capa found that he preferred it that way.
"We have to," he answered, wondering when this would stop. When she would stop coming to him.
"Why?" she asked, shifting on the bunk and then getting to her feet, as if she sensed his desire for her to leave. Before she went, though, she wanted an answer. "Why do we have to?"
"Because we have to," Capa replied simply and left it at that.
Cassie waited for a moment longer, as if he might say something else, and then disappeared from the room.
Because we have to. Because Capa, who wasn't afraid, didn't want the world to die.
*
Eight months into their mission, Cassie stopped coming to his bunk in the middle of the night. They still spoke during the day and Capa didn't go out of his way to avoid her, but something had changed. She'd felt it, whatever it was that he was trying to send out, and she'd understood.
There was a part of him that felt guilty, especially when Searle looked at him, one eyebrow raised as if he was truly waiting for an answer. But Capa had no answer for him, no matter what the question might be. There was only so many times he could explain that the payload was what mattered aboard this ship and nothing else.
"How are things progressing with Mace?" Searle asked, pushing his sunglasses onto his face. "Icarus, dial down the filter point one percent."
"Yes, Searle," the computer responded and Capa frowned, staring down at the floor between his feet.
"They're not," he answered dully. "Nothing is progressing, not even the things that matter."
"What are the things that matter here?" Searle asked. "The Stellar Bomb?"
The way he said it, so lightly, was all Capa could take and he looked up, jaw set hard. "Yes, Searle, the bomb. The bomb is what matters. Why am I the only one who seems to get that?" Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't the truth; he wasn't the only one. Mace understood it as well. "Cassie's feelings don't matter and her desires don't matter and my own wants or needs don't matter. Do you get that? Whatever I might want from another person on this ship doesn't matter, because if I don't get the bomb delivered properly, there won't be anything left to want."
"So you do admit to wanting something," Searle answered, smiling broadly, as if getting Capa to admit that much had been his plan all along.
"Everyone wants something," Capa said, letting his gaze drop to the floor once again. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he considered his life up to the point that Icarus II had left Earth, he considered all the things he'd done and all the things he'd wanted to do. The girlfriend he had at nineteen, the first girlfriend he'd had, actually, and the way she'd smiled on the very rare occasions he'd managed to say the right thing.
"You're right. It's part of what makes us human," Searle said. "Do you understand that wanting something doesn't make you weak? It doesn't mean that you won't accomplish the mission or that we're all doomed. Wanting something simply connects you to all of us. It's part of what makes Icarus and everyone she carries on board so important."
"I don't want Cassie," Capa admitted finally. "She isn't what I want at all."
Searle's shoulders lifted in a shrug, the movement just barely perceptible in Capa's peripheral vision. "You don't need to want her in particular," he said. "But when you find something you do want, something tangible and here, don't hold yourself back."
"I want a pizza," Capa muttered sulkily, more annoyed than anything that what Searle was saying made sense.
"Talk to Trey about that," Searle told him, grinning. "You may just be surprised at what we can scrounge up around these parts."
*
"Spot me or get lost."
Capa crossed the room in two long strides, hooking his hands gently under the bar and helping Mace guide it back where it needed to go. Standing over the bench, he looked down at the engineer, keeping his expression as blank as he possibly could.
"Are you suddenly interested in learning how to work out?" Mace asked, almost looking amused as he sat up and reached for a towel, wiping the sweat from his face.
"I don't understand this animosity," Capa said plainly. "I don't understand why you hate me so much."
Mace gave a snort, peering at Capa derisively from over his towel. "You're giving yourself a lot of credit there, don't you think? I don't think of you as enough of a human to actually hate you. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a valuable piece of equipment that I need to keep from getting broken so we can save the world."
The words stung, which Capa found more irritating than the words themselves and he took a step back, frowning.
"You really are an asshole," he said, rubbing his palms against the legs of his pants, wiping away the sweat he could feel gathering. This wasn't going to end well, not with Mace looking at him like he was, fury and amusement and arrogance all coalescing into one unidentifiable emotion.
"I'm not an astronaut, I'm not like the rest of you, so you treat me like equipment," Capa continued, feeling his lip curl in irritation and disgust. "Maybe you should be a little more careful in how you treat me. I'm the only one who can operate the bomb, after all."
It was a stupid, empty threat. Capa wasn't sure why he said it even as he was forming the words, and not seconds after it was out, Mace's body plowed hard into his midsection. With a grunt of pain and surprise, he stumbled back, reaching down, grabbing blindly at Mace's shirt. This was someone who understood.
This was something he wanted.
The first punch surprised him more than the full body attack and Capa's head snapped back, his nose spurting blood. Reeling back, Capa hit the wall behind him, already grappling for a hold on Mace's shirt. Both grunting, they threw clumsy punches and Capa felt a strange sense of both victory and pleasure, like he'd won something in this moment, like having provoked an attack meant he'd done exactly what Searle had suggested. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat and Mace made a sound almost like a snarl as he grabbed Capa's waist, shoving him back to the wall again. Capa brought up his knee, driving it hard into Mace's groin and the other man let out a startled wheeze as he stumbled back in an attempt to block the shot.
Capa expected it to end there. It had always worked that way for him before, although he had only been in a few fights in his lifetime. Mace, though, had other ideas and he swung again, his fist connecting hard and sharp with Capa's jaw. The blow knocked him back and he staggered against the wall, stunned and frozen.
Mace hit him again and it was the second burst of pain that snapped Capa to life, his arms flailing as he reached for Mace, grabbing him in a tight hold. Both men were panting, grabbing for each other, struggling against the wall and the others' body. A string of curses escaped Mace as he grabbed for Capa's hair, a last ditch attempt to gain control.
"Hey!"
