Work Text:
It starts like this:
An alien—who as it turns out isn't an alien at all—boards the UMP Cruiser, tells the crew they're now being hunted, and then disappears.
Like, completely vanishes. The crew has searched every inch of the Cruiser, and Natasha has run countless scans, but the not-alien is nowhere to be seen.
That was two days ago. No one has slept—aside from Kent, who apparently starts to desiccate (whatever that means) if he goes too long without soaking in his hormone sleep pod—and everyone is tired, angry, and on edge. Which, as Stewart is very quickly discovering, is not a good combination to have in a group of people who barely tolerate each other on a good day. And this is most certainly not a good day.
So. There's been a lot of fighting these past two days.
First, it's Karen reprimanding Zalian far more viciously than he deserves, and then A.R.T. stepping in to defend his co-conspirator. So then Karen yells at him, too, and things devolve from there. By the end of the fight, Karen has destroyed two more A.R.T. models, and she promises Zalian that if he ever fucks up badly enough to let another alien on their ship again, she'll destroy every other A.R.T. model on the entire Cruiser.
Neither Zalian nor A.R.T. have left the engine room since. Stewart finds himself hoping they're okay.
The next major fight is between Tina and Kent. Stewart doesn't pay as much attention to this argument, because by this point he's too exhausted to pay attention to much of anything anymore. But it starts with Kent being Weird, in the way that he's always Weird, and Tina blowing up on him for being able to sleep while the rest of them are tired and miserable. And Kent doesn't yell back, because he isn't someone who yells, but he does get miffed, launching into a long-winded explanation of the necessity of his sleep pod and why he isn't staying awake with everyone else. And that only seems to piss Tina off more.
The fight ends with the muzzle of Tina's gun pressed into Kent's temple, her index finger resting far too comfortably on the trigger. It takes everything Karen and Stewart have to pull her away from him, and maybe this isn't the right time, but realizing how strong Tina is does something to Stewart that he doesn't even want to begin to name.
The worst fight is on day two. It's been forty-two hours since the alien disappeared into their ship, and Stewart takes a nap. Well, it's less of a nap and more of a "falling asleep unwillingly because his body simply could not function anymore," but it doesn't matter much. The point is, he falls asleep. In the captain's chair. He's using the control panel as an armrest, and his arms as a headrest, and somewhere along the way he touches some buttons he shouldn't have touched in his sleep and locks every door in the Cruiser.
So, as is destined to happen on a spaceship with an intruder who can clearly outsmart their technology, all hell breaks loose when every door suddenly slams shut and locks.
Karen busts down every door in her path on her mission to the control room. And Stewart wakes up to his head being yanked up painfully by a fistful of hair.
"Ow, hey! I'm up, I'm… what's going on?" he slurs as his brain starts to wake up and register Karen's livid expression.
And she slaps him. A full-strength, fueled-by-fury slap. Right across his left cheek. He tries to jump up, but she's still grabbing him by the hair, and he can't move. So he grabs her arm instead, trying unsuccessfully to loosen her grip.
"You asshole," she hisses through gritted teeth, and Stewart freezes and his eyes go wide. "We're all out here searching nonstop for this alien, and you're fucking sleeping? What the fuck is wrong with you? You're so stupid! I'm starting to realize that even Michael would have made a better captain than you—hell, I'd even take Tina at this point! Fuck it, let's put A.R.T. in charge. He wouldn't even manage to fuck this job up as much as you have."
"Karen, I—"
"Shut up. Don't fucking interrupt me, I swear to God. You're the worst goddamn captain UMP has ever had the misfortune of seeing. If General Hayson could see how stupid you are, she'd have you put down like a dog for being such a disgrace to everything she's worked so hard for. I may not have 'people skills' like you do, but at least I'm not an idiot."
Stewart, ever the obedient little brother, doesn't speak for fear of interrupting her again. And that only seems to piss her off more.
"It's like the only thing you're good for is fucking up. What the hell do you have to say for yourself? What's your excuse this time?"
He hesitates for a few seconds, but when her glare only turns sharper, he realizes the questions aren't hypothetical.
"I, uh…" he starts shakily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll make this right, I promise. Can, uh, can you let go of me though? I'm so sorry. I mean it."
Karen's anger doesn't seem to subside, but she does finally let go of his hair. She then whips around and storms off toward the bedrooms, and as he rises from his seat Stewart realizes with a pang of humiliation that the rest of the crew are standing at the edge of the control room and watching him with unreadable expressions.
God, he hopes they don't hate him.
"I'm sorry about that," he says to no one in particular, eyes glued to the ground. "I, uh…" He stops, not really sure what to say from there.
