Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And hey, maybe we’ll even be home for Evenstide,” Tubbo adds, his laughter made strange and choppy by the grainy subspace transmission. 

Phil finds himself smiling back, although he can’t quite summon the younger captain’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

“Aw, don’t give me that look,” Tubbo replies. The video sharpens just long enough for Phil to see his eyes flash, both the bright blue organic one and the flat black lens on the other side of his face. “We’re not giving up, okay? Charlie‘ll have you guys patched up and back to full speed in no time.”

Phil purses his lips. “Can I be honest with you, Toby?”

“Yeah, sure.” Even if the transmission were over a planetside Wire connection, Tubbo would be hard to see. Both the Soulfire and the Bolas are dark, the Federation-mandated lights cycles trying to tell them to go to bed. “I can keep a secret, promise.”

Phil doesn’t know if he should be proud or horrified that Tubbo already associates honesty with secrecy. He laughs anyway, pressing his clawed fingers to his forehead for a moment. “It’d take a miracle.” 

Tubbo mirrors Phil’s serious silence for a second before trying another smile. “Well, Evenstide is a week away, right? It’s the season for— shit.” He cuts himself off with a wince, and Phil immediately blinks off the tired haze that had been settling.

“Tubbo? You okay?”

“Don’t stress yourself, bossman,” Tubbo answers with a dismissive wave. His hand on that side is metal too, and the twin narrow bars of each finger joint reflect some off-camera light source. “Just the old cyber-stuff giving me a bit of trouble. Implant over here keeps shocking me.” He turns his head, showing Phil the ear opposite to the cybernetic patch replacing almost a quarter of his skull. The bits on this side look older to Phil’s untrained eye, worn around Tubbo’s organic ear and apparently entering his skull somewhere in his hair.

“That sounds… not great?”

Tubbo shrugs. “I think I just took a weird hit on the mission. We’ve got Fit over here, I’m sure he can deal with it.”

“Keep me updated, alright?” Phil can’t help but feel protective of Tubbo, even though obviously the boy’s competent—the Federation must’ve seen something special to give him his own command at nineteen. 

“Yeah, yeah. Seriously, Phil, don’t sweat it. You’ve got your own crew to look out for.”

Phil nods, conceding Tubbo’s point. “Alright, fine. Anyway, you were saying something about Evenstide miracles?” he adds with a smile.

“Yeah! It’s miracle season, Phil. Look on the bright side, okay?”

Phil shakes his head affectionately. “I’ll try. That good enough for you? My people will be waking up soon.”

“For now, I guess. Tchau, Phil, catch you later!”

Phil gives a tired wave and cuts the transmission. The front screen on the bridge fades to darkness and the Federation crest, and Phil slumps forward. 

Gods above. Frankly, in Phil’s opinion it’s a miracle they’re even all alive, after that wreck of a specimen-collection mission. Both the Bolas and the Soulfire are badly damaged and limping home, and the Ninja didn’t make it at all—its crew is split between the other two ships for the journey back to Quesadilla. 

They were, actually, meant to be back by Evenstide, the near-universal new year celebration on Federation planets. But even with their engines at full capacity, the trip would barely get them back in time, and they’re not even going half speed right now. Charlie’s a good engineer, but it really would take a miracle.

Phil sighs. The ship lights will come back up soon, but he should probably still try to get to the rec room for some sleep. He’s letting Mouse take over his quarters for the trip back—he and Etoiles agreed that as the captains they can’t ask the others to be the ones giving things up during a crisis. The two of them served together early in their careers anyway; they’re already comfortable with each other. 

He stands up and winces as his wings shift under his poncho. The muscle and nerve damage he’s been living with for years definitely got worse on that planet, and it feels like a lot of his tolerance got reset. The things that usually help him cope—the lower gravity on the Bolas compared to planetside, the loose poncho he wears over his regulation jumpsuit, the weighted harness that helps keep his balance—are leaving him still off-kilter and with a constant ache. 

He’s barely at the bridge door when his comm pings. He checks it in the hallway and almost chuckles when he sees the message. 

[[Cellbit] to [Philza]: ship priorities, date Q10.23:
Engine diagnostic scans (Charlie)
Shielding diagnostic scans (Foolish)
Crew check-ups (Mouse)
Specimen cataloging (Jaiden, Baghera)]

[[Cellbit] to [Philza]: look good to you?]

Of course it took Cellbit less than twenty-four hours since their narrow escape from the mission planet to have a new daily priorities list for Phil. Business as usual, even when it’s not. 

[[Philza] to [Cellbit]: are you even allowed to give Mouse tasks?]

[[Cellbit] to [Philza]: well I can't actually assign them. But I mean do you think Carre will do them?]

He has a point. Carre, the Bolas ship’s doctor, took a bad hit that’s now infected just a couple days into the mission. Phil should’ve taken it as a sign, honestly, but he tried to brush it off. Now pretty much everybody else is hurt too, Carre is out of commission—usually exhausted or asleep in medbay—for the foreseeable future, and the Ninja’s doctor is trying to operate out of Carre’s setup.

[[Philza] to [Cellbit]: yeah okay. Should I tell Mouse about it?]

