Chapter Text
The Vicar sat with his back towards the bathroom, watching the stairs, debating on grabbing a weapon from his bunk. Captain Hawthorne, seemingly unfazed, quickly tied her hair into a messy bun to conceal her shaking hands. Impatient and irritated, he drummed his fingers on the table.
“I should have suspected something when Parvati asked to take SAM on a walk,” Hawthorne muttered, taking the seat next to him. “Rules. One move, one question, other person must answer truthfully. You’re up first.”
“I am NOT doing this. I’m not playing into your game, you’re going to apologize-“
The Captain guffawed in disbelief. “ I’m going to apologize?”
“Did I stutter ?”
“ You lied to me about the journal, you lied to me about Chaney, and I still kept you around.” She exhaled in frustration. “ You repaid my kindness by insulting me and committing various crimes against me .”
“Crimes,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. The truth was, knowing full damn well what he did; that ‘crimes’ was putting it mildly.
“Barratry? Breaking and entering into my fucking room on MY FUCKING SHIP.”
Pursing his lips, he let the Captain continue.
“While I’m figuring out what I need to buy to feed you .”
Stoic but seething, The Vicar stayed silent, refusing to show any sign of remorse. Undeterred, Captain Hawthorne upped the theatrics. “What did I do to slight you ?”
Max, unmoved and unbothered, said nothing.
“Tell me Vicar DeSoto, what the fuck am I apologizing for?”
Silence.
“I thought so,” she spat, motioning to the checkerboard. Max’s eyes narrowed, refusing to acknowledge he was definitely in the wrong.
“You don’t get to pretend you’re some martyr ; you lied to me first,” he growled. Just like The Vicar, The Captain dramatically rolled her eyes.
“So I hurt your feelings.” Propping herself up with her right arm, she leaned against the table, nudging the board towards him with her left. She mockingly frowned, hyperbolically pouting her bottom lip. “You disabled my ship because I hurt your feelings. ”
His mind raced with a thousand questions and a thousand ways to break this woman’s neck. The clock was ticking. He had to play this stupid game of hers. Forty-seven minutes.
“One move, one question. Double jumping?”
A smirk cracked across Captain Hawthorne’s face. Got ‘em.
“Two questions.”
“Capturing a piece?”
“Nothing special. Same with getting kinged.”
“Winner gets?”
“...to live another day.”
A perfectly predictable, but fitting answer. Frustrated and out of any other options, he moved a piece.
“This is completely asinine. How did you get this ship?”
“I inherited it,” she explained very matter-of-factually. Before he could reply, she moved a piece.
“First of all, fuck you for that snide Tobson remark. Secondly, why couldn't you tell me the truth about Chaney?”
“That’s two questions,” he interjected.
“‘Fuck you’ isn’t a question,” she snapped.
Opening his mouth for a retort, he quickly closed when he realized she was right. He hesitated, collecting his thoughts and calming his emotions before answering.
“I wanted revenge on my terms. I dedicated years of my life chasing a fairy-tale. I was… No, I’ve been so obsessed for so long that I couldn’t see anything else.” He paused for a few seconds before admitting his guilt. “Using you to get to him was the path of least resistance.”
Mentally notating the glaring absence of an apology, she took a few moments to process what she had just heard.
“To summarize, you were blinded by the overwhelming need to get revenge on your terms, and your terms alone.”
“Yes.”
Captain Hawthorne clasped her hands together across her lap.
“ADA, play a sad song to fit the mood.” ADA’s pre-recorded message repeated as a petty reminder of just how far Max would go. “ Oh, wait. ”
Unfaltering, Max scanned the board before moving his next piece, knowing he needed to move as quickly and efficiently as possible. He believed he had the upper hand, despite the odds stacked against him.
The rules of this game were perfect for both of them. It gave them time to think, time to calm down, time to really ask each other what they wanted to know. Bait each other with throw-away questions if they needed to; make each other squirm under pressure. It was psychological warfare at its finest. Captain Hawthorne impressed herself by thinking of it on the fly.
He studied the board, trying to think of his subsequent moves. He settled on sacrificing a piece in hopes Captain Hawthorne wouldn’t see his plan in motion.
“What is your real name?”