Luckily, Michael approaches him, putting a gentle hand on his forearm that Stewart assumes is supposed to be reassuring. But right now, after the hit he just endured from his older sister, the touch makes his skin feel like it's on fire.
"Hey man, she didn't mean that. She's just frustrated. You've earned this, remember? She didn't," Michael says quietly, trying and failing to make eye contact with Stewart. "Come on, let's all get some rest. Clearly the alien isn't going to come back out anytime soon."
Stewart is silent as Michael guides him down the familiar hall to his room. He feels stupid for needing to be led to his own bedroom, but he's pretty sure if Michael wasn't half-forcing him to put one foot in front of the other, he would still be standing uselessly in the middle of the control room.
Once they reach his bedroom, he promptly collapses onto his cot, but he doesn't lie down.
"Do you want me to stay?" Michael asks, and Stewart is grateful that he for once has the self-awareness to not immediately start rambling and make the conversation about himself.
"No," Stewart replies perhaps a bit too hastily. But Michael is dense enough to not notice. "I'd rather be alone right now. Thank you, though."
Michael gives him one final pitying glance, and then a dramatic salute. "Sir, yes sir."
Stewart rolls his eyes in what he hopes comes off as casual, and Michael leaves. Stewart lets out a sigh of relief when the doors automatically shut and lock behind the second officer—he really didn't have the strength to ask Natasha to do it himself.
But then his thoughts are spiraling before he even realizes what's happening. He cards his fingers through his hair, wincing and jerking them back out again when he brushes against the new bruises on his skull. Fucking hell. That's going to hurt for a while, he knows. But maybe he deserves it. (He hopes not.)
But then he thinks back to Michael's reassurance. His empty, stupid reassurance, said in the heat of the moment to comfort a terrified friend.
"You've earned this, remember? She didn't."
He's always had so much faith in Stewart. Faith that Stewart has never asked for nor deserved.
Because Stewart isn't... he isn't like that, you know? He's not what Michael insists he is. He's– sure, he's nice. And he's what kids way back in the early twenty-first century would have called a "simp," for better or for worse. He can suck up like nobody's business.
But Stewart's… well, he's also selfish. Inherently. Factually. He comprised a crew of effectively useless people for space exploration, solely because they were the people he liked most. And maybe Karen was right—not about being stupid, there's no "maybe" about that one—but about being the worst captain. Is it even possible for an innately selfish person to be a good captain? Stewart doesn't know, but he's starting to lean toward a firm "No."
So. That's where he is now. Sitting in his bedroom, contemplating just walking off the ship and into the vast expanse of space to slowly starve to death like he deserves. Well, he wouldn't actually do that, because that's not who he is and he is not suicidal, but the temptation is there.
Except then he remembers that there isn't actually oxygen in space, and that Zalian had only been able to leave the Cruiser un-suited that one time because of the planet rapidly forming around them. So, actually, Stewart would just walk off the ship and into the vast expanse of space and die very quickly of oxygen deprivation. It seems like a much kinder death than he deserves though.
God, he hates this. He hates feeling like this. He does everything in his power to be a positive person, to keep everyone's morale up, to be a good captain, and clearly his efforts don't mean shit. His crew hates him, his sister hates him, and he feels like an idiot.
He hasn't felt this useless since… it doesn't matter. It's been long enough now that he's almost forgotten what it feels like to hate himself. He didn't miss this feeling, and he hopes it doesn't stay for long.
At some point (he isn't quite sure when), he falls asleep. It's the longest he's ever slept in his life.
He wakes up to Karen sitting on the edge of his bed. He starts to scream, but she clamps a palm over his mouth with a glare, and he shuts up.
"Just listen to me," she hisses. Against his better judgment, Stewart nods.
"Yesterday was– it was rough. I probably shouldn't have said what I did. I was tired, and frustrated, and seeing you be so careless about the situation pissed me off."
Stewart holds his breath. Waits. Sighs when he realizes that's all Karen is going to say to him.
And it's not an apology. And it's never going to be one, because Karen does not apologize.
But this is as close as he's going to get, so he takes it.
He nods again, and she moves her hand away from his mouth. The hand is instantly replaced by a hug, and Stewart gives in, hugging her back even as his brain screams at him for being the weakest man in the world for caving so easily.
Just as quickly as the hug came, it's over.
"Are we good?" Karen asks when she pulls away, hands still on Stewart's shoulders and nails gripping him far tighter than he's ever been comfortable with (and she knows this, she has to know this, he's said it so many times before, he—).
"No," he wants to scream. No, they're not good, how are they ever supposed to be good after this? Stewart isn't… he isn't strong enough to be good after this. Not when his sister clearly hates his guts.