[[Cellbit] to [Philza]: thank you]

Phil reaches the rec room, where he and Etoiles have agreed to sleep, just as the ship pings and the lights come back up for the day. Classic. 

“Philza!” Etoiles calls. Phil looks around and spots Etoiles hanging from the rig of bars around the treadmill, his arm with the strange infection-thing for once managing to hold onto something. “Where did you go?”

“Was just calling Tubbo,” Phil replies with a shrug. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A bit, yes. It seems like you did not?”

Phil waves him off. “I’m fine. Just kinda… had to get moving, y’know?”

“Okay, okay, if you insist.” Etoiles lets go of the bars and lands on the floor with his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You should take a nap, though? If you can. You need to sleep, mhm?”

“Nah, I gotta talk to Mouse first—one day on the ship and Cellbit’s already giving her daily priorities.”

“Hey!” Etoiles laughs. “That is my doctor, bro, what is Cellbit doing?”

“I dunno, man,” Phil laughs back. “He’s driven, what can I say?”

“Do we have priorities today? Is Cellbit also giving us jobs?” 

“Um… nah, I don’t think so. I’m probably gonna check through our supplies and update our ledgers. Foolish might need help with the shields if you wanna help out? Here, I can just forward you the list.” Phil checks his comm again and Cellbit’s sent the daily priorities to the Bolas group channel. With a couple taps, Phil forwards the list to Mouse, Etoiles, and Roier individually. 

Etoiles’s been wearing a blindfold at least since this mission began, but he pulls his own comm from his jumpsuit belt and does seem to read the screen. Phil is a bit too wary to ask, but it seems related to the infection now reaching past his arm—the last time Phil saw Etoiles’ eyes, both were fully whited out and the left seemed to glow in the right lighting. 

“Got that?” Phil asks after a second. Etoiles nods and hooks his comm back to his belt. “I think I’m still gonna check in with Mouse,” he decides, stretching his arms briefly above his head. His wings twitch painfully with the motion. “Make sure things are alright in medbay.”

“The captain has to keep things running,” Etoiles agrees with a playful grin. “And I am not the captain anymore, I am shit, my ship is gone and now you are the only captain—”

“Etoiles,” Phil cuts him off, laughing again. “You did your best, mate. No one blames you for the Ninja. Now can I talk to Mouse, or are you still going?”

Etoiles flops dramatically backward, barely catching himself on the treadmill’s bars again, and Phil takes that as his signal to go. 

“Okay, is this the right bottle?” Mouse asks, holding up yet another plastic vial for Jaiden to see.

“It looks right?” Jaiden guesses. “What’s in it?” Mouse reads out the name of the chemical and Jaiden nods. “Yeah, that’s right. This place really is a mess, huh?”

“Seriously!” Mouse agrees, starting the process of moving the medication to the needle. “We’re gonna have to have a talk with Carre, am I right?”

Jaiden laughs and casts a sympathetic look towards the back room where Carre’s currently asleep. “Sure, Mouse, we’ll go yell at the sick guy for how he keeps his medbay organized.”

“I mean when he’s better,” Mouse retorts indignantly. “Jeez, you’d think a doctor of all people could get some peace around here.” She throws her hands up and Jaiden winces as she barely keeps the needle in her grasp. “Anyway, ready to get poked?”

“Yeah, get over here.” Jaiden shifts where she’s sitting on the exam table, moving her shoulder closer to where the stepstool is on the floor. It’s honestly bizarre to Jaiden that with all the different sentient species just on the Federation’s capital planet and the range of physiology that some parts of ship design accounts for, other parts are so firmly unadaptive. Carre and Mouse are both a good foot or two shorter than the cross-species average, and the Federation medbay design forces them both to climb or stand on things to reach their own exam tables and top shelves. 

Mouse ends up perching on the exam table next to Jaiden. She flicks her black-and-pink hair—usually in some kind of elaborate updo but today in two simple low pigtails—and Jaiden does her best to hold still. 

When she was a kid, the needles frightened Jaiden. She had already hated her cells for the chronic metabolic condition that made her wings too small to be useful and meant she didn’t have the auxiliary feathers her family did, and the regular injections were just the shitty cherry on top. 

People can get used to anything, though, and these days Jaiden cares much less. She is objectively far from the strangest-looking person on this ship alone and anyway no one worthwhile gives a shit. The lack of feathers just makes getting her injections that much easier, she thinks wryly as she watches the needle go in. 

As Mouse hands Jaiden a bandage and goes to put the needle in a sharps container, the sound of the hydraulic medbay doors startles Jaiden from her reverie. 

“Hey Phil!” Mouse greets, and Jaiden waves. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Phil replies with a dismissive wave. “Cellbit’s apparently already assigning you tasks, Mouse—I just wanted to make sure that’s okay and you saw it?”

“Seriously? On day one?” Jaiden checks her comm at the same time Mouse does, and sure enough in the Bolas group channel “crew check-ups” is listed as assigned to Mouse. Jaiden can only assume Phil or Cellbit sent Mouse the list individually, as nobody’s been able to get the Ninja people on board into a group channel with the original crew yet. In a separate tab, the comm alerts Jaiden that her assignment for the day is cataloging the specimens from the mission, along with Baghera. “Oh my god, he totally did.”