“Alex Hawthorne,” she sang, overtaking his piece with a little too much joy.
“Stop fucking with me!” His voice echoed through the empty ship.
“You keep asking the same question. I’m telling you the truth.” she fished in her back pocket. She handed him her ID, gleefully gloating at his wasted turn. “Here’s my Halcyon Holdings issued identification. This proves that I am Captain Alex Hawthorne; unforged, unaltered, and legally binding.”
Snatching it out of her hands, he looked for any sign of a forgery. She was right; but they both knew she was hiding something, and they both knew he’d eventually ask the right questions. Moving a piece without much thought, she let her arrogance get the better of her.
“Did you really think you’d find the answers you were looking for in the journal?”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Captain Hawthorne hit the right nerve on him. Checking the time on the aetherwave projector, Max shifted in anticipation. 39 minutes.
“I don’t know, in all honesty. The answers I’m seeking may very well be in there, but I wouldn’t know what they’d be.” Mindful of the time and tired of being on the defensive, he chose his next piece carefully. Another sacrificial lamb. “Would you please tell me, exactly, everything you inherited from Alex Hawthorne?”
“That’s not a question.”
“‘Would you’ makes it a request, requests are questions.”
The back of the chair behind her seemed to sear her back. She fidgeted in discomfort.
“The Unreliable and his name,” she said, quietly. Seeing a vein bulge in his temple, she quickly added “My ID was legally issued before I set foot in the gates of Edgewater; I never lied to you about that.” She captured his pawn, not realizing the trap she was walking into. “How’d you find out about Alex?” she gingerly asked.
Witnessing the visible drop in her confidence gave Vicar Max the signal to change tactics.
“Two of his friends were mourning him,” he sneered. Shock washed over her. It was not the response Captain Hawthorne expected; she tried hiding her discomfort as best she could. “Sobbing uncontrollably for their fallen comrade,” he continued, much to her chagrin. As he overtook one of her pieces, he glared at her. “How can you live with yourself knowing you killed an innocent man?”
“I didn’t!” she shouted, borderline offended. “ I didn’t kill him!” Clearly unnerved, she shook her head. “There was… an unfortunate gravity incident.” The Vicar glared, unmoved. “I didn’t kill him. But there was nothing I could have done at that point,” she frowned, sighing.
“So you left a man to die, looted what you could, and left his corpse to the canids .”
“He died on impact . Dr. Welles said he would have wanted me to take The Unreliable, so I did.”
Max lit up, wholly not anticipating her response.
“Dr. Welles. Dr. Phineas Welles!? ”
The color drained from her face when she realized what she’d done. She could see his mind trying to piece together what she told him, her silence a damning confirmation. She fucked up. They both knew it; and she knew she needed to get into his head before he figured it out. With no discretion or forethought, she moved a piece.
“Would you rather be back in Edgewater, or would you rather be here on my crew?”
“...The latter.” He muttered, clenching his jaw.
He stared at the board, grinning. The Law was in his favor; she’d set herself up to be double-jumped. Her blood ran cold, knowing the inevitable, as he made his moves.
“Where were you stationed before you were on Edgewater,” he said, snatching her pieces from the board.
“The Hope,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. He didn’t believe her, but he pressed on. Her jumpsuit did make a little bit more sense, but he wasn’t sold.
“What was your name before it was Alex Hawthorne.”
She couldn’t concede at this point. A cold trickle of sweat rolled down her neck.
Opening her mouth to speak was futile. Her vocal chords and throat involuntarily contracted, preventing her from speaking.
“I can’t tell you,” she finally said. “But I’ll show you.”
The Vicar had her cornered. This was exactly where he wanted her.
Shaking and overcome by unadulterated fear, she excavated her passport from her back pocket. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded.
Grabbing it from her, he managed to contain his excitement. Her passport was still warm. His fingertips worked their way through the crevices in the blue leather, then they traced the embossed golden seal. It was so… foreign. The United States.
No. This couldn’t be.
A portrait of a vibrant young woman stared at him. There was a stark difference between the woman in the photo and… Captain Alex Hawthorne.
The Captain’s complexion was ruddy. Her cheeks were gaunt, her hair and eyes were an unnatural purple hue. The woman in the photo was younger, healthier, and had golden hair and glittering green eyes.
