Chapter Text
It's a dark and stormy cup of coffee.
At least, that’s how it feels to Red, gripping his cup tightly with all the indignant rage of an underpaid crew member waking up obscenely early to complete even more pointless tasks.
What is a crewmate but a miserable little pile of tasks, he muses, raising his steaming cup to his face and shuddering when the resulting clink reminds him that he has yet to remove his helmet for breakfast.
He doesn’t even remember how he got this job. The monotony of waking up, doing chores, eating, doing more things, eating yet again, doing tasks until he wants to drop. The only change is when they receive fresh supplies from some unmanned little robot ship. He swears it’s addled his brain—he can’t remember who he used to be before he donned the helmet and boarded this ship.
For that matter, he can’t remember boarding the ship. Do what your screen tells you to do, someone said to him. Don’t forget to do your tasks, if you have them. He can’t remember who the someone was. If you do that, you’ll win. He must have been in space too long.
Red reaches up with his free hand and fiddles with the visor on his helmet. It pops open with a click. He sips his coffee.
Courtesy of The Company he knows he must’ve leased his life to, the coffee, like all their meals and amenities, is complementary. Free food is the second brightest spot in his endless void of a day. The first, of course, is—
“Good morning, Red!”
Green, a fellow crewmate, who made it a personal mission to make Red feel like the most important person in his world. He was endlessly optimistic, too, all “Let’s do our best today!” and “I believe in us!” in that sweet way of his. White tried to imitate Green once, getting so sickeningly sappy that for the first and last time Red fervently wished his tasks included homicide, but from Green it was endearing.
“G’morning, Green,” Red mumbles around his coffee, glad that the cup hid his smile. “How are you doing?”
Green seems delighted that Red asked, as though they didn’t have the same routine every morning. “Wonderfully, Red!” He chirps. “How are you?”
Green had come from the far end of the cafeteria, and now Red could see that he carries a tray of toast and fruit, just like always. Also like always, Red spies an extra apple and bread with strawberry jam, which, if the uncountable mornings prior are anything to go by, will soon be offered to him. “I’m good now,” he says, and means it.
Green laughs and, right on cue, plops down next to Red, pushing his tray slightly in his direction in offering. Red is sure his face is as bright as his suit as he accepts. “Thank you for the food,” he says, pausing to watch the way Green’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he picks through a clump of fresh grapes.
“Of course! You’ll give me your dessert tonight, right?” Green looks up at him from his grapes eagerly, like he doesn’t know the answer.
“Of course,” Red says, as his face burns even harsher, and he has to look away. “You know I hate that cheesecake.” He loves that cheesecake. “I can’t stand sweet things.” Another blatant lie—the strawberry jam on his toast is almost as sweet as Green. “You can have whatever you want,” an impulse strikes him, he steels himself, lets it out.
“As long as I can have you.”
The one truth, and it wasn’t part of their normal routine, and Red knows that Green knows that, and yet Red still can’t bring himself to look at Green or eat his apple.
Green is uncharacteristically silent. Red swallows, his tongue dry and heavy in his mouth. He sneaks a peek, and Green is watching him, mouth slightly ajar, and Red has to look away again. His apple and coffee are both long forgotten. He feels like he should clarify, should tone it down a bit, should try to laugh it away before he scares off his best and only friend on the ship.
A hand ghosts over his own and Red sneaks another peek.
Green is blushing, just a tint of pink on those soft cheeks. He starts to speak, stumbling over his words uncharacteristically. “R-Red, I—”
“Hey, Green!” The routine is ruined further as Red’s least favorite voice in the whole wide ship rings out from the cafeteria doorway. It’s White, and she is not only surely here to ruin Red’s day, but she’s about to ruin it two hours early.
“Why are you awake,” Red scowls mostly to himself as he flips his visor down as menacingly as he can muster. He is no longer blushing, and is no longer embarrassed. The moment was ruined and Red tries to convey that to White telepathically, hoping she understands just how much she’s screwing with his impulse plans right now.
Unfortunately, White does not take the hint, and she immediately latches on to Green, tugging the arm of his suit. “Green! My favorite color!”
Green casts an apologetic look at Red, who swears he could feel a soft squeeze as Green withdrew his hand to greet White.
“Hiya, White!” Green says, looking bright and friendly even as Red glowers behind him. “It’s a little early, dontcha think? What’s up?”
White laughs, though it sounds off-kilter even for her. “It’s not that early,” she says. “You and Red do it every morning.”
“Yes, but everyone else is also asleep,” he says patiently. “It’s not like you to get up first. Is something wrong?”
Now White looks almost nervous, as hard as it is to tell with her helmet on and her visor down. That gives Red pause. White was usually composed, if annoying, and as much as Red dislikes the attention Green gives her, he doesn’t actually hate White. They are fellow crewmates, after all.
“It’s not a whole lot,” White begins, and Red gets a flash of dread. Things don’t go wrong often, and most problems are relatively harmless—faulty doors, blackouts, but once in a while something serious does happen, the worst being the near-nuclear meltdown of just last week. He waits for White to continue speaking, already going through the frequency of problems in his head. Once a month, once every two weeks, twice a week, two times in one day…
Red has a bad feeling about this.