“I mean I was gonna do that anyway,” Mouse adds, snapping her comm closed and hooking it back on her belt. “I guess now I don’t have to go find people to get them down here!”

“You can take the day if you want,” Phil tells her. He looks just as tired as the rest of them, Jaiden notices, if not more so. His blond hair falls limply around his face, and the soft auxiliary feathers visible in his hair and on the backs of his arms could definitely use combing. Jaiden can only assume his actual wings, trapped under that cloak, are even worse. It’s a wonder he isn’t constantly scratching at them with the way he pins them down all the time. “Seriously, Mouse, no one would mind.”

“It’d probably be good for Cellbit, honestly,” Jaiden puts in with a laugh. “Force him to actually take some downtime.” Maybe she should check in with him, actually. As in-character as giving out daily priorities the day after everyone almost died, it’s not exactly healthy.  

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Mouse says, waving off their concern. “No offense, but it’s not exactly something we can afford to put off, right? It’ll definitely take a few days to actually check and treat everybody, and things will only get worse if I wait.”

Phil nods concession. “Alright, fair enough. If you’ve got things under control, I was gonna deal with inventory and the storage bay. See you around?”

Mouse gives him a playful, calculating look, her mismatched eyes narrowing. “You know, you could be the first checkup, if you don’t have an assignment today.”

“I’ll come back for that, okay? Inventory might take a while, sorry, bye.” Phil laughs awkwardly and is out the door before Jaiden or Mouse can protest.

The two of them share a look. “He’s always like this,” Jaiden tells Mouse. “Even with Carre. Don’t take it personally.”

“If I take it personally, do you think he’ll come back?”

Jaiden laughs despite herself. “He’d probably just hide even harder, but good try. There is something wrong with that man.”

Mouse sighs lightly. “Common problem, y’know? I’ll get to him eventually.”

Cellbit feels like he’s dying.

He’s not, obviously. He’s just being dramatic with himself, because he sure as hell isn’t going to complain to anyone else about this. Both crews are stressed, he can handle things by himself, and a little stab wound never killed anybody.

Anyway. Cellbit feels like he’s dying. 

The thing is that he took a stone outcropping to the abdomen while planetside during the mission. Nobody else was nearby, and it hurt like a bitch but he could still move fine, so he didn’t bother anyone with it. With everyone distracted, it was pretty easy to slip into medbay and wrap a bandage around it and move on with his life. 

Since then the situation has gotten… significantly more complicated. For one thing, Mouse has made herself at home in the Bolas medbay and Carre needs a close eye on him, so it’s gotten difficult to change the bandage. For another, Cellbit and Roier are sharing Cellbit’s extremely cramped quarters for the return trip to Quesadilla, something that would be incredible if it didn’t rob Cellbit of any ounce of privacy. And as if things weren’t already annoying enough, the stab wound won’t fucking heal.  

It’s… fine. Cellbit’s pretty hardy and from a pretty hardy species. (And no, it doesn’t matter that Cellbit sacrifices a lot of that species hardiness to hold a shape with almost no species-tells.) He has a crew and a half to take care of. 

At the moment, he’s on his way to do a thorough inventory of the storage bay. In the chaos of the mission, exact tracking of supplies going in and out wasn’t a priority, and with more people and a longer crew ahead of them than expected, they need to keep a tighter handle on inventory.

When he gets close enough to the storage doors for the sensor to catch his badge and slam open, the first thing Cellbit notices inside is Phil kneeling on the floor, going through a drawer. “Phil?” Cellbit steps inside and gives his captain a concerned look. 

“You alright, Cellbit?” Phil asks, straightening up somewhat to return Cellbit’s look. “Do you need something?”

“No, no,” Cellbit replies slowly, shaking his head. He hesitates, then adds, “I wanted to do an inventory. You know, make sure we know exactly what we have in case… yeah. You know.”

Phil nods. “Funny, I’m doing the same thing.” The shelves of drawers all look uniform, but Cellbit can guess from Phil’s position that he started at the near wall and has only gotten through a few shelving units. “Wanna join in? There’s kinda a lot.” Phil’s smile is strained.

Cellbit nods back and walks to a set of shelves on the opposite sides of the bay doors. “Well, many hands make light work, right?” He’s sure his own smile is just as tense, but Phil doesn’t call him out. 

The work is straightforward, if focus-intensive. Cellbit just pulls each deep crate drawer forward one at a time, goes through the contents and re-stacks them, then notes down the items and quantities down on his comm. 

Cellbit quickly realizes that this is going to be more difficult than he thought. The hole in his side, of course, screams with nearly every motion he makes, but he’d gotten used to the background pain of walking. Repeatedly kneeling, leaning over, and stretching up to access the different levels of drawers is a whole different story. All of his nerves want to kill him. 

At one point, when he’s sure Phil’s back is turned, he has to take a moment to just breathe, relax some of his muscles, and focus on holding his preferred static shape. Two arms, two legs, etc. Cross-species average height, dark wavy hair, act like you have bones. Focus, Cellbit, you can do it. He does get a better handle on it eventually. His insides still swim around a little without him having the energy to hold those still too, even though it makes the injury hurt worse. 