The voice startled them both and Mace jerked back so hard he almost lost his balance. The only thing that kept him from falling was Capa's hand wrapped in the front of his shirt.
"This is not the place," Kaneda said as Mace and Capa finally fell away from each other, both still breathing heavily. Capa felt chagrined, like he was a child being chastised, but when he looked up, he found Mace smiling, reaching up at the same time to wipe blood from his lip.
"Should you two feel the need to display your high levels of testosterone in the next eight months on this ship, please consider what I may be forced to do in punishment," Kaneda continued, arms crossing as he watched them severely.
Capa liked Kaneda, probably more than he liked anyone else on Icarus, but he also knew not to cross the man.
"Yes, Captain," he answered, avoiding Mace's steady gaze. Mace, who wasn't looking at Kaneda. Mace, who was continuing to study Capa with a faintly amused smile curving the corners of his mouth.
"Mace?" Kaneda asked.
"You got it, Captain," Mace replied, still watching Capa. His thumb went to his lower lip again, collecting blood that he wiped off on his towel.
Kaneda remained where he was for a moment longer, as if daring them to start fighting again, then seemed satisfied with their answers. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Capa and Mace alone in the room, silent but for their shallow breathing.
Frustrated, Capa lifted one hand and touched the tender place under his cheek where Mace had punched him. An aborted attempt at a fight was worse than not having one at all.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Mace asked, startling Capa, and he nodded without thinking. Mace nodded as well, still grinning even as the bruise on his jaw began to darken, standing out stark and ugly against his skin. "Now I think it's really time you got lost."
Capa smiled a little, unable to stop himself and he didn't understand why. Even as he walked away, limping very slightly, holding one hand to his lip to stop the bleeding, he couldn't fully comprehend why he felt so relaxed. Why he finally felt so good.
*
"What happened?" Cassie asked, her fingers going to the dark smudge of a bruise that stood out so sharply against Capa's pale, freckled skin. The morning after, and Capa knew he looked even worse than he had the day before. His muscles ached and protested every movement he made, rigid and stiff in ways he hadn't known his body was capable of. Mace had known, of course. These days, Capa was beginning to wonder what there was that Mace didn't know.
"It's nothing," he assured her, although he didn't immediately duck away from her touch.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Mace watching them and a part of him wanted to give Mace something to see.
"It doesn't look like nothing," Cassie replied, but she dropped her hand even as she continued to watch him with concern. "It looks like someone decided to display just how manly they are and used your face as a sounding board."
Briefly, a faint smile touched Capa's lips, and he nodded, dropping his gaze to the ground. "That might be a fair assessment," he agreed. "But I think I held my own." There was something dangerously close to pride tempering his voice and when he looked at Cassie again, he smiled genuinely.
Cassie laughed softly, then shook her head, looking over at Mace with an arched eyebrow. The bruises on his face were difficult to miss and she sighed, then shook her head again.
"Boys," she said, rolling her eyes as she left the room.
Capa remained where he was, that same smile still curving the corners of his mouth as he waited for Mace to do something. There was a challenge in his stance, his arms braced against the door he was leaning through and he knew Mace had to be able to feel it. Shifting from foot to foot, Capa didn't know if he wanted another fight or a conversation or something else entirely. It seemed like Mace didn't know what he wanted either, because he turned after a moment and disappeared after Cassie, leaving Capa standing alone in the door, his fingers curled over the edge.
*
Plummeting toward the surface, he screams and screams, calling for someone to save him, calling for his mother or his sister or Mace or Kaneda. He screams for Cassie and for Searle, feeling the heat rushing up toward him, feeling it burn the hair from the back of his head, feeling it burn through the skin until there's nothing but bone.
Nothing but charred human remains and then nothing.
He burns up in a flash, a sharp, bright spark and then just nothing. Just stardust, like he's never even existed in the first place.
When he woke, jerking the sheet up around his shoulder, biting back a scream, Capa didn't even know she was there.
"The sun?" Cassie asked after a moment and he nearly screamed again, his feet tangled in the sweaty sheet, his shirt twisted uncomfortably around his chest, choking him, making it difficult to breathe.
"You scared me," he said, reaching up to correct his shirt, his trembling fingers sliding over damp cotton and pulling it straight. It wasn't Cassie who had scared him, of course, but there were certain things he couldn't bring himself to talk about with her. Over the past few weeks things had gotten easier for him, words and stories had come out, jokes were told and memories were shared, but some things had to remain his own.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I thought you knew I was here."
"Why don't you sleep?" he asked, hoping she would forget her question. "You never seem to sleep."
In the dark, Cassie smiled and touched Capa's hand gently. "When you tell me what you dream about, I'll tell you why I don't sleep."
*
"I know," Capa said when he entered the gym, crossing to where Mace was using the bench and hooking his hands under the bar, helping to guide it. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Mace simply worked, lifting the weights over his head, breath pushed out in a soft puff of air as his muscles strained and sweat prickled his brow. Capa only watched, paying attention to the bar as if he'd never seen anything quite so interesting in his entire life and yet still managing to watch Mace from the corner of his eye.
They weren't friends. Capa still felt a barely disguised irritation whenever he saw the other man and Mace hadn't made an attempt to stop insulting Capa whenever he saw the need. It wasn't friendship they needed or wanted, however, and they both knew it. At the very least, Capa knew it, and he suspected Mace did, too.
Mace really was the only other person on the mission who understood the importance of the payload.
"If you're doing this to get out of meeting with Searle, you have to know it isn't going to work," Mace grunted, heaving the bar back into its holding position with Capa's help. Sliding down the bench, damp skin glittering in the artificial light of the ship (Like the Stellar Bomb, Capa thought insanely, trying not to laugh. Just like the bomb.) he grabbed for his towel and then shot Capa a look over his shoulder. "You know he'll see right through your bullshit. We're not friends."