“…But?” Green prompts, when White falls silent.
“It’s just,” she says, looking conflicted as she finally opens her visor with a click. “I’m just having trouble.”
“Trouble with what?” Green asks out loud the very same question in Red’s mind, quite a bit kindlier. “Your tasks?”
“Yes!” White seems relieved. “I need help with one of my tasks, and I just figured since you’re always so helpful…” She gives Green a hopeful look.
Red can’t argue with her logic, but something doesn’t feel right to him. He watches Green’s face, trying to gauge his reaction and already knowing what his answer will be.
Green beams at the compliment, and opens his mouth to accept.
“I’ll go with you.”
White and Green both stare at Red in varying degrees of surprise. Red is surprised with himself, too. It just slipped out, his lips moving before his mind had even made the decision.
White looks a little confused, while Green’s eyes are lit up with…something. It’s hard to tell with someone that bright.
“I only need one person,” White says slowly, staring at Red like she didn’t know what to make of him. She looks back to Green, who is definitely excited now.
“I assumed,” Red clarifies immediately. “I want to help.” It sounds strange even to him, and he resists the urge to cringe. White doesn’t look convinced.
“But—”
“Green hasn’t eaten yet,” Red blurts, almost desperately. “He needs to finish breakfast. I can help.”
He hasn’t eaten yet either, but White seems to relax, her smile coming back as she considers the spread on Green’s tray.
“That’s fine,” she says, and clicks down her visor with a wink. “Let’s be off!” She turns, dramatically, and Red rolls his eyes as he moves to follow her.
He is stopped by a sharp tug on his suit sleeve. Green is there with a fistful of red fabric, looking like he held the moon in his hands. Red thinks he can physically feel his heart melt.
“I’m so happy,” Green whispers. “I’m so happy you two are getting along now.” He looks up at Red with those big eyes, the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. Green squeezes his arm and Red thinks he might swoon. “Can we talk tonight at dinner?” Green asks, and those big eyes don’t reveal a hint of doubt or distaste. “Over that cheesecake you promised me?”
Red almost does swoon. “Of course,” he whispers back, and in another moment of impulse reaches down and touches Green’s hand, gently.
Any lingering resentment for having to help White evaporates. In what may have been the highest spirits since he first put on his little red helmet, Red detaches himself from Green and leaves the cafeteria with White, falling into step beside her.
They walk in silence, metal boots clanging against the metal floor, marching past Administration and through Storage. Red catches a glimpse of someone, maybe Yellow or Orange, moving through the stacks of boxes and shipments.
“Where are we going?” Red asks, as White pauses near a crate of fuel, watching the other crew member for a moment. They never turn around.
“Electrical,” she says finally, and starts walking again. Red almost asks why, but he never gets the chance. “Have you heard of the Imposter?”
It’s asked so casually, thrown over White’s shoulder as she treks down the hall with Red in tow. The word rings a very faint tone in his mind, like something he might’ve skimmed over in the employee’s handbook. “Maybe,” he says. “It’s familiar.”
“It’s supposedly a secret task,” White says, as she stops in front of the door to the Electrical room.
Red steps around her and goes inside, moving towards his usual task spots out of pure habit. “A secret task, huh,” he says. It might just be White messing with him, but again, he knows he’s heard that word somewhere.
“Yes,” she says, and Red can hear her stepping into the room behind him, her footsteps not moving far from the doorway. “It’s a task to win.”
If you’ll do that, you’ll win. Someone’s voice echoes in his head. Something like dread bubbles up in his stomach and he forces it down.
“That’s great, White.” Red just wants to get out of here and go back to Green. He glances over the dials and knobs and blinking lights, and everything looks fine to him. “What exactly did you need help with?”
“Winning.”
White’s voice is cold. Unfeeling. Tainted with something venomous that Red has never heard from another living soul.
A sharp pop! makes his ears ring. He can’t even turn around before a horrible pressure bursts between his shoulder blades, and he’s thrown against the electrical cabinets with a thud.
Red can’t breathe. He tastes blood and dirt and bitter betrayal, as his face rests against the cool floor. He can’t breathe. He sees White standing in the doorway, the flash of a gun in her hand, her face hidden by her helmet’s visor. He can’t breathe. The room starts to darken, and then he sees White fiddle with something, a small remote, and he realizes that it’s not just him, the lights are actually going out.
He can’t breathe.
His suit is soaked with something warm and wet.
Red thinks of Green.
White leaves the room. The blackout has taken full effect, and Red dully wonders who will find him there, alone in Electrical.
He can’t breathe, and the pain is starting to fade.
Red wonders if Green is okay, if he finished his breakfast, what he will think when Red doesn’t show up for dinner.
He doesn’t mind his last thoughts being of Green, of his friend’s big, soulful eyes and sweet face and small little blush, of his boundless good spirit and soft hands.
Unbidden, one stray thought did come to mind, as Red lay dying alone on the floor:
At least I won’t have to do tasks anymore.