Moments like this he wishes he would just let his body do what it wanted day-to-day so he could drop this form when he’s tired or suffering without raising questions. When he’s back in his right mind, he knows, he’ll wonder what the fuck he was on about with that thought. The trust required to just exist, visibly a rare species and visibly tied to his past and conspicuous, is a lot to ask even around Roier most of the time.

Shit, Cellbit needs to focus. He has shit to do. The crew relies on him. 

Shortly after that Cellbit realizes the solution to getting through inventory is to not think. If he lets the buzz from his torso spread to the rest of him, he can just count and type and let everything else fade to white. It’s almost meditative. 

“Cellbit, mate? Are you okay?”

Cellbit blinks. Phil is much closer behind him than the shelves require. With some protest from his body, Cellbit straightens up from the drawer and turns to face Phil. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Phil seems to give him a concerned once-over. “I was asking if you’re feeling alright? I asked a question and you seemed kinda out of it.”

“I’m fine,” Cellbit replies. “Must’ve gotten… caught up in counting?”

Phil doesn’t laugh nearly long enough for it to be genuine. “Right.” There’s a beat of awkward silence. “Have you checked in with Mouse yet? It’s on the priority list.”

Cellbit is aware. He assigned it. He did not think that through, he now realizes. “No, not yet. Really, I’m fine. The same as I always am, you know?” Phil already has a lot on his plate, dealing with the Federation about this clusterfuck of a mission and coordinating with the Soulfire and keeping up with all the crew aboard the Bolas.  

Phil, from his expression, doesn’t buy it. Cellbit tries very hard not to chew on his lip or let his shape waver. “Pretty much everybody got hurt planetside,” Phil says eventually with the fakest nonchalance Cellbit has ever heard in his life. “Hell, a lot of us even hurt each other.” 

Cellbit really shouldn’t be mad at his captain for trying to worry about his welfare. “What are you trying to imply?” His voice comes out cold anyway. 

Phil holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t mind me.”

Cellbit does his best to relax. “It’s fine. Sorry, Phil.” There’s another second of silence. “What was the first question you were gonna ask?”

Phil laughs more genuinely and takes half a step back as if trying to signal an end to the standoff. “Just wondering if we should try to do something for Evenstide. Y’know, since it’s not exactly an ideal holiday situation.”

Cellbit once again can only blink at Phil for a moment. “Fuck, we’re going to miss Evenstide.” Somehow he hadn’t even had that thought. He’d promised Richas they’d all have Evenstide together. Shit. 

“I mean—maybe not?” Phil obviously doesn’t even believe himself. “Charlie’s a good engineer, I—yeah, but, y’know, just in case. If we’re all gonna be stuck in space for Evenstide, maybe we could try to make it nice?”

Cellbit nods slowly. He’s not sure if the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach is guilt that he won’t be home or some new symptom of his injury. “If we can cook, that could be nice?” The frozen and dried food that the Federation sends with them isn’t really intended to be cooked with, but the rec room does have a pair of flameless heating elements meant for making hot beverages. Anyone who’s been on a Federation space crew as long as all of them learns a few tricks to make the food more palatable with effort. “All have dinner together or something.”

Phil nods back. “It’s almost a family dinner, right?” he laughs.

“I’ve gone to Evenstide with crewmates before,” Cellbit volunteers with a shrug that he immediately regrets. “Before Richas and Roier.” Honestly, that’s more about how lonely Cellbit was than about what’s normal for crewmates. 

“I should probably coordinate with Tubbo about people calling home,” Phil says as if he’s just realized it. “If we want anyone to actually be able to connect, y’know?” As far out as they are, the subspace channels are few and choppy, barely able to handle one call at a time on each ship. 

Cellbit laughs at Phil’s point. In a lot of ways Cellbit’s more used to life in space than planetside, but he never quite stops missing the lightning-fast Wire network on Quesadilla. “No candles,” Cellbit muses after a moment’s pause, “but somebody’s gotta have string lights or something for the rec room?”

Phil makes a skeptical sound. “I’ll ask around, but I dunno. You’re right about a candle substitute though, we should really find something for that.” 

Cellbit chews on his lip, trying to think. It isn’t as easy as he feels like it should be, probably because of exhaustion and pain. He’ll deal with it later, he decides, try to strategize when he can lie down and maybe nab a painkiller from medbay. “We need to finish inventory,” he tells Phil with no regard for how abrupt it sounds or the strange look Phil gives him. 

“And what is going on in here?” Etoiles asks, swinging through the doors to engineering. The machinery in here sparks much brighter in his vision—the sense he calls his vision for the sake of his sanity—than it does elsewhere on the ship. Several weeks ago when he was still getting used to this new change to himself, it would’ve been overwhelming, but now he can see it’s beautiful

“Hey Etoiles,” Foolish calls in reply, looking up from his console. “Can we help you?”

Etoiles glances around the small upper engineering space and sees only Foolish. “We?”

Foolish looks around too, then shrugs. “Charlie’s in the engine, I guess, I didn’t hear him go down. Anyway, you good?”