But, "Yeah," he lies instead. "Yeah, we're good."
Karen nods once—less of a nod, really, and more of a head jerk—then stands up and walks out of his bedroom.
Once the door shuts closed behind her, Stewart finds himself selfishly wishing they were still hugging. He misses the human contact he used to have on earth—hell, even at the academy he had several particularly physically affectionate friends, and he craves the constant touch he once had. Space is… it's incredible, really. Genuinely. He's so beyond thrilled to have been given this opportunity, to be the captain of his own ship.
But…
But he misses what he used to have, too. He misses being surrounded by people that weren't constantly praying for each others' downfall. And he isn't praying for anyone's downfall, of course (he would never, he loves his crew far too much for that), but sometimes he wonders if everyone else is praying for his. Karen is, certainly—she's been open about that since the moment she found out she was delegated to first officer rather than captain. But is Tina? Is Kent, is Zalian? Is Michael? Frankly, he doesn't much care if Natasha or A.R.T. don't want to see him succeed, because they aren't people, but he doesn't know what he would do if Michael wanted him to fail as captain. The idea sends an uncomfortable chill down his spine.
"I'm detecting an elevated heart rate. Are you alright?" Natasha asks behind him, phasing into existence on the screen at the back of his room. Stewart jumps at the sudden voice, but he can't bring himself to turn around.
"Yeah," he lies again. He's surprised at how easily the act has come to him as of late. Mom would be so disappointed to see such a liar made out of her only son.
Thankfully, Natasha doesn't press. He sees the bright light casted on his door by the screen blink out, and takes that as his cue that she's left him alone. Just like he deserves.
God, he wishes Karen would come back and hug him again.
The next few days are… rough.
At first, Karen tries to brush off what happened as though it never did, teasing Stewart and trying to make light conversation with him whenever they're alone together. Everyone else is visibly uncomfortable being around either of them, and Stewart feels a pang of longing for the camaraderie the crew used to have. It may not have been perfect, or even really that pleasant, but it was so much better than this.
It's a day and a half before Karen gives up and stops talking to Stewart entirely. Because he's been avoiding her, because he still flinches every time he hears her voice or feels her touch, because he has zero interest in engaging with her and this time he can't even pretend like he does. So she gives up, and she leaves him alone. He hates the way he's relieved because of it.
He hates a lot of things these days. He misses when his heart was too full of love to ever feel an ounce of hate.
But this is the vast expanse of space, and space does not care about what he loves or hates.
On day five since the alien's disappearance, she returns. In Stewart's bedroom, while he's asleep. He's pretty sure the bedroom doors are supposed to automatically lock when they're asleep—so how do people keep wandering in while he's at his most vulnerable?
He startles awake to a whispered "Hey, Stewart," and screams when he opens his eyes to see the not-alien staring down at him. She grimaces and promptly rushes out of the room.
Six minutes later (which Stewart is very offended by—for all they knew, he was in mortal danger, and it took them six minutes to walk down one hallway ), the rest of the crew is filing into his bedroom, looking around with mixed expressions of concern, annoyance, and pity.
"What the fuck happened?" Karen asks, the first time she's spoken to him in two and a half days, and she doesn't seem satisfied when Stewart relays the ten seconds between waking up and the alien disappearing again. In fact, she looks pretty pissed off about it.
"Are you positive this was not another dream you had?" Kent asks. His tone is neutral as ever, but Stewart can't help but feel as if the words are judgmental. "It would not be the first time you've dreamt of aliens."
Stewart shakes his head vigorously. Does anyone believe him?
"I'm positive, Kent. She was right here in my room. Natasha?"
He turns around to face the screen behind him pointedly, where Natasha has been watching since the rest of the crew appeared in his room. She frowns, waving her hands in front of her, presumably to check the camera footage from minutes earlier.
Stewart expects her to pull up a video proving him right. What he doesn't expect is for her frown to deepen, and for her to mutter "That's not right," to herself under her breath.
"What's not right?" Karen asks sharply.
Natasha glances at her apologetically before going back to whatever she was focused on. "It seems the camera footage from when Stewart claims the alien was in here has been deleted. I can't find it in any of my files."
"Did Stewart delete it?"
Stewart twists around to face Tina in shock. He doesn't know whether to be offended that she would even suggest that, or to hate himself further for being someone she would suspect that of. He settles on something in-between.
"No, I don't think so," Natasha replies, and Stewart sighs in relief that at least the computer has his back, even if the rest of his crew doesn't. "Stewart doesn't know where the cameras are."
Okay, ouch. "I do too," he protests half-heartedly, not wanting to admit that she's right.