“This isn’t you.”
“That was me, when I was 26. Before… a lot of things happened.” He was understandably skeptical. “I was frozen for 70 years, Max.”
“Mar-”
In a frantic lunge, she covered his mouth with her hand, knocking the board over. Pieces scattered everywhere. Her grip on his cheeks tightened as his rage grew.
“You. Don’t. Understand. That name is on the passenger manifest of The Hope. Telling the wrong person there are survivors to The Board’s biggest failure would open Pandora’s Box of bullshit unto the entire colony .”
Infuriated, he snatched her hand from his mouth, keeping an iron-clad grip on her wrist.
“You would willingly risk the crew’s life like this?”
“You knew this job was dangerous when you begged for it,” she interjected, attempting to deflect her guilt, managing to free herself.
“May the Law have mercy on you,” he sharply spat.
“For what? Surviving? Doing what I had to do because someone decided that it was better for me than to die rotting in a freezer?” The Captain hissed. “Aren’t you always spouting some bullshit about the survival of the fittest!?”
“I wouldn’t have expected such a narrow-minded response from you,” he fumed. “but seeing how irresolute and petty you’ve been-”
A derisive, angry laugh escaped her.
“I’m narrow-minded and petty? You’re completely blinded by your religious zealotry. Fuck The Architect, fuck The Board, fuck this colony! Knowing I, and I alone, make decisions for myself and my crew are the reasons I can sleep at night.”
“I’m so glad you can sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep properly in a fucking week!”
“And who’s fucking fault is that, you pious prick?”
“E-excuse me?”
“Excuse me . You pious, petulant prick.”
“It’s yours, you wretched, recalcitrant woman!”
The Captain, not to be outdone, upped the ante. She may have lost her game of checkers, but void be damned if she was going to lose an insult war.
“Insufferable sanctimonious shitlord!”
They both were silently impressed with that one.
“Querulous quim!”
Captain Hawthorne fought back a chuckle.
The corner of the Vicar’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile.
“D-dogmatic dickhead!”
Her stammer broke them; they exploded in a laughing frenzy. He noticed the clock in his peripheral vision.
Time’s up.
ADA whirred on, a bit disoriented.
“Captain Hawthorne, my sensors indicate crew members Ellie, Nyoka, Felix, SAM, and Parvati are attempting to gain entry onboard.”
Captain Hawthorne inhaled deeply, and wiped a tear from her eye. She had one last move to make. “You didn’t kill Chaney. Do you still want me to take you to Scylla?”
“...Yes,” The Vicar admitted, after calming himself down.
Peace. Or at the very least, a cease fire.
“Let them on, ADA.” She ducked underneath the table to gather the board pieces. Max followed suit. “We’ll talk more later.”
The crew immediately clamored up the stairs to find their Captain and crew-mate, crawling on the floor, picking up stray checkerboard pieces, laughing hysterically.
The atmosphere tangibly shifted from frantic panic to abject confusion.
“Uh, Cap? Vicky? You guys okay?” Ellie asked, completely perplexed.
“More or less. Max is a sore winner.” Standing up, the Captain smiled and placed a handful of checker pieces on the table. The Vicar followed her lead with the game board.
“Uh, is this part of a game?” Felix asked.
“Yep. It’s like checkers. The whole galley floor is the board.”
“Sounds kinda fun, what’s it called?”
“Vicar Max has dish duty for the week,” Captain Hawthorne beamed, knowing that he loathed it. The Vicar groaned, seeing the rotting mock apple pie in the sink.
The crew, minus SAM, exhaled in a collective sigh of relief. SAM could be heard blasting something downstairs.
The Vicar took that as his queue to begin cleanup. The Captain left him alone as she strolled back upstairs into her room. A week of dishes seemed paltry compared to his real prize: The Captain’s real identity was the collateral he needed to ensure she’d follow through to Scylla.
He knew his second chance was his last. He begrudgingly walked towards the sink, absolutely disgusted by moldy bits of Tripicale Pasta, rancid Cysty-Bits, and other foods far too decomposed to be recognized. But Void be damned, he got a second chance.
Upstairs, Captain Hawthorne smirked as she heard him wretch before retiring to her quarters.