“I am fine, I am fine.” Etoiles makes his way to the railing and ladder overlooking the descent into the center of the ship and its inner workings. He can’t immediately spot the Bolas’ slime engineer down there. For one part he can still register how dim and strange the lighting is in Federation engines, and for another the grav-gen and thread drive and other things he doesn’t know the names of practically glow to him now. “Just checking in on everyone, you see? 

“Oh, alright,” Foolish tells him. “I’m a little busy, y’know?”

“What are you doing?” Etoiles doesn’t know what to do with himself, to be honest. For the first time in literally weeks, there is no panic and no decisions for him to make. It’s getting eerie. He returns to Foolish and looks at the monitor over the man’s shoulder. 

“Just trying to calibrate some programs to get a handle on the shields,” Foolish answers, clearly distracted. Etoiles occupies himself for a moment deciphering the tech babble on the screen, something he hasn’t really had to do since his promotion and certainly not since he started changing. 

“You need to run another program for this, here—” Etoiles starts to reach for Foolish’s keyboard and his arm—the changed one—has a spasm of pain that stops him briefly in his tracks. While he takes a second to frown to himself, wishing that would stop happening, several of the windows on the console flicker and then close with an error message. “Oh, too late.”

“Dammit!” Foolish’s voice is light, but Etoiles knows this mask well enough to hear the frustration. “I really need to get some sleep, huh?”

“It is okay, Foolish,” Etoiles tries to assure him. “It is a simple mistake, I make it all the time. Do not worry, okay?”

“I know, I’m fine,” Foolish laughs, turning over his shoulder to give Etoiles a smile and make them both all too aware of the height difference between them. “Just gotta… run it again. Yep!”

“Yeah that is the spirit!” Etoiles uses his unchanged hand to lightly sock Foolish in the arm. “You’ve got this, man.”

Foolish makes a noncommittal sound but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge Etoiles as he goes back to typing at the console. 

Etoiles backs away from Foolish, trying to let him work. Upper engineering sections on Federation ships are even louder than the rest of the ships, but Etoiles still feels a lack of noise. 

He takes the moment to poke at his arm, seeing if it will give him any more answers than it has so far. It doesn’t usually bother him—the change that’s now crept up past his shoulder seems mostly harmless, and is interesting. For a bit though, now, it’s been bothering him, the whole thing aching more than seems like muscle stress and occasionally sending a spike of pain up his arm when he uses it.

He is sure it’s fine. He is almost always fine. 

Maybe Charlie will have more patience for him. Etoiles pokes his head over the ledge to the lower engines once more and then swings around the railing to drop down the ladder. 

“Charlie? Are you down here?” Etoiles is glad to learn he still has the muscle memory to slide smoothly along the sides of the ladder and avoid all the machines on the outer shell of the sphere. His arm burns and tingles for a second as he grips the ladder.

“Etoiles? That you?” Charlie’s voice seems to come from nowhere for a second, then the engineer pours out of a vent in one of the engines. “Hey man!”

“Hey,” Etoiles calls back, landing neatly on the central shell around the grav-gen and walking around its faces until he’s looking up at Charlie. The engineer’s caught himself on the sling setup that dangles from tracks on the outer walls for easier access to the shell and extends some of himself over the edge of the sling, presumably to look at Etoiles. “What are you doing, Charlie?”

“Not too much, you know, just seeing which wires are the most melted and which might not catch on fire,” Charlie replies lightly. He slides over the edge of the sling and hits the grav-gen shell in a mostly bipedal shape a bit shorter than Etoiles. “What about you, man?” Deep in his translucent body, Etoiles can see spiny clusters of the same change slowly taking Etoiles, burning and impossible to ignore in his vision. 

“Sorry, things are going to catch on fire?” Etoiles’ laugh this time is forced, nervous. Even Charlie’s casual manner can’t overcome the instinctual space crew fear of fire. 

“Eh… probably not?” Charlie replies. He laughs and Etoiles can hear the nerves there too. “Not if I do my job right.”

“Of course, of course,” Etoiles replies and hopes this is just Charlie’s sense of humor. “Do you want help not setting things on fire?” It looks like a nebula in here, bright dense constellations of machinery and wires ringing them on all sides. 

“Yeah, sure man! You know what you’re doing, right?”

“Eh… mostly?” Etoiles answers with a grin. “I was a security mechanic and not a general engineer but I think I can figure it out.”

Charlie laughs and gives Etoiles a wet slap on his changed arm. Etoiles barely doesn’t make a sound of pain. “That’s the spirit, dude. C’mon, climb up.”

“Hey, are you two busy?”

Charlie shifts his focus from his card game with Baghera to see Phil approaching across the rec room.

“Does it look like we’re busy?” Baghera replies, gesturing with her hand of mismatched cards. “What do you need?”

“Just wanted to chat is all,” Phil assures them. He lays his forearm across the table once he’s close enough and Charlie wonders if he’s having trouble with his balance. Sometimes moving between the two decks and their slightly different grav forces too much does that to Phil, Charlie knows, and it’s been a long day. 

“What’s up?” Charlie asks, setting his cards facedown on the table to focus on Phil. 

