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Dirk decided this situation fell under the realm of one of his General-Superhero-Life-Rules-That-No-One-Thinks-To-Mention-But-Seem-To-Be-Pretty-Universal. The particular rule stated that superhero life was either very quiet and full of extracurricular activities, team drama, and a bunch of stir-crazy superhero teenagers, or is was absolutely going to squaj. As in fifty universe-ending disasters within the space of a week, and at least three Legionnaires considered MIA for some ridiculously improbable reason or another.
Dirk, who considered himself to be decently self aware, realized that for all he complained that no one properly informed him just how hectic the life of a superhero could get, he had, in all honesty, forgotten to warn Shvaughn about the same exact thing. He actually felt pretty bad about that particular oversight.
The shaking slowed to a stop. Shvaughn’s breath came in short little gasps, slowly returning to a normal rhythm. He handed her a glass of water. She accepted it, pointedly staring anywhere where Dirk was not.
The cycle had been going for about six hours; short periods of shaking, followed by a few minutes for her to catch her breath, then more shaking. The shakes, which were awfully violent, were becoming increasingly worse.
Dirk found himself admiring her more and more as the hours ticked by. Shavaughn was completely exhausted, the bags under her eyes as dark as a black hole, but her body would not allow her to rest. Her clothes were still torn, and her face was still smeared with blood and grime from their narrow escape on Asteroid 8811-BF. Her breath came in deep gulps, panting like she couldn’t get enough oxygen and her skin was clammy with a sicky blue pallor. Yet she still refused to say much anything to him besides “Sprock off.” and “Water.”. Valor for determination.
Over the past six hours, which they’d spent stuck floating in space, travelling slowly on what was probably the oldest and most rickety spacecraft in the galaxy, Dirk had hovered over her anxiously. He’d been worried she’d caught some sort of virus in the mining caverns among the scores of malnourished slaves laboring there. Shvaughn didn’t seem to be as worried. In fact, she seemed to be accepting the decline in her health with grim determination, almost like she’d expected it, which eased Dirk’s worries a bit.
She refused most of his help, so while she suffered, Dirk clattered around the tiny shuttle. He’d managed to make contact with an outer rim research station willing to send a message out to rescuers, rigged up a brilliant and mostly effective autopilot system, and fetched as many blankets, pain killers, and cups of water as needed. Besides that, he’d had plenty of time to spare. Plenty of time for simple puzzles, like, oh, maybe trying to figure out exactly what was going on with Shvaughn.
He had decided she was experiencing some sort of drug withdrawal. Probably something legal and prescribed (the Science Police required a monthly health screening with an extremely in-depth blood test).
Whatever meds she was on, she’d obviously forgotten to stash a couple in the lining of her transuit, no thanks to Dirk’s failure to inform her of General-Superhero-Life-Rule-That-No-One-Thinks-To-Mention-But-Seems-To-Be-Pretty-Universal number 23. It was unofficial Legion practice if a Legionnaire was on any sort of medication, they bring a couple back up doses on away missions, just in case everything went to squaj (which it normally did) and they were stranded somewhere remote for a long period of time.
A week and a half was a pretty long time to be off of something without experiencing any sort of withdrawal symptoms. But Dirk was privately glad this was happening now and not in one of those mining holes they’d been stuck in for the past few days.
The shakes began again. Worse than they’d been before. Dirk took the glass of water from her hand, and set it down on the dash before she could spill it all over their meager electronics. Shvaughn glared at him, opening her mouth to say something, and promptly bit her tongue as a violent chill hit her.
“Ah sprock,” Dirk muttered, immediately rummaging through the small med kit he’d stashed underneath the pilot’s seat. “Here, hold on.” He pressed a wad of gauze to her mouth. Shvaughn clenched her teeth together, apparently determined not to open them until the shaking had stopped. Probably a good idea.
Fortunately for her the shaking subdued within ten minutes.
Shvaughn took the gauze from his hand, and pressed it into her mouth, wiping her tongue off a bit. Her hair, which was normally big, and well-groomed (out of necessity, Dirk guessed) was tangled and wet with sweat.
“Thanks,” She muttered, wadding up the gauze, but not setting it down quite yet.