The slap of Karen's palm hitting her forehead echoes through the room and makes Stewart jump even as he whips his head toward her. A small part of him wonders if he'll ever feel comfortable hearing the sound of skin hitting skin again. He hopes so.
"So you're telling me," Karen begins, eyes on Natasha at first before leveling a fiery glare at Stewart. "Not only do we still have an alien on board, but it's an alien that knows more about our ship than our captain does?"
"Yes," Natasha says obediently, not catching that the question wasn't directed at her.
"Uh. Yes? Sorry, I didn't—"
"Think? You didn't think? Yeah, no surprise there."
Part of Stewart wants to snap back at her, to scream until he's blue in the face, to call her every obscenity he can think of. Part of him wants to hurt her in every way she's hurt him since they first boarded the Cruiser.
But she doesn't deserve that. Not like… not like he does, at least.
So he shuts his mouth. Averts his eyes. Fiddles with the hem of his nightshirt as a distraction from the shame. He doesn't want to argue with his sister, but he's so tired of putting himself down just to please her. So he says nothing at all.
And one by one, when the awkward silence becomes too uncomfortable to bear, their crewmates leave the room. Until it's just him and Karen left.
"Get your shit together, Nibs," Karen scolds, but her words lack any heat they had earlier. Stewart could laugh—he used to adore that nickname, but hearing it now drives a knife through his chest. He chalks it up to another prime example of how unfair life is.
When she doesn't get a response, Karen leaves too.
God, she always leaves.
Two more sleepless days pass. After that, they decide to sleep in shifts.
Karen volunteers to stay up first—all but physically shoving Stewart toward his room to sleep the first shift. Probably to get him out of her way, he presumes. She doesn't seem to want him around much anymore.
And so they take opposing shifts. Karen never sleeps longer than six hours, and Stewart needs ten hours of sleep minimum, so that leaves eight hours each day when they're both awake. Karen stays busy during those eight hours (how she finds so many things to do on a relatively small spaceship in the middle of an unfamiliar universe, he has no idea), so that leaves Stewart to do… well, he doesn't really know anymore.
He supposes he could keep parading around his captain façade. He could keep lying to himself and everyone else that he's in charge of this ship, that he has everything under control, that his peers have even the slightest ounce of respect for him aside from just Michael.
Or he could just… not do any of that. Which, honestly? The longer he considers it, the more tempting the idea becomes. It's not like he's fooling anyone anymore—the cat's out of the bag, and the whole ship now knows he's incompetent. There's no disputing that one.
So he floats around aimlessly, completing any task asked of him without enthusiasm. He spends most of his time holed up in the camera room alone, where none of his crewmates can see his shame. Where none of them will see the way his wax wings melted to the sun of egocentrism.
And day by day, he starts to wither.
So. He isn't sure exactly when it happens.
It's at some point between the alien disappearing from Stewart's room and now, in the middle of another fight with Karen.
It's been two weeks since the alien first boarded the ship, and they seem to be no closer to finding her than they were at the start. She hasn't reappeared since Stewart woke up to her standing over him in his bedroom, although he dreams about her with increasing frequency each time he falls asleep.
But, at some point during the past week, Karen took over as captain of the UMP Cruiser.
It's strange, Stewart thinks, that he's only just now finding out in this argument. Which, really, isn't much of an argument at all. It's just Karen yelling at him—as she always does these days—while Stewart sits in his chair and stares listlessly at the wall until she's done.
"You should consider yourself lucky that I gave you the rank of second officer. It was only," and Karen leans in close at this, and Stewart can smell alcohol on her breath, and since when did Karen drink? "Because despite being the biggest fuck-up on the ship, you're still better at your job than Tina."
So that's how Stewart finds out that he's been replaced. By his big sister, no less. By the very person he's spent his entire life trying to impress.
That's certainly an ego killer, to say the least. But he'll survive, just as he always has. Eventually, this will pass, just like everything else in his life.
Repeating that optimistic mantra to himself in the lonely dark after Karen leaves the camera room helps a bit. Well, no, it doesn't. But he maintains his hope anyway.
What else is there to do?
He's lost his rank, his crew, the alien, his sister. He's lost damn near everything that's ever meant something to him.
What else could he possibly do but hope?
Sometimes he feels like a rocket, surrounded by supporters who only wish to see him succeed—supporters that he will soon leave behind in an explosion of glorious power and flames to move onto new adventures.
Other times he feels like the Hubble Space Telescope, incredible and revolutionary and among the greatest tools science had to offer when it was still in orbit.
But right now, sitting here alone in the camera room, he feels like a spaceship that's run out of fuel, drifting pointlessly into the vast, lonely expanse of space until his inevitable death.
He doesn't hope for much anymore.
But he does hope Karen will come back for a final hug before his demise.