Chapter Text
Judy is exhausted. She’s so tired, she can’t sleep. She’s been tired, ever since they crash landed on that goddamn planet, and she’d been trapped in ice, and then almost died a hundred more times. If anything, it had been a resume builder, as Penny often reminded her.
Still. Every time Judy laid down in bed, every time she closed her eyes, and whispered to herself that she was safe, that nothing like that was ever going to happen again, a tiny voice in the back of her head (a voice that sounded suspiciously like Smith) reminded her that that wasn’t true. They’re hurtling through space with no destination in sight, and there is no Resolute or Alpha Centauri to save them now. She and her family. And Smith. And Don West.
Judy flips on to her other side, wriggling around on her mattress, trying to get comfortable. Don West. He was impossible. Selfish and selfless. He played at being suave, but she'd seen the softer man he was once he dropped the act. He was an enigma, a walking contradiction. He was endlessly fascinating, and Judy found herself drawn to him more often than not, though every time he made an off-color joke, she’d usually end up rolling her eyes while Penny cackled in glee, and John glared.
She sighs, kicking off her blanket and swinging her legs to the ground. Normally, on nights like this, she’d run laps around their Jupiter until she was so wobbly and out of breath, her body didn’t have any other option but to shut down. Tonight, she’s not sure she’d be able to even make it around once, but it’s better than laying there, staring listlessly at the ceiling. Judy pulls on her sneakers, grabs her com, and slips out of her room.
She starts easy, at a brisk walk. The Jupiter is quiet, save for the gentle humming of the engines beneath them. The lights are low in the hallway, but they provide just enough guidance for her to make sure steps forward. To her right, Judy can see that the kitchen is dark, as is the control room. Medbay, dark. Pantry, dark. Just as she’s about to pick up her pace, she rounds the corner to see light pouring out of the garage. Judy’s eyebrows pull together in confusion.
There’s a pair of boots sticking out from underneath the Chariot, and she can make out a quiet humming coming from the owner of those boots. “Don?” she asks, quiet so as not to startle him.
Unfortunately, her good intentions still end with him banging his head on the underside of the vehicle, before he scoots out from underneath it. “Judy?” He winces, bringing his left hand to his forehead. “What are you doing up this late?”
Judy’s mouth twists up into a half smile. “I could ask you the same thing.” She steps forward, pulling his hand away to look at his forehead, more out of habit than anything else. His palm is warm, and dry. Her finger brush over callouses from years of handling tools. “You’re going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.” She informs him, leaning back on her heels.
He smirks at her. “I’ve been informed that I have an incredibly thick skull. Do you think I’ll make it, Doc?” And really, it was unfair that his smile could do so much to her already addled brain.
With a jolt, Judy realizes her hand is still resting on Don’s wrist, and she gives him a brief, consoling pat before pulling away, quipping, “Much to my relief, it seems you’ll push through.”
Don blinks at her as she sits a bit farther away, putting a good foot of space between them. “Really, though. What are you doing up? Everyone went to bed hours ago.”
“Everyone except you.” She points out.
He shrugs. “Fair enough.” He levels his gaze at her. “What’s wrong?”
Judy opens her mouth to deny the fact that anything was wrong. To say that she was fine. But for once, her script escapes her. Her lips move of their own accord, completely independent of her mind. “I can’t sleep. I don’t…” She pauses, as she puts the words together. She lines them up like neat little blocks. Like this isn't the story of how she almost died. “I was trapped in ice. When we first landed. We crashed into this glacier, and our Jupiter sank into the water. I swam down to get us a battery. I couldn’t get back up fast enough. I was frozen, completely, for six hours. It was the worst six hours of my life.” That’s saying a lot, and they both know it.
Don’s eyebrows raise, but he refrains from saying anything. Judy explains how the robot saved them, but she's still reliving those last moments, over and over again. “It was so terrifying. I couldn’t move. I was being constantly reminded that I was running out of air. My muscles fell asleep and I couldn’t even twitch them.” There are tears running down her face, but she pushes on, and Don doesn’t stop her. “I’ve never felt more helpless in my life. I genuinely thought I was going to die.” She laughs wetly. “I’m on my first alien planet, and I had to go and almost get killed on the first day.”
Don rests a large hand on her forearm, and she jumps. She hadn’t realized that he’d moved so close- Or maybe it was she who had moved. Regardless, the touch is comforting. Maybe in the light of day, she wouldn’t drink in the safety that his touch seemed to give her, but here, in the half-light of the bay, she allows herself to feel it. “I haven’t really slept since.” She confesses, quietly.
He gives her arm a comforting squeeze, a rare look of sincere compassion on his usually smiling face. “The midnight runs?”
“They help.” She reaches up to her face to brush the tears from her cheeks, and Don leans back, his hand slipping to the floor. Her arm instantly feels colder, and she pulls her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them.
She nudges his shin with her boot. “Alright, your turn. What are you doing up, pretending to work on our Chariot?” Don makes an indignant noise, but Judy nods towards the tool box. “All the tools are still in there. Except a screwdriver, and you and I both know Chariots don’t have screws.”
Don’s tan face flushes. “Busted,” He murmurs, peering at her through narrowed eyes. “You’re very observant.”
“You’re deflecting.”
Don visibly deflates, his trademark smirk fading as quickly as it had appeared. “Just trying to lighten the mood, Doctor Robinson,” And now Judy feels like the biggest jerk in the world. “But, okay. My turn for the deep dark confession?”
Judy bites her lip. “Not if you don’t want to. I was half kidding.” She scoots over so they’re sitting side by side, leaning against the cool metal wall. She tilts her head to look at him. He stares ahead, and she takes in the shape of his shadowed profile. A strong jawline. Dimpled chin. A nose that had definitely been broken more than once. She thinks about apologizing for that again.
He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his already wild dark hair. “No, it… It would probably be good for me to talk about it.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “When we crashed, on that cliff, there were three of us in the Jupiter. Me, Smith- or whatever her name is- and my friend Tam. She was my only friend. Kind of by default,” He adds, laughing lightly. “We were assigned on every trip together. She was my family when I had none. We travelled the universe together, literally.
“She got ejected when we crashed. I tried to save her, but it was too late. She died on impact.” His face scrunches, and all Judy wants to do is reach up and smooth out the worry lines between his brows, as if that could make his pain go away. “It was just… She was there one minute, and gone the next. And I couldn’t save her. She just died. Alone.” Her heart breaks at the depth of pain in his voice. He’s been carrying this with him the whole time. He doesn’t have the support system Judy has. He’s had to go through this on his own.
She wants to reach for him, to tell him everything will be alright. To lie just for his sake.
But she can’t.