“No problem,” He handed her the glass of water, trying for a winning smile. “Feeling any better?”
Shvaughn had never liked him very much, even before this. Dirk didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve that, probably hadn’t (his reputation managed to proceed him, no matter what). He didn’t hold it against her, and he liked her well enough. She was strong as a mountain and took no sprock from anyone.
More importantly, Jan adored her, and she adored him. Hell, she was even good for him, better for him than he was at least. But that was neither here nor there.
“Got any more blankets?” She asked, voice hoarse and cracking. Her teeth were stained with purple blood, but at least she was finally talking a little bit.
He nodded and handed her the final emergency shock blanket. She took it, and wrapped it around her chest, furthering the cocoon she’d made around herself in the co-pilots chair. For a moment, she was quiet.
“Sorry.”
“What for?”
She took another sip of water. “All this. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
Dirk shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You would’ve done the same for me.” Shvaughn smiled, a bit bleakly. He was right and they both knew it. She didn’t like him much, but Shvaughn Erin was ultimately good. Maybe as good as a person could get.
Dirk didn’t know what she was withdrawing from. He wasn’t technically a biochemist major, although he’d done some basic research out of boredom and curiosity. He wasn’t radically in tune with drugs and their effects on different species (maybe if Shvaughn was human it’d be a different case). He was, however, curious.
“Withdrawal, right?” She tensed, just slightly. The set of her jaw tightened, even as she gives him a short nod. Dirk tried to keep his tone as casual as possible. “Any other stuff, symptoms we should be watching for?”
For a second, her eyes lit up in anger. Dirk expected her to call him out on his casual use of ‘we’, and ending their conversation. She didn’t, and after a minute her eyes dim a bit.
“Not sure. This is the first time.” Shvaughn’s voice rattled over her vocal cords, nearly monosyllabic, and deeper than normal.
“Oh,” Dirk hesitated a moment. “What are you on?” He phrased it as casually as possible.
“Mind your sprocking business, Morgna.” It was a comeback with barely half the wit and intensity of Shvaughn Erin. It ended in a rasping cough that made Dirk wince just listening to her lungs. She was exhausted, but still on her guard.
Dirk held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to pick a fight here.” She leveled him with a glare that made it quite clear she didn’t believe him. “I know, I might be able to mix up some of those,” He motioned to the med kit full of painkillers and baseline stimulants, “into something that’ll help a bit.”
Shvaughn snorted. “I didn’t realize chemistry was your forte?”
It was his turn to gaze cooly at her. “I’m no more a pretty face than Jan is.” People made this assumption quite often. Dirk definitely wasn’t just some handsome playboy in a red and yellow costume, but that seemed to be the general opinion of him. It wasn’t one he particularly liked or enjoyed, but unless faced with it head-on, he understood he couldn’t do much to stop it.
Shvaughn held his gaze for a minute, searching, figuring something out. Dirk could pinpoint the exact moment it dawned on her. She nodded, and he gave her a smile in return.
She took a deep breath, held it for four seconds.
“Profem.”
It came out rushed and unintelligible, marred by some thick, clicking accent he hadn’t noticed before. Dirk asked her to repeat. She did.
“The nass I’m on, s’called Profem.” Her voice was even and smooth, but her knuckles turned a light blue where she gripped the blankets tight around her.
Profem. Dirk turned the word over in his head. He knew bits and pieces about the drug. A couple of useful parts of its (rather complex) composition. It wasn’t that useful, as a medication. In fact, it only had one use, which was-
Suddenly, Dirk understood.
“Profem?” He tried to keep his voice light, “That’s a variation of Rokyn, right?” She didn’t respond, so he continued talking. “If I give you some AM20 and mix it with some Benndryl, if I’m lucky I should be able to get close enough to the chemical combo for your withdrawal to slow or stagnate.”
He pulled the corresponding drugs out of the med kit, and poured a second cup of water. It would be easier to effectively mix the pills in the correct amounts if they were in a solute. Thankfully both were made to dissolve, just for this purpose.
Shvaughn’s eyes stayed fixed on his hands the whole time. Dirk wondered what was going through her head. Nothing pleasant, probably.