"I know we're not," Capa answered easily. Friendship wasn't what mattered. Connection was what mattered, reaction was what mattered and he grinned, unable to stop himself this time. Just like the Stellar Bomb.
"What the hell are you smiling about?" Mace asked, leaning back on his hands, watching Capa curiously.
"It's just funny to me. The fact that you're the only one who understands how I think about the mission," Capa admitted, thin shoulders lifting in a shrug.
"The payload is all that matters," Mace said simply, as if it was obvious. As if everyone on the crew thought that way.
"I don't mean they're not dedicated," Capa added quickly. "I know they are. We're all dedicated to this mission and what needs to be done, but everyone else..."
Mace smiled faintly, sadly, and said, "Everyone else thinks about what they'll do when they get home."
And that was it. That was that Capa had been unable to put into words. It was everything Searle had been saying to him come to fruition and he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or lay down and cry. A shiver went through him, coursing down his body, bringing goose bumps out on his arms as though he'd caught a chill, but Capa knew it was only because of what Mace had said.
Everyone else thinks about what they'll do when they get home.
Mace and Capa knew they weren’t going home.
"That's so fucked," Capa whispered after a moment, laughing to himself as he took a few steps back from the bench and leaned against the wall. "No wonder Searle thinks I need his help all the time just to function." It was fucked up, but a part of him had always known exactly what it was. In some attempt at protecting himself, he'd only needed someone else to voice his own thoughts.
"It's just reality," Mace argued. "I mean, I get it. I understand that thinking about what they'll do when they get home is what keeps most of the crew going, but we're the ones who are being realistic, Capa, not them. We're the ones who know that we have to do everything in our power to make sure we get the payload exactly where it needs to be. When it comes down to it, they'll all give their lives for it if they have to. We're just prepared for it."
"That's grim," Capa said, but he didn't deny that Mace was right. Grim or not, he was prepared to do exactly that. Whatever happened, he was prepared to give his life to the payload if he needed to.
"Searle just wants to make sure neither of us goes off the deep end before we get to where we need to be," Mace said, lifting his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, as if he didn't care what Searle wanted. "Time in the Earth Room, connections to others..." Trailing off, Mace glanced toward the door as if someone had been standing there, listening, but found it empty.
"That's what he said to me," Capa admitted.
"At least you have Cassie," Mace pointed out, his voice losing any warmth it had gained over the past few minutes. Climbing to his feet, he slung the towel over his shoulder and looked at Capa with irritation and disgust. "That's more than most of us can say."
"I don't have Cassie," Capa replied, sounding confused. "I don't have anyone."
"But you could," Mace said on his way out of the room. "I guess that's what makes you so much stupider than the rest of us."
*
They didn't speak for two weeks, maybe longer. Capa refused to keep track of something so utterly inane and it wasn't until Searle mentioned that he'd noticed they were avoiding each other that Capa really stopped to think about how long it had been.
"He thinks I'm stupid," he told Searle simply, watching the payload test run, his gaze caught and held by the sparkling lights that were ignited and multiplied.
"Mace called you stupid?" Searle asked, leaning against the back wall and watching the test run as well. It was impossible to look away, Capa knew this, and it was why he was capable of holding conversations inside the payload. Everything was easier when there was a beautiful explosion happening to draw the attention away from any words that were spoken.
With a nod, Capa touched the controls gently, watching the way the bomb reacted to the tests he was running. "Because I haven't..." No, he didn't want to say that. Sighing softly, he cancelled the test run and the room fell into darkness. "Because I don't want to sleep with Cassie."
"Those were his words?"
"No, not exactly," Capa answered reluctantly. "But it was implied. It doesn't matter, really, does it? What he's said or what he thinks of me."
"You say that an awful lot, you know," Searle pointed out.
"What?"
Searle smiled in the dark chamber and finally removed his sunglasses. "It doesn't matter. You often tell me that it doesn't matter. It's an interesting choice of words, don't you think?"
"I'm running tests, Searle, I'm not looking for a psych eval," Capa replied abruptly, turning his back on the other man and beginning to run codes through the controls once again.
"It's what I'm good at. Why don't you humour me for just a little while?" Searle asked and Capa could hear the smile in his voice without even needing to turn around and see it. There were times when the psych officer pissed him off royally, but there were times, too, when Capa couldn't help but appreciate both the man's sense of humour and his persistence in dealing with the crew on Icarus.
"Fine," Capa allowed, turning to face him. "Evaluate me."
Shaking his head, Searle smiled again. "That isn't how it works, you know that. We talk, Capa, like we always do. You say things that are revealing without meaning to and I pick up on these things and point them out to you until you admit that they mean something."
"You don't want to try a new approach now that you've told me how you work?" Capa asked dryly, but he was smiling as well. "I'm sure we could find a couch somewhere for me to stretch out on."
"We could do that, but why mess with perfection?" Searle asked, then turned his attention back to the bomb. "Why is it you believe Mace might think you're being stupid?"
"I..." Capa had been prepared to tell Searle that he didn't know, but that wasn't the truth. He thought he did know, only because it was something he himself felt too often during this mission. "I think he's starting to forget what time is like back there. I think I'm not the only one on board this ship who's lacking in connection to the others. I think maybe... maybe he's lonely."
Searle nodded, gaze caught by the sparkling lights of the Stellar Bomb. "And you relate to that."
"More than I'd like to admit," Capa answered with a dry, soft laugh. His hands ran over the controls gently, changing nothing, just touching his creation and knowing that she was still there. Still solid and real and all his.
"Do you agree with Mace's assessment?" Searle asked.
"Do I agree that I'm stupid?" Capa clarified, then shook his head. "I don't think that not wanting someone is stupid."