Phil shrugs and watches his own hand on the table for a moment before speaking, which does not help the building nervous energy at the table right now. “I’ve been thinking about Evenstide, right?”

“We are going to miss it,” Baghera replies immediately and matter-of-factly. “I am going to call Pomme and if the connection drops I will explode the ship.”

Phil and Charlie both burst out laughing, from her flat tone as much as her words. “Yeah, yeah, naturally,” Phil says when he can. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Can I explode the ship if my call with Flippa drops?” Charlie adds, getting another round of giggles from his two winged crewmates. 

“Uh… sure, mate, go for it. Anyway, Cellbit and I were talking about how to have that not happen.”

“It will happen. Do not worry.” Baghera’s voice is still factual, offhand. 

“Right, but if it didn’t,” Phil begins forcefully, “we could maybe schedule things so nobody interferes with anyone else’s call? Maybe even do something as a crew if nobody blows up the fuckin’ ship, apparently.”

Baghera inclines her head. “That could be something the grownups talk about, yes.”

“The—Baghera, that’s what I’m doing right now. We’re the grownups and we’re fucking talking. About Evenstide.”

“Phil did you not sleep well last night? You seem upset.”

Phil looks like he’s trying very hard to fix Baghera with a glare, but he’s not suppressing his smile very well. “Did you sleep, Baghera?”

“No, this is not about me,” Baghera replies. She leans forward to give Phil a faux-concerned look that’s somewhat ruined by the bandage covering one of her eyes. “We are trying to have a conversation and you keep changing the subject. What is happening with you today?”

“Wha—Charlie, back me up here,” Phil says, looking helplessly at Charlie. 

“The birds are fighting,” Charlie sing-songs. Across the room, Cellbit and Roier interrupt their conversation for a second to look over. Roier gives them several thumbs up. 

Phil sighs and buries his face in his hands for a second. “Gods above, fine. Be like that. Enjoy your game, you little shits.” He rolls his eyes affectionately before turning to walk away. In the low upper-deck grav his poncho flares out almost far enough to show the ends of his wings. 

Charlie extends something limb-like to high-five Baghera. She completes the gesture, but then says in a surprisingly serious voice, “I think something is wrong.”

Charlie gives her a once over. Her eye is bandaged over, but much more neatly than it was when they were actually on the planet. The several other tears in her skin are similarly bandaged and don’t entirely hide how many of her auxiliary feathers she’s missing. Her visible eye is bright and focused, though, and her body language actually suggests less fatigue than most people on the ship are showing. 

“Are you alright?” Charlie asks, then scolds himself internally. She just said something is wrong. It’s all the noise in his head that the weird rash is giving him. Makes it so hard to think sometimes. 

Baghera tilts her head to one side. “Yes, I am fine.” She blinks once, twice. “I mean with the rest of the crew, something is wrong with Phil.”

“With Phil?” Charlie considers it. “He’s probably just tired.”

Baghera shakes her head and finally sets down her hand of cards. “No, no, listen to me. Phil and Cellbit and Roier have all been acting strange since we started back to Quesadilla. Have you noticed?”

Charlie tries to run through his interactions with the three of them in his head. “I guess Cellbit and Roier have both been quiet.”

“Yeah, too quiet,” Baghera agrees with a nod. 

“You know they’re right over there, right?” Charlie gestures with the same protrusion he used for the high five to indicate Cellbit and Roier across the rec room from them.

Baghera doesn’t even shift her gaze. “They are busy, they are not listening.”

“Alright,” Charlie agrees hesitantly. “So you think… something’s wrong?”

“Definitely. Those three are being too quiet and strange, I am getting worried. Plus did you see when Cellbit assigned the daily priorities this morning? It was like, as soon as the lights came up. He has to run those by Phil before he sends them—I don’t think they slept, either of them.”

Charlie approximates a shrug. “Did you?”

“Okay, okay,” Baghera concedes. “But they were doing work. It is different.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Cellbit especially has been acting strange, now that Charlie really thinks about it. He’s been even more brusque than his usual and yet somehow quieter. “Should we do something about it?”

“Why else would I bring it up?” Baghera asks with a smile. “First we need to find out what’s wrong.”

Charlie hums. “They could’ve gotten hurt? Any of them, really.”

“Then why wouldn’t they tell us?” Baghera muses. “Never mind, those three wouldn’t.” She sighs. “I ran into Mouse when she was eating dinner and she said only Foolish came to medbay for an exam today.”

Charlie almost laughs. “Even with it being a priority?”

Baghera raises her visible eyebrow at him. “Did you go to her?”

“I was busy!” Charlie lets himself shrink defensively. “The engines are a hot fucking mess, okay?”

“Okay, okay.” Baghera holds up her hands. “I also did not go, I understand. It was a difficult day in the labs. But we can get people to Mouse, right? It’ll be our own daily priority.”

“We’ve gotta be casual about it,” Charlie decides. “Take everybody so it looks like we’re not worried about those three in particular.” When Baghera opens her mouth as if to argue, Charlie cuts her off. “Phil, Cellbit, and Roier? If we tell them to their faces we think they need help, any of them genuinely might hide from us all week.”

Baghera shakes her head with a smile. “You have a point, we are on the stubbornest crew in the sector.”