Profem, and its counterpart Promasc had been released some fifteen or so years prior. Their company of creation, RoCorp had fought a couple of huge lawsuits over the drug’s legality in all parts of the known galaxy. Dirk had been just a little kid at the time, but he remembered the NewsHolos jabbering away about it all the time. His dad, also, had many things to say about the drug’s invention; nothing good.
Profem and Promasc were marketed as cheap, one size fits all binary-gender transitional drugs. Instead of having to partake in a long, expensive transition process, individuals could change from male to female, or from female to male quickly and relatively painlessly, as long as they had a steady intake of whichever drug they were on.
Prejudice against people who would take Profem or Promasc had once been the galactic norm. Trans individuals from everywhere had been shunned, Dirk had learned from the NewsHolos. Thankfully, that had been long ago. Nowadays most civilized places accepted transgender people without a second glance. Almost everyone had seen more astonishing genders from other species.
Still, there remained a ridiculous few who seemed to take the drugs as some sort of personal insult. A couple of outer-rim worlds too. Oh, and Dirk’s dad. He’d have to add that to his fast growing list ‘Reasons Dad Sucks’. It was a long one.
Dirk handed Shvaughn the cup of mixed painkillers. She took it, her eyes downcast and utterly defeated. Normally, she’d be a firecracker, a force to be reckoned with, and never made to feel insulted or put down, but right now, she looked so exhausted, it was obvious she couldn’t muster the energy for a full on verbal assault.
“So, where you from?” He asked quietly as a distraction. He knew better than to let someone get stuck in their own mind. Shvaughn would, she was a bit like Jan that way. A bit like him too.
“Duar.” Ah, yes. Some outer rim planetoid. No wonder Shvaughn was acting like he was going to bite off her head or something.
“Does Jan know?” The question slipped out, unbidden from his lips. Immediately he regretted it.
“No.” She was already close to tears, judging by the artificial smoothness of her voice.
It seemed decidedly wrong, that Shvaughn Erin, banter-extraordinaire, and most kick-ass non-Legionnaire woman in existence was about to cry over something like this.
“Shvaughn, hey,” He reached out and tapped her shoulder gently. “It’s fine. Really. Nobody cares. I don’t. Jan wouldn’t either.” He let his hand rest on her left shoulder. She didn’t push it away, so he assumed it was fine.
Dirk looked away politely while she wiped hurriedly at her eyes.
“I know that.” Shvaughn growled, still rubbing at her face with a blanket.
“Jan likes you a lot.”
“I know.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “And I love him.” Dirk nodded. It didn’t take a genius the caliber of Brainiac 5 to figure that out. “You love him too, right?”
Dirk immediately, unconsciously tensed. His hand gripped into her shoulder. He didn’t deny it. Shvaughn understood.
“He would’ve, if you’d ever asked him.” There was something awfully bitter in her voice.
Dirk shook his head. “I wouldn’t’ve.” Jan had once (or a couple times) called Dirk his neelon, brother by heart. As far as Dirk was concerned, that was too important to jeopardize for anything as uncertain as- well, whatever he felt for him.
Shvaughn was quiet.
“Wait!” Dirk exclaimed, suddenly much louder. “Is that why you didn’t like me!?”
He received another one of Shvaughn’s famous glare. Thankfully he was used to such treatment. Quite frankly Imra ‘Ironass’ Ardeen was much scarier.
“No. I didn’t like you because you’re a manwhore and a player.”
“I’m not.” Dirk had plenty of experience not getting angry when faced with these particular accusations.
“I get that now.” Shvaughn agreed. “You’re pretty nice, actually. I can see why Jan likes you, at least.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Shvaughn gave him a smile. The shakes had been stagnant for almost fifteen minutes now. That was good. In Rokyn withdrawals, large bouts of puking normally followed soon after the shaking got bad. Dirk was glad, he’d (hopefully) managed to stall the symptoms, for the moment. Large amounts of throw-up in a small, confined, airtight space such as the spacecraft was not something anyone wanted to deal with.
Shvaughn was now probably highly dehydrated, and exhausted.
Dirk got her another cup of water, which she took, after rearranging her cocoon of blankets. He noticed now how tight they were pulled over her chest, protectively almost.