"Even when your options are limited?" Searle asked.
With another surprised laugh, Capa turned. "Jesus Christ, Searle, are you trying to convince me that Mace is right? That I'm being stupid just because I don't want Cassie?"
"Of course not," Searle answered. "I'm just trying to determine whether or not you agree with him and I'm not speaking specifically about Cassie. It could be anyone, any person, I still think you would avoid a relationship of a romantic or sexual nature."
"We can stop talking about this now," Capa decided, shutting down the test run, removing his keys from the control panel. "We're done."
"I think you should spend some time in the Earth Room," Searle advised, although he didn't press the issue any further. "It might do you well to remember what things were like back there."
"I remember what things were like," Capa answered, frowning. "Sometimes that's the problem."
*
part 2
Sunshine
Mace/Capa
14,000 words (This is post 1 of 2)
Adult - sex and language
Big, huge thanks to rhythmsextion for her quick, awesome beta. ♥
Part 1
Two months into the trip, two months into life on Icarus II, Cassie snuck into Capa's bunk for the first time and asked him what his life had been like back home. Bleary and out of sorts, he made the mistake of telling her about his parents, his sister, even the cat he'd had for a few years during college who had died of some mysterious cat illness that he still didn't quite understand. Laughingly, his head hurting and still half asleep, he asked her if that was strange. If it struck her as weird that he could build a bomb as large as Manhattan that was meant to reignite the sun, but he couldn't understand something as simple as a feline immune deficiency.
He didn't remember what she'd said in return.
When he woke the next morning, there was no sign she'd been there at all and he wondered if maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing. Too often, his dreams were nothing but the surface of the sun, burning bright and orange and hot, and his skin peeling back as he fell down and down and down, but at the beginning, he dreamed of other things now and then. His cat, one night, and Mace's hands another. Maybe Cassie had been a dream, too.
The morning had been rough. Groggy and feeling vaguely ill, Capa made his way to the small room where the crew took their meals and nearly threw himself into one of the chairs. With his elbows propped up on the table, he cradled his head in his hands and turned only when he heard the scrape of a chair on the ground next to him.
Mace took the seat beside him, gave him a look and then nodded a greeting to Cassie, who was coming to Capa's side. He and Mace stared at each other for a moment and Capa frowned in response.
"I don't think it's strange," Cassie said suddenly, touching his arm with her fingertips.
Capa drew back, surprised by both her words and the touch.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"I don't think it's strange," Cassie repeated in a low voice, watching him with those large, soft eyes. "That you didn't know how to help your cat."
"Oh." Silence for a long moment, the realization that both Searle and Mace were watching, although pretending not to, and then Capa nodded and turned away. He wasn't on this mission to make friends or, more difficult still, develop any sort of romantic connection. There was the payload and nothing more.
*
It was five weeks before Cassie visited him again.
She never woke him as she came in. Her footsteps, the pressure of her body on the bed next to him; it was all very distantly registered, like part of the dream he always seemed to be having.
"Capa," she whispered and he woke abruptly, hands clenched in fists, sheet damp with sweat.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," she murmured, looking concerned and he shook his head; turned away. His fingers curled over the edge of the sheet and pulled it closer, over his shoulders, blocking her out.
"I don't feel like I know anyone else," she protested quietly, reading his rejection in the line of his shoulders. Immediately, he felt a rush of guilt, as inexplicable and annoying as his inability to fully predict whether or not the payload would reach the destination that was required of it. The mission was not meant to be about forging bonds and yet he couldn't help but feel connected somehow. To all of them.
"I'm just tired," he replied, turning back to her. "It's been a long day."
Cassie hesitated, then nodded. "We'll talk to tomorrow."
Then she was gone, as quietly as she'd come. Capa turned onto his back, the sheet clinging to his thin chest as his mind wandered, caught up in the calculations that never seemed to find a finishing point. He could do the math as many times as he wanted, it always ended the same and if it always ended the same, then what was the point? Why did he spend so much time and energy on a product that would never change?
Because it could change. He knew it could. Cassie and the others would have to understand that. Friendships came second. The payload came first.
As he turned over again, his eyes closing, Capa thought that Mace, of all people, would understand that.
*
"It isn't healthy, you know," Searle commented, elbows bent and rested on his knees, chin in his hands, gaze turned forward. He and Capa were alone in the observation room, the filter turned down as low as Capa could stand it before feeling as though his skin was beginning to freckle.
"What isn't?"
"This sense of detachment about you," Searle replied, not looking away from the sun. "I understand that you have a job to do here, Capa, probably the most important job in history, but we all have jobs. Our jobs will get you to the place you need to be in order to finish your job."
"I understand," Capa answered. "Without any of you, there would be no Icarus II, there would-"
"I'm not suggesting you don't appreciate the work we do," Searle interrupted, finally looking away from the observation window. Lifting his sunglasses, he studied Capa for a long moment before he lowered them again and returned his attention to the sun. "Try to relate to someone on board this ship in the next few days. I know Cassie seems to display a special interest in getting to know you a little bit better. Would that be so bad?"
"It... it isn't about good or bad," Capa answered uneasily. "That doesn't matter. It's about this job and what we have to do."
"At the end of the day, if you save the world, Capa, who will be there to celebrate with?" Searle asked. "What's worth saving down there if you have no connections?"
"I have my family," Capa protested. "My sister."
"Learn to let people in, my friend," Searle suggested, getting to his feet and giving Capa's shoulder a gentle pat. "Some of us are weird, I grant you, but most of us are not so bad. Think of one person on Icarus you'd like to get to know better. Make it a project."
A project. Because he didn't have enough to work on without having to make friends on top of it. Frowning faintly, Capa scrubbed his hands over his face before saying, "Icarus, dial up the filter, please."
