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There is a lot a captain has to handle at once when a ship is getting ready for takeoff. There's the crew, there's inventory, there's dealing with the fact that corporate decided to stick them with a young, completely inexperienced intern (sweet as Daisuke seemed, those descriptors still stands) at the last possible second and all that entailed–food rations, fielding complaints, finding extra sets of clothes, delegation. So much delegation. But Curly was nothing if not a good captain, or at least as good a captain as he could be, and he proved himself on getting everything done to everyone’s satisfaction so they could get this hunk of metal off the ground on schedule.
And they did. Despite all the issues they faced, they did, and they were on their way. A handful of months keeping to the navigation plan with a crew he was fond enough of, and they'd be sitting pretty on a nice payout.
…Well. Nice enough to keep the lights on, anyway. It's something. And he's got Jimmy with him, at least. New as some of the other members of the crew might've been to him, Jimmy never changes. Some constants are a blessing.
The paperwork, though– that is not.
Recruits always struggle to sleep the first few weeks aboard a new ship. There is an adjustment period to it–the movement, the unnatural quiet broken only by the mechanical hum of engines in long need of oiling. It's frightening, or disconcerting, or strange, or whatever word the white coats will warn you with when you're sitting down in that white room for the pre-flight psychological screening. It's unnatural, that's the meat of it: a man is not meant to be sealed in a metal box hurtling through the vast expanse of space for months on end. Everyone reacts differently to it, which is why they have those screenings in the first place: weed out those that might have more hostile tendencies from those that can handle the pressure. Separate the bad crews from the good ones.
Curly himself, well, he hardly slept a wink his first few trips. Shorter stuff back then, no long haul, not until his body had adjusted properly. Now they can throw whatever they want at him and he’ll sleep like a baby, granted the paperwork is done.
Which it isn't. Ever.
If it isn't inventory, it's incident reports, or deciphering observations from the external sensors, or just a dozen papers to say that they're still on course. As if the bosses at Pony even read these things. “Useless fucking busywork”, as Jimmy would say, which is exactly why Curly doesn't let him touch this side of things. Last thing he needs is one of his copilot’s “jokes” winding up on the desk of his supervisor.
So, these days–that is, the first month of this trip aboard the Tulpar–he sleeps little so that he can knock out the most menial work before more is required. It's on one such night that Curly decides to treat himself to some of the extra sweeteners buried away amongst their supplies in the storage sector. Pony Express only allotted them a certain amount to be used throughout the duration of the trip, but Curly knew any excess missing wouldn't be taken very seriously, if it was missed at all. And it wasn't like the crew would notice, either…
Well, a man has to have his vices.
He shrugs on a jumpsuit and a pair of slippers and creeps out of his room around 0100. The ship hums beneath his feet, the steady sound of a working engine and a stable path. Maybe he'll stop by the cockpit on his way back, make sure they haven't strayed from the course he'd programmed. This ship was old, and drift wasn't unheard of. He'd adjusted the course for it earlier, of course, but it never hurt to check.
Curly passes the other rooms: silence in all of them, except Jimmy’s, but he isn't surprised by that; Jimmy had never been an easy sleeper. Insomnia, or something like that. Restlessness in his bones. Curly knows the feeling. Usually, he'd knock on the door and offer to let Jimmy join him in his own room, shoot the shit like they did back at the Academy, but he's tired tonight. He leaves the door alone.
The walk down to the supply room is quick, quiet. Curly hums some song he doesn't remember the words to as he walks, and it echoes softly through winding halls. The lights on the ship’s interior never fully go out, not even in the dead of night–a safety thing, he's sure. Low, warm lights that cast flickering shadows along industrial walls, ever constant. In a weird way, it's almost comforting. He's been in so many ships over the years–this is one thing that never changes. These places probably won't ever feel like home, but familiarities like that bring it close, especially on long hauls like these.
He climbs down the steps to the supply room door and releases the door latch. These side rooms don't have the same safety lights as the halls, they rely on motion sensing, so as the door slides open, he waits. The lights flicker once, twice, and then they stay lit, revealing walls of locked trunks and crates full of the powder they poured into the on-board synthesizers for food, spare clothes, toiletries, and–
…Daisuke?