“It’ll just take a little scheming,” Charlie tells her happily. 

“Phil will want help planning Evenstide things,” Baghera says. Charlie starts to signal his confusion and Baghera adds, “That’s what he wanted to talk about, just now. It will help me pay attention to him and learn what is wrong if I go talk to him about Evenstide.”

“Right, yeah. I can start dragging people to medbay right away tomorrow, too.”

“Perfect,” Baghera agrees, and the two shake on it. 

Cellbit just needs a moment, he’s sure.

Just a moment. Another second, some time to breathe. That’s all. A moment.

The ship is dark and Cellbit’s curled in bed with Roier sprawled next to him. The bed is not nearly large enough for two people. It doesn’t help that Roier’s six arms take up a lot of space and Cellbit lacks the energy to prevent himself from mirroring Roier’s shape. 

His midsection is burning. Burning him from the inside out, burning out the blue-black blood now starting to show through the bandage. 

Mouse is probably asleep. Medbay is probably empty and no one will check the logs that would show he was there. Can he not just ask Mouse for a painkiller? Like a normal person?

Someone would yell at him. For acting stupid, for being weak. It would be worse, he is certain. Roier might cry.

Cellbit promised Richas he’d get home. He held his son’s small hand in the palm of his scarred one and said, Evenstide, love. He had promised. He is a man of his word, except when he is not. 

Roier’s arm shifts in his sleep where it’s lying on top of Cellbit and Cellbit gasps. 

He just needs a moment.

[[Philza] to [BOLAS CREW]: ship priorities day Q10.24:
Engine repairs (Charlie, Etoiles)
Crew check-ups (Mouse)
Mission reports (Phil)
Lab stuff (Jaiden, Baghera)]

[[Philza] to [BOLAS CREW]: should be assigned directly too :) look good to everyone?]

[[Jaiden] to [BOLAS CREW]: did you seriously assign us “lab stuff”??]

[[Philza] to [BOLAS CREW]: look idk, do what you need to]

[[Jaiden] to [BOLAS CREW]: jeez just say you don’t love us]

[[Foolish] to [BOLAS CREW]: SHOTS FIRED]

[[Cellbit] to [BOLAS CREW]: phil did you send Mouse and Etoiles the list?]

[[Philza] to [BOLAS CREW]: yep! thanks cellbit]

[[Jaiden] to [BOLAS CREW]: somebody seriously needs to figure out how to make a group with people not on the same crew]

[[Foolish] to [BOLAS CREW]: Phil don’t you have one of those with your family?]

[[Phil] to [BOLAS CREW]: idk sorry, Tallulah made it]

[[Charlie] to [BOLAS CREW]: i’m working on it!]

[[Jaiden] to [BOLAS CREW]: not you]

[[Jaiden] to [BOLAS CREW]: i still don’t know how you did that to my comm the last time i let you touch it]

[[Charlie] to [BOLAS CREW]: :)]

“Look, Charlie, I do not understand why you are doing this,” Etoiles laughs as he lets Charlie lead him down the hall. 

“It’s Mouse’s priority,” Charlie insists again, not letting up on the pace. He has Etoiles’ unchanged wrist in a loop of slime at the end of an… arm? Although the changed bit that fizzles near the end of that limb gives Etoiles’ skin an uncomfortable buzz, he’s still glad it’s not his changed arm—touching nearly anything with that has been painful today. “We can’t leave her hanging.”

“We have to get started on the engines today,” Etoiles replies. “It is both of our priorities right from your captain, man.”

“Mhm,” Charlie says distractedly. They’re almost at the medbay doors, nearly exactly opposite to engineering on this deck. Seriously, what possible reason does Charlie have for this? “It’ll only take a moment, okay? Nobody came by yesterday. You don’t want Mouse to be sad, do you?”

The doors hiss open just as Charlie finishes his sentence. 

“Fine, fine!” Etoiles says, realizing he’s not gonna be able to back out now. “We let Mouse scan us first. You win.”

Mouse is in one of the isolation rooms talking to Carre, but she gives them a curious wave through the window. 

“Hi Mouse!” Charlie calls.

“You know she cannot hear you, right? The window is too thick.”

“Wait, really? Wow.”

Mouse opens the door and reenters the main medbay. Carre waves tiredly at the two of them through the window, pointed ears twitching, before lowering his gaze to his comm open in his hands. Charlie waves back to him.

“Can I help you two with something?” Mouse asks as she takes her surgical mask off and puts it in a lidded wastebasket. Her hair is back in its usual glossy high pigtails today, contrasting and highlighting her black-and-white mottled skin. It warms Etoiles’ heart in a strange way—even all his colossal fuckups on the mission couldn’t keep his crew down for long.

“We’re here for our exams!” Charlie declares, flopping over an exam table with a wet slap sound. 

Mouse casts Etoiles an amused glance and he shrugs. “Okay then. Unusually helpful of you, but sure. Let me get set up.” She starts typing and fiddling with settings at one of her consoles. “So Charlie, anything unusual going on with you recently?”

EtoilesEtoiles lets himself zone out as Charlie goes through his check-up, messing with the few trinkets around Carre’s main console—little mementos and leftovers from previous missions, Etoiles assumes, the same kind of stuff most people keep in their quarters. 