"Yes, Capa," the computer answered promptly and immediately, the room went dark.
*
There was no logical or sane reason to choose Mace.
When they passed each other in the hall, Mace's shoulder would often bump against Capa's, sending him grunting into the wall of the ship. At meals, Mace would lean his elbows on the table and Capa would occasionally catch him staring, pinning him down with his gaze. Had Capa been the kind of man who was easily intimidated, he would have gone out of his way to avoid Mace and the confrontation that almost always seemed to be brewing between the two of them. He didn't know why Mace didn't like him, only that his distaste seemed to be evident to everyone else on the crew.
So rather than Cassie, who would have been easy enough to connect with, Capa chose Mace. Searle didn't question when he spotted Capa studying Mace one day, only looked on in amusement and made some muttered comment about always wanting a challenge.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Capa picked Mace simply because he would be the most difficult to get to know. There was always the hope that it would be outright impossible, which would leave Capa exactly where he'd begun and Searle could no longer say he hadn't tried.
Five months into the trip, more than a month after his talk with Searle in the observation room, Capa paused in the door to the gym and watched Mace for a moment.
"What?" Mace asked, lifting the weight bar over his head and then tilting his neck to look over at Capa. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, slipping into his damp hair and Capa watched, transfixed, for what felt like absolutely no reason in the world. "Either spot me or get lost."
"Is there a reason you're always so cheerful?" Capa asked, pushing back from the door with a disgusted expression.
"Yeah," Mace grunted, lifting the weights again, muscles straining with tension. "Five months in space with absolutely nothing to do except occasionally check on Icarus and make sure she's running smoothly, which she always is, and watching the sun get closer and closer. That's the reason I'm so damn cheerful. Thanks for asking."
It was easy to lose track of time here. The days slipped by the same way the nights did and Capa could see how one might begin to go a little stir crazy. At least he had the payload to work on. Mace had Icarus, who was such a complex, perfect machine that she rarely needed any work. It had to be frustrating and for a moment, a rare, strange moment, Capa felt sympathy for Mace.
"Spot me or get lost," Mace repeated, but the bar was already clanking back down, held above Mace's head as he slid down the bench and sat up, glaring at Capa. "And let me point out the emphasis I've placed on get lost."
For a moment, Capa simply watched Mace, then did as asked, and left the room.
*
"Any progress?" Searle asked, barely a glimpse of his mischievous expression visible beyond the sunglasses he rarely seemed to take off these days. Six months in space and Capa was beginning to wonder if their psych officer was starting to lose it.
"The numbers are all coming out the same," he admitted in exasperation, running a hand through his long hair. If the payload didn't reach its destination, if the detonation didn't go off exactly as planned, there was a chance -- a good chance -- that the world would die off. Because his bomb didn't work.
"I'm not talking about the bomb, Capa," Searle said in an amused tone. "I'm talking about what we discussed before."
There was frustrated silence, then the tapping of Capa's fingers against the mainframe buttons resumed. With his mouth set into a thin, hard line, he looked older than he was.
"Mace isn't responsive," Capa said finally, refusing to look at Searle. "I gave it a shot, but it didn't work. I have things I need to do here, you know. Things that are slightly more important than making friends with the meat head next door."
"He isn't a meat head," Searle answered and Capa sighed. Dropping his head forward, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to block out Searle and the atmosphere and everything that complicated the numbers.
"I know," he said finally. Lifting his head, he looked at Searle, held his gaze steadily and admitted, "I've never been good at making friends, but to be perfectly honest, I've never cared before either. It's easier to concentrate when I don't have to worry about maintaining relationships."
"Easier, maybe," Searle agreed. "But still not healthy."
Capa wanted to ask what, exactly, was so healthy about developing relationships with people who would likely die before their time, go off into space on another mission and be gone for the better part of ten years or just up and decide they didn’t want him around anymore. As far as he could see, that wasn’t the healthiest way of going about things. Instead, he kept silent, returning his attention to the calculations in front of him, hoping that, in his frustration, they might begin to make a little bit of sense.
"It wouldn't hurt to give it another shot, would it?" Searle asked, scratching his chin. "We do have the better part of ten months stretched out in front of us, after all."
"Ten months in which I have to figure out the accuracy of the bomb and the likelihood of our survival," Capa answered tightly, trying not to sound angry and failing. It was like this entire mission was an afterthought sometimes, like no one realized just how close everything was to failing entirely simply because they still had ten months to go. When it came down to it, ten months really wasn't that long.
"Have you ever given thought to the fact that you and I are friends?" Searle asked, then flashed a bright, cheerful grin before he disappeared from the doorway, whistling loudly as he headed down the hall and away from Capa.
"No," Capa muttered, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. "I like it better when I don't have to think about that."
*
"Do you think we'll make it?" Cassie asked one night, curled into the corner of Capa's bunk, her feet tucked under her body and her fingers laced around one knee. It was impossible to see her expression in the dark, but Capa found that he preferred it that way.
"We have to," he answered, wondering when this would stop. When she would stop coming to him.
"Why?" she asked, shifting on the bunk and then getting to her feet, as if she sensed his desire for her to leave. Before she went, though, she wanted an answer. "Why do we have to?"
"Because we have to," Capa replied simply and left it at that.
Cassie waited for a moment longer, as if he might say something else, and then disappeared from the room.
Because we have to. Because Capa, who wasn't afraid, didn't want the world to die.
*
Eight months into their mission, Cassie stopped coming to his bunk in the middle of the night. They still spoke during the day and Capa didn't go out of his way to avoid her, but something had changed. She'd felt it, whatever it was that he was trying to send out, and she'd understood.