Shit. Curly freezes in the doorway and stares, sleepily bewildered, at the young man curled up against the far wall. He's missing that bright pink shirt that he's been wearing over his work clothes every day since they arrived, having replaced that ensemble with the gray, standard issued pajamas they were all provided with. His fists are balled in the fabric of the sweatpants. And–oh, shit, his face is flushed, and his shoulders are shaking and he's definitely, definitely crying.
“Um,” Curly sputters, because it's 0100 and he's not at all in the mindset to be handling a crisis right now. “Are you–do you need me to get Anya?”
“Oh, man, no, I'm–” Daisuke scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, fast and embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Cur–Captain. Captain. Sorry. I'm fine. I didn't–sorry, am I not supposed to be in here?”
Curly takes a step inside. “No, no, it's… fine. It's just pretty late, I figured you'd be asleep.” He takes note again of Daisuke’s expression, the tension, and the few open crates to either side of him. Confusion and concern mix in his stomach. He keeps his movements casual, though, as he approaches and sits down with his back against the adjacent wall. “You… wanna tell me what's the matter?”
Daisuke blinks, his eyes wide and wet. “I'm fine, Captain. A-okay.” The waver in his voice says otherwise. “Just–just, um, thought I'd–well, I was awake, I couldn't sleep, and I just, you know, I figured I could do something… productive, and I know Jimmy was complaining about having to do inventory,” he sniffles, “and I thought maybe I could, like, help with that, because I'm–I was awake, obviously, and it's, I mean, it's just counting, so it's not, it's not hard, but I–”
“Slow down, kid.” Curly interrupts. “Why are you trying to do inventory this late?”
“I just thought I could help. And I'm… I can't sleep.”
Curly’s brow furrows, and his frown softens. Pity curls in him. Distraction. The poor kid’s probably homesick, or just experiencing the regular depression that comes with being thrown into this kind of life. Cramped in a metal box with four other people you hardly know, hundreds of millions of miles away from loved ones. It takes a toll.
His voice is softer when he speaks again. He holds up a hand. “You know… this, all of this, it can be a lot for anyone to handle. Especially new recruits.” Daisuke looks down, visibly embarrassed, and Curly chuckles. “You know what helps?”
“What?” Daisuke mumbles.
“Talking about it.” Curly punches his shoulder lightly. “They have Anya do those psych evals so often for a reason, you know. It really does help.”
Daisuke’s gaze stays glued to the floor. “It's really–it’s really fine, Cap. I'm okay.”
Stubborn kids. Curly huffs. “You know this is my job, right? If anyone's gonna understand the way you're feeling, it's me. I've been there more times than I can count.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. Really. And you know what?” He tilts his head. “Whenever I feel stuck, or like everything's too much, I go talk to someone. It always works. And it looks like you've got someone here, ready to listen, so…”
Daisuke sniffles. There's a long pause while he straightens up, biting his lip and seemingly trying to order his words in his head. When he speaks, his voice shakes. “I just feel really, like–really lost, I guess? Like, I thought I could handle this, being out here and everything, and I'm–I just–” he takes a breath, and continues, “I thought I was ready, but I keep, I keep messing up. And everything feels so–like, like I'm trying so hard but it's just–I can't–it–” His voice breaks off into a sob and he seems to curl into himself, embarrassed and frustrated, knees drawn to his chest.
He looks so small. For the first time, Curly really thinks about this kid’s situation. His first time on a ship like this, a million miles from home, with a crew that's been… Well, frankly, less than kind, at least some of them. Curly hadn't taken his first trip until he was 26 and graduated from the Academy with years of flight training under his belt. Daisuke was barely 22, had no real college experience to speak of, and no training whatsoever beyond the meager amount he'd received on the ship.
He reaches out and puts a hand on Daisuke’s shoulder, trying to offer some comfort where he can, even if it isn't much. “I know what you mean.” He says quietly. “You know, my first few trips, I was totally useless. Didn't know how to do anything.” Sort of a lie, but not the worst kind. “You’re already better than I was back then. Attitude is half the battle, you know? And I don't think anyone on the ship has a better attitude than you.”
Daisuke sniffles. “Swansea said–he said I never should've signed up for this internship. He said I'm making everything worse.”