“You honestly don’t look too bad.” He gestured lamely at her relative figure. No comment on that, but a rather pronounced eye roll. “I mean, you don’t look like you think you do.”
Shvaughn cocked an eyebrow. “No?”
“Well I can’t see your- you know,” Whatever sort of playboy reputation she thought he had was automatically lost, as he stumbled over the correct word for ‘boobs’. “But your face isn’t much different.”
“A little squarer, right?” Shvaughn squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Dirk considered.
“Maybe a bit. Not too much.”
Shvaughn’s biologically male body was obviously on the petite side. Not very tall, a slim face, and a lithe form; all probably blessings for her.
“My voice is a lower.” She sounded far too calm.
“It could just be a sore throat.” Dirk refilled her cup again. “Want me to comb out your hair?” It was matted with more blood and grime. Although normally voluminous and flowing, it was limp and full of large knots.
Shvaughn nodded. There was a small, hand-held brush in the med kit. Dirk retrieved it, and Shvaughn turned herself around in the co-pilots seat, so the back of her head faced him.
He started brushing near the bottom, pulling at the knots and grime. He poured a bit of water on the brush, to loosen the dirt. The next ten minutes were spent in silence, as he worked the bottom of her hair away from her neck. It would probably take an hour or two to brush out completely. In three hours she’d need to take another dose of the AM20/Benndryl combination.
“I think I like you when you’re quiet.” Shvaughn said after a while. Something like contentment had bled into her voice.
Dirk snorted. “For your information, I like talking.”
“I noticed.” He playfully yanked at her hair.
They bickered quietly for a few minutes.
“Thank you.” Shvaughn hummed.
“For what?”
“All this.”
He dunked the brush in water again. Shvaughn’s hair, which was steadily coming clean, was beautiful. Dirk had always thought that. While his hair was a very light red, almost strawberry blonde, her’s was deep, thick crimson, bordering on a dark mahogany, the type of color you could never buy from a bottle.
He ran his fingers through the cleanest part. The color was so vibrant, he half-believed his fingertips would come back stained with red.
“Don’t worry about it. Gotta take care of my best friend’s girl.” He’d help her even if she wasn’t Jan’s probably. That’s what heroes were supposed to do.
Shvaughn sighed. “Duar’s not too kind to- people like me.”
“Really, don’t worry.” Dirk muttered. “My dad, he’s kinda like that too.”
“Derek Morgna?” Disdain was clear in her voice. Unlike Dirk’s, his father’s reputation was well-earned.
Dirk made a sound of acknowledgement. “‘M sorry.”
Dirk shrugged, although she couldn’t see it. “Not your fault. And I won’t tell Jan about all this, by the way. So long as you convince him that I didn’t take advantage of you or anything.”
It was her turn to laugh a little. “The thought wouldn’t even cross his mind.”
The conversation drifted off after that. The quiet of space was all-encompassing, and the ship, which had only one working overhead light, seemed to encourage the silent stillness of night.
Dirk continued to brush through Shvaughn’s hair, careful not to pull to hard.
The whole situation was pleasant, calming even. It was always a difficulty for two people as fundamentally loud as them to be quiet together, and yet, they managed it perfectly.
Within thirty minutes, Shvaughn’s breathing evened out. Her eyelids closed, and her face relaxed slightly. She appeared younger in her sleep, unlike Jan, who always seemed tense and worried even as he rested. For a moment, Dirk wondered if Jan was as relaxed as Shvaughn when they slept together, tangled in the same bedsheets.
He’d have to wake her up in an hour or two, to take another dosage. Then a rescue crew would come and pick them up, and they’d both have to figure out how to slip into Shvaughn’s part of the Legion Headquarters to pick get a dose of the Profem before Jan ambushed them both.
That was another General Superhero Life Rule That No One Thinks To Mention But Seems To Be Pretty Universal; easy missions always ended up being more complicated than anyone had anticipated, but Dirk was used to that, so he figured they’d work it out when they got there.
For the minute, Dirk decided he’d let Shvaughn sleep. The quiet was gentle, and the company, even unconscious, was good. He worked through her hair, and a tiny, but true smile gracing his lips.