There was a part of him that felt guilty, especially when Searle looked at him, one eyebrow raised as if he was truly waiting for an answer. But Capa had no answer for him, no matter what the question might be. There was only so many times he could explain that the payload was what mattered aboard this ship and nothing else.
"How are things progressing with Mace?" Searle asked, pushing his sunglasses onto his face. "Icarus, dial down the filter point one percent."
"Yes, Searle," the computer responded and Capa frowned, staring down at the floor between his feet.
"They're not," he answered dully. "Nothing is progressing, not even the things that matter."
"What are the things that matter here?" Searle asked. "The Stellar Bomb?"
The way he said it, so lightly, was all Capa could take and he looked up, jaw set hard. "Yes, Searle, the bomb. The bomb is what matters. Why am I the only one who seems to get that?" Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't the truth; he wasn't the only one. Mace understood it as well. "Cassie's feelings don't matter and her desires don't matter and my own wants or needs don't matter. Do you get that? Whatever I might want from another person on this ship doesn't matter, because if I don't get the bomb delivered properly, there won't be anything left to want."
"So you do admit to wanting something," Searle answered, smiling broadly, as if getting Capa to admit that much had been his plan all along.
"Everyone wants something," Capa said, letting his gaze drop to the floor once again. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he considered his life up to the point that Icarus II had left Earth, he considered all the things he'd done and all the things he'd wanted to do. The girlfriend he had at nineteen, the first girlfriend he'd had, actually, and the way she'd smiled on the very rare occasions he'd managed to say the right thing.
"You're right. It's part of what makes us human," Searle said. "Do you understand that wanting something doesn't make you weak? It doesn't mean that you won't accomplish the mission or that we're all doomed. Wanting something simply connects you to all of us. It's part of what makes Icarus and everyone she carries on board so important."
"I don't want Cassie," Capa admitted finally. "She isn't what I want at all."
Searle's shoulders lifted in a shrug, the movement just barely perceptible in Capa's peripheral vision. "You don't need to want her in particular," he said. "But when you find something you do want, something tangible and here, don't hold yourself back."
"I want a pizza," Capa muttered sulkily, more annoyed than anything that what Searle was saying made sense.
"Talk to Trey about that," Searle told him, grinning. "You may just be surprised at what we can scrounge up around these parts."
*
"Spot me or get lost."
Capa crossed the room in two long strides, hooking his hands gently under the bar and helping Mace guide it back where it needed to go. Standing over the bench, he looked down at the engineer, keeping his expression as blank as he possibly could.
"Are you suddenly interested in learning how to work out?" Mace asked, almost looking amused as he sat up and reached for a towel, wiping the sweat from his face.
"I don't understand this animosity," Capa said plainly. "I don't understand why you hate me so much."
Mace gave a snort, peering at Capa derisively from over his towel. "You're giving yourself a lot of credit there, don't you think? I don't think of you as enough of a human to actually hate you. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a valuable piece of equipment that I need to keep from getting broken so we can save the world."
The words stung, which Capa found more irritating than the words themselves and he took a step back, frowning.
"You really are an asshole," he said, rubbing his palms against the legs of his pants, wiping away the sweat he could feel gathering. This wasn't going to end well, not with Mace looking at him like he was, fury and amusement and arrogance all coalescing into one unidentifiable emotion.
"I'm not an astronaut, I'm not like the rest of you, so you treat me like equipment," Capa continued, feeling his lip curl in irritation and disgust. "Maybe you should be a little more careful in how you treat me. I'm the only one who can operate the bomb, after all."
It was a stupid, empty threat. Capa wasn't sure why he said it even as he was forming the words, and not seconds after it was out, Mace's body plowed hard into his midsection. With a grunt of pain and surprise, he stumbled back, reaching down, grabbing blindly at Mace's shirt. This was someone who understood.
This was something he wanted.
The first punch surprised him more than the full body attack and Capa's head snapped back, his nose spurting blood. Reeling back, Capa hit the wall behind him, already grappling for a hold on Mace's shirt. Both grunting, they threw clumsy punches and Capa felt a strange sense of both victory and pleasure, like he'd won something in this moment, like having provoked an attack meant he'd done exactly what Searle had suggested. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat and Mace made a sound almost like a snarl as he grabbed Capa's waist, shoving him back to the wall again. Capa brought up his knee, driving it hard into Mace's groin and the other man let out a startled wheeze as he stumbled back in an attempt to block the shot.
Capa expected it to end there. It had always worked that way for him before, although he had only been in a few fights in his lifetime. Mace, though, had other ideas and he swung again, his fist connecting hard and sharp with Capa's jaw. The blow knocked him back and he staggered against the wall, stunned and frozen.
Mace hit him again and it was the second burst of pain that snapped Capa to life, his arms flailing as he reached for Mace, grabbing him in a tight hold. Both men were panting, grabbing for each other, struggling against the wall and the others' body. A string of curses escaped Mace as he grabbed for Capa's hair, a last ditch attempt to gain control.
"Hey!"
The voice startled them both and Mace jerked back so hard he almost lost his balance. The only thing that kept him from falling was Capa's hand wrapped in the front of his shirt.
"This is not the place," Kaneda said as Mace and Capa finally fell away from each other, both still breathing heavily. Capa felt chagrined, like he was a child being chastised, but when he looked up, he found Mace smiling, reaching up at the same time to wipe blood from his lip.
"Should you two feel the need to display your high levels of testosterone in the next eight months on this ship, please consider what I may be forced to do in punishment," Kaneda continued, arms crossing as he watched them severely.
Capa liked Kaneda, probably more than he liked anyone else on Icarus, but he also knew not to cross the man.
"Yes, Captain," he answered, avoiding Mace's steady gaze. Mace, who wasn't looking at Kaneda. Mace, who was continuing to study Capa with a faintly amused smile curving the corners of his mouth.