Jesus. Would it kill Swansea to go easy on the kid for one minute? Curly sighs. “He doesn't mean that. Swansea’s just… you know.”
“Grumpy?”
I was gonna say an asshole, but… “Yeah. Grumpy. Don't take it personally, kid. He…means well. He just doesn't always say things the way he should.”
Daisuke hugs his knees. “I just don't want to let anyone down. I really, really wanna be a part of the team.”
“You already are. You're doing a good job just being here, okay?” Curly gives his shoulder a small squeeze. “Trust me. Everything else is gonna come with time. This is only your first trip out, right? Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect.”
Daisuke nods. He pulls away, then, seemingly embarrassed, and wipes his face on his sleeve. “I'm sorry, Captain. I'll, um, I'll clean everything up in here and… yeah. You don't have to–” he pauses, and then looks back at Curly. “Wait, why'd you come in here in the first place? Did you need something?”
“Ah–” Curly straightens up. Is he about to admit to this kid that he was sneaking in here to steal sweeteners? That doesn't seem very ‘good captain’ of him. Shit, Jimmy would laugh. “...I was going to take some sweeteners.”
“Aren't we not allowed to touch those?” Daisuke frowns. Then his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! Well, you're, like, the captain, so–I mean, duh, you can touch them. Of course. Obviously.” He shifts so he's sitting on his knees and scoots away from the open crate to his left. He gives a little salute. “Dig in, Cap.”
Curly snorts. Perks of rank, I guess. He pushes off the wall and kneels down next to the open crate. A few seconds later he pulls out the container of packets and pops it open. Daisuke still hasn't moved from the wall, so Curly shoots him a glance. “You going back to bed, kid?”
“Um–” Daisuke blinks. “... Probably not. I'm not really tired. I'll probably, like… finish in here, or something. Inventory.”
“You know that's not your job, right?”
“Yeah, but Jimmy–”
Curly sighs. “Jim likes to complain. He's still got to do his jobs, though, same as the rest of us.” He takes a few packets out of the box, then closes it and tucks it away. He stands, and offers a hand to Daisuke to pull him up. When he does, he slides two packets into Daisuke’s palm. “Tell you what. I was gonna check the navigation system one more time before I turn in, anyway, so if you're not going back to bed, then why don't you come with me? I'll show you how I do a system check, if you want.”
Daisuke’s hand closes around the sweeteners like a handful of treasure. He looks at Curly, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Sure.” Curly grins. “It'll be more fun than staring at inventory lists, right?”
That's not entirely true, but, well, it would probably be mundane enough to get the kid to relax.
Daisuke matches his smile. “Yeah,” he says.
The two of them tidy the supply room back up, then lock everything down and head to the control room. Curly keeps the conversation light, pointing out systems they pass by asking easy questions he knows Swansea has taught Daisuke by now. Sure enough, he watches as every right answer lifts tension from Daisuke’s shoulders until his eyes aren't red anymore and his voice has steadied.
When they make it to the cockpit, Curly sits down in the Captain's chair and Daisuke in the chair to the right of him. Curly starts explaining his way through system checks, all stuff so boring and full of technological mumbo-jumbo that it would put anyone to sleep. And, sure enough, a little while later he glances back to see Daisuke dozing off in the copilot’s chair. Curly smiles softly.
A glance at the clock above the control panel tells him that it's nearly 0300. Sheesh , he's going to be tired tomorrow, and so is the kid if he doesn't get him to bed soon.
Curly stands and gives Daisuke a gentle nudge. When the kid stirs, Curly helps him up, and the two walk back to the sleeping quarters. Daisuke pushes the door open to his bedroom and moves to step inside, but pauses with one foot over the threshold.
“Captain?” He mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.
Curly pauses from where he's already started heading back to his own quarters. He glances back. “Yeah?”
Daisuke smiles and gives a clumsy little salute. “Thanks.”
Curly’s heart warms as fondness rises in him. He returns the smile with a short salute of his own and says, “Get some sleep, kid.”
Daisuke nods and disappears, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. Curly stays there a moment more, and then starts back towards his own room. Maybe he should get some sleep himself. The paperwork will still be there tomorrow, after all.