"Mace?" Kaneda asked.
"You got it, Captain," Mace replied, still watching Capa. His thumb went to his lower lip again, collecting blood that he wiped off on his towel.
Kaneda remained where he was for a moment longer, as if daring them to start fighting again, then seemed satisfied with their answers. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Capa and Mace alone in the room, silent but for their shallow breathing.
Frustrated, Capa lifted one hand and touched the tender place under his cheek where Mace had punched him. An aborted attempt at a fight was worse than not having one at all.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Mace asked, startling Capa, and he nodded without thinking. Mace nodded as well, still grinning even as the bruise on his jaw began to darken, standing out stark and ugly against his skin. "Now I think it's really time you got lost."
Capa smiled a little, unable to stop himself and he didn't understand why. Even as he walked away, limping very slightly, holding one hand to his lip to stop the bleeding, he couldn't fully comprehend why he felt so relaxed. Why he finally felt so good.
*
"What happened?" Cassie asked, her fingers going to the dark smudge of a bruise that stood out so sharply against Capa's pale, freckled skin. The morning after, and Capa knew he looked even worse than he had the day before. His muscles ached and protested every movement he made, rigid and stiff in ways he hadn't known his body was capable of. Mace had known, of course. These days, Capa was beginning to wonder what there was that Mace didn't know.
"It's nothing," he assured her, although he didn't immediately duck away from her touch.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Mace watching them and a part of him wanted to give Mace something to see.
"It doesn't look like nothing," Cassie replied, but she dropped her hand even as she continued to watch him with concern. "It looks like someone decided to display just how manly they are and used your face as a sounding board."
Briefly, a faint smile touched Capa's lips, and he nodded, dropping his gaze to the ground. "That might be a fair assessment," he agreed. "But I think I held my own." There was something dangerously close to pride tempering his voice and when he looked at Cassie again, he smiled genuinely.
Cassie laughed softly, then shook her head, looking over at Mace with an arched eyebrow. The bruises on his face were difficult to miss and she sighed, then shook her head again.
"Boys," she said, rolling her eyes as she left the room.
Capa remained where he was, that same smile still curving the corners of his mouth as he waited for Mace to do something. There was a challenge in his stance, his arms braced against the door he was leaning through and he knew Mace had to be able to feel it. Shifting from foot to foot, Capa didn't know if he wanted another fight or a conversation or something else entirely. It seemed like Mace didn't know what he wanted either, because he turned after a moment and disappeared after Cassie, leaving Capa standing alone in the door, his fingers curled over the edge.
*
Plummeting toward the surface, he screams and screams, calling for someone to save him, calling for his mother or his sister or Mace or Kaneda. He screams for Cassie and for Searle, feeling the heat rushing up toward him, feeling it burn the hair from the back of his head, feeling it burn through the skin until there's nothing but bone.
Nothing but charred human remains and then nothing.
He burns up in a flash, a sharp, bright spark and then just nothing. Just stardust, like he's never even existed in the first place.
When he woke, jerking the sheet up around his shoulder, biting back a scream, Capa didn't even know she was there.
"The sun?" Cassie asked after a moment and he nearly screamed again, his feet tangled in the sweaty sheet, his shirt twisted uncomfortably around his chest, choking him, making it difficult to breathe.
"You scared me," he said, reaching up to correct his shirt, his trembling fingers sliding over damp cotton and pulling it straight. It wasn't Cassie who had scared him, of course, but there were certain things he couldn't bring himself to talk about with her. Over the past few weeks things had gotten easier for him, words and stories had come out, jokes were told and memories were shared, but some things had to remain his own.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I thought you knew I was here."
"Why don't you sleep?" he asked, hoping she would forget her question. "You never seem to sleep."
In the dark, Cassie smiled and touched Capa's hand gently. "When you tell me what you dream about, I'll tell you why I don't sleep."
*
"I know," Capa said when he entered the gym, crossing to where Mace was using the bench and hooking his hands under the bar, helping to guide it. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Mace simply worked, lifting the weights over his head, breath pushed out in a soft puff of air as his muscles strained and sweat prickled his brow. Capa only watched, paying attention to the bar as if he'd never seen anything quite so interesting in his entire life and yet still managing to watch Mace from the corner of his eye.
They weren't friends. Capa still felt a barely disguised irritation whenever he saw the other man and Mace hadn't made an attempt to stop insulting Capa whenever he saw the need. It wasn't friendship they needed or wanted, however, and they both knew it. At the very least, Capa knew it, and he suspected Mace did, too.
Mace really was the only other person on the mission who understood the importance of the payload.
"If you're doing this to get out of meeting with Searle, you have to know it isn't going to work," Mace grunted, heaving the bar back into its holding position with Capa's help. Sliding down the bench, damp skin glittering in the artificial light of the ship (Like the Stellar Bomb, Capa thought insanely, trying not to laugh. Just like the bomb.) he grabbed for his towel and then shot Capa a look over his shoulder. "You know he'll see right through your bullshit. We're not friends."
"I know we're not," Capa answered easily. Friendship wasn't what mattered. Connection was what mattered, reaction was what mattered and he grinned, unable to stop himself this time. Just like the Stellar Bomb.
"What the hell are you smiling about?" Mace asked, leaning back on his hands, watching Capa curiously.
"It's just funny to me. The fact that you're the only one who understands how I think about the mission," Capa admitted, thin shoulders lifting in a shrug.
"The payload is all that matters," Mace said simply, as if it was obvious. As if everyone on the crew thought that way.
"I don't mean they're not dedicated," Capa added quickly. "I know they are. We're all dedicated to this mission and what needs to be done, but everyone else..."
Mace smiled faintly, sadly, and said, "Everyone else thinks about what they'll do when they get home."
And that was it. That was that Capa had been unable to put into words. It was everything Searle had been saying to him come to fruition and he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or lay down and cry. A shiver went through him, coursing down his body, bringing goose bumps out on his arms as though he'd caught a chill, but Capa knew it was only because of what Mace had said.
Everyone else thinks about what they'll do when they get home.
Mace and Capa knew they weren’t going home.
"That's so fucked," Capa whispered after a moment, laughing to himself as he took a few steps back from the bench and leaned against the wall. "No wonder Searle thinks I need his help all the time just to function." It was fucked up, but a part of him had always known exactly what it was. In some attempt at protecting himself, he'd only needed someone else to voice his own thoughts.
"It's just reality," Mace argued. "I mean, I get it. I understand that thinking about what they'll do when they get home is what keeps most of the crew going, but we're the ones who are being realistic, Capa, not them. We're the ones who know that we have to do everything in our power to make sure we get the payload exactly where it needs to be. When it comes down to it, they'll all give their lives for it if they have to. We're just prepared for it."
"That's grim," Capa said, but he didn't deny that Mace was right. Grim or not, he was prepared to do exactly that. Whatever happened, he was prepared to give his life to the payload if he needed to.
"Searle just wants to make sure neither of us goes off the deep end before we get to where we need to be," Mace said, lifting his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, as if he didn't care what Searle wanted. "Time in the Earth Room, connections to others..." Trailing off, Mace glanced toward the door as if someone had been standing there, listening, but found it empty.
"That's what he said to me," Capa admitted.
"At least you have Cassie," Mace pointed out, his voice losing any warmth it had gained over the past few minutes. Climbing to his feet, he slung the towel over his shoulder and looked at Capa with irritation and disgust. "That's more than most of us can say."
"I don't have Cassie," Capa replied, sounding confused. "I don't have anyone."
"But you could," Mace said on his way out of the room. "I guess that's what makes you so much stupider than the rest of us."
*
They didn't speak for two weeks, maybe longer. Capa refused to keep track of something so utterly inane and it wasn't until Searle mentioned that he'd noticed they were avoiding each other that Capa really stopped to think about how long it had been.
"He thinks I'm stupid," he told Searle simply, watching the payload test run, his gaze caught and held by the sparkling lights that were ignited and multiplied.
"Mace called you stupid?" Searle asked, leaning against the back wall and watching the test run as well. It was impossible to look away, Capa knew this, and it was why he was capable of holding conversations inside the payload. Everything was easier when there was a beautiful explosion happening to draw the attention away from any words that were spoken.
With a nod, Capa touched the controls gently, watching the way the bomb reacted to the tests he was running. "Because I haven't..." No, he didn't want to say that. Sighing softly, he cancelled the test run and the room fell into darkness. "Because I don't want to sleep with Cassie."
"Those were his words?"
"No, not exactly," Capa answered reluctantly. "But it was implied. It doesn't matter, really, does it? What he's said or what he thinks of me."
"You say that an awful lot, you know," Searle pointed out.
"What?"
Searle smiled in the dark chamber and finally removed his sunglasses. "It doesn't matter. You often tell me that it doesn't matter. It's an interesting choice of words, don't you think?"
"I'm running tests, Searle, I'm not looking for a psych eval," Capa replied abruptly, turning his back on the other man and beginning to run codes through the controls once again.
"It's what I'm good at. Why don't you humour me for just a little while?" Searle asked and Capa could hear the smile in his voice without even needing to turn around and see it. There were times when the psych officer pissed him off royally, but there were times, too, when Capa couldn't help but appreciate both the man's sense of humour and his persistence in dealing with the crew on Icarus.
"Fine," Capa allowed, turning to face him. "Evaluate me."
Shaking his head, Searle smiled again. "That isn't how it works, you know that. We talk, Capa, like we always do. You say things that are revealing without meaning to and I pick up on these things and point them out to you until you admit that they mean something."
"You don't want to try a new approach now that you've told me how you work?" Capa asked dryly, but he was smiling as well. "I'm sure we could find a couch somewhere for me to stretch out on."
"We could do that, but why mess with perfection?" Searle asked, then turned his attention back to the bomb. "Why is it you believe Mace might think you're being stupid?"
"I..." Capa had been prepared to tell Searle that he didn't know, but that wasn't the truth. He thought he did know, only because it was something he himself felt too often during this mission. "I think he's starting to forget what time is like back there. I think I'm not the only one on board this ship who's lacking in connection to the others. I think maybe... maybe he's lonely."
Searle nodded, gaze caught by the sparkling lights of the Stellar Bomb. "And you relate to that."
"More than I'd like to admit," Capa answered with a dry, soft laugh. His hands ran over the controls gently, changing nothing, just touching his creation and knowing that she was still there. Still solid and real and all his.
"Do you agree with Mace's assessment?" Searle asked.
"Do I agree that I'm stupid?" Capa clarified, then shook his head. "I don't think that not wanting someone is stupid."
"Even when your options are limited?" Searle asked.
With another surprised laugh, Capa turned. "Jesus Christ, Searle, are you trying to convince me that Mace is right? That I'm being stupid just because I don't want Cassie?"
"Of course not," Searle answered. "I'm just trying to determine whether or not you agree with him and I'm not speaking specifically about Cassie. It could be anyone, any person, I still think you would avoid a relationship of a romantic or sexual nature."
"We can stop talking about this now," Capa decided, shutting down the test run, removing his keys from the control panel. "We're done."
"I think you should spend some time in the Earth Room," Searle advised, although he didn't press the issue any further. "It might do you well to remember what things were like back there."
"I remember what things were like," Capa answered, frowning. "Sometimes that's the problem."
*
part 2