The stool in front of the main console is bolted to the floor, of course, but it spins. Etoiles makes himself dizzy enough to almost throw up before putting his head on his arms on the console to recover. Pain spasms through the changed one immediately, of course, and in the resulting flinch he very nearly falls backwards.

“Etoiles, are you okay?” Mouse gasps as Etoiles clings to the console with his other arm for dear life.

“I am fine,” Etoiles replies immediately. “Just very dizzy, yes? It is my own fault.”

Mouse takes longer before answering. “Well, don’t make it worse, okay? I’m almost done with Charlie and I’ll need you over here.”

Etoiles gives her a weak thumbs up and rests his head back on the console. The metal against his forehead is cool above the blindfold—he always forgets about the blindfold, he has gotten used to it—and he feels queasy enough to easily zone out again. 

After what feels like a lifetime, Charlie taps him on the shoulder. “Your turn, captain.”

“Yes, yes, I am on my way,” Etoiles grumbles, lifting his head to find his balance is much less upset at him this time. He makes it to perch on Mouse’s exam table without incident. 

“Go on, you know how to do this,” she prompts. “Anything to report?”

“No, nothing unusual,” Etoiles begins, then pauses. “I guess my arm has been hurting, but I am sure it is just aches and pains. Nothing being back at home with Pomme will not fix, hah.”

Mouse is giving him a far too skeptical look. “Sorry, which arm are you talking about?”

Etoiles gestures with the arm in question. “This one? Do not lecture me about the change again, Mouse, nothing is wrong and we have—”

“Etoiles,” Mouse cuts him off. “I thought you told me a couple months ago you didn’t feel pain in that arm.”

Etoiles’ prepared ramble about how he is fine, actually, nothing is medically wrong with this, abruptly drains from his head. “I did, yeah,” he realizes. “I guess I must have been wrong? I mean, I did not, I do not usually, huh, that is strange. I am sure it is fine.”

“That doesn’t sound super fine, man,” Charlie cuts in, and Etoiles does his best to glare at the traitor despite his blindfold. 

“Could I just pop it under the x-ray real quick?” By the looks of things, Mouse isn’t buying it either. “Just to take a look.”

“Fine, fine. Take your look.” Many months ago, when Mouse was trying to get Etoiles concerned about the changes that were then just in one hand, they found out that the only real way to see that arm is for her to mess with some settings on an x-ray machine. Visually it’s all obscured by the green-and-black aura and light, and touching that skin is possible but too uncomfortable and overwhelming for a real exam. 

As Mouse fiddles with the machine, Etoiles waits impatiently nearby and casts Charlie a look to commiserate. The engineer, being functionally a large fluid blob of goop, doesn’t really have a face, but Etoiles is pretty sure the look gets returned. 

Mouse instructs him to put his arm under the scanner and he does. It hums and buzzes for several seconds, then stops. 

“It is totally fine, Mouse,” Etoiles says while the three of them wait for the screen to show the results. “Charlie will agree with me, see? It is just that we still do not know what to expect from the change.”

“That’s half of what worries me,” Mouse replies, exasperated. “Please see another doctor back on Quesadilla, okay? Somebody’s gotta know what this is. And could you take the blindfold off for a second while we’re at it, actually?”

“Like, right now?” Etoiles asks in surprise. Nobody really bothers him about the blindfold, probably because they all seem to understand that he can still see fine. Well, “see,” but it works the same in his opinion. 

“Yes, now. You can’t keep secrets from your doctor, Etoiles.”

“What if I just really do not want to?” He offers his best people-pleasing smile. She is not pleased.

“You know I technically outrank you.” Mouse props a hand on her hip. “Don’t make me make this a thing.”

“Void, fine,” he concedes. “I will take it off so you can see.” He reaches to the back of his head to untie it and only winces slightly when his changed arm pangs. It takes a second of fumbling with the knot, but eventually the folded fabric comes free in his hand and he slowly opens his eyes at Mouse. 

It is just as awful as he expected it to be. The contrast through his eyes is overwhelming, too bright and oddly blurry all at once. He can still see the way he usually does too, so everything is strangely doubled in his mind and it makes him sicker than when he was dizzy. Etoiles loves things loud and chaotic, to be sure, but this is too much even for him. It feels so wrong.

“Are you happy now?” he manages to ask Mouse. He squints at her on instinct, but it doesn’t help much. 

“That really doesn’t look great,” she replies. “Like, seriously.”

Charlie enters both fields of vision and whistles, sounding impressed. Etoiles wants to cover his ears, for some irrational reason. “Damn, dude. Looks sick.”

“Charlie!” Mouse scolds.

Etoiles has no idea what it looks like. In the mirror it is just a line of stardust across his face and shoulder. “Can we be done? I really do not like this.” 

“If you need,” Mouse allows after a long moment. “I guess now I’m sure I still don’t know what I’m seeing? Please think about… I don’t even know what kind of doctor you should see.”

“None of them?” Etoiles guesses. Gratefully, he shuts his eyes and ties the blindfold back in place, trying not to get too much of his hair caught in the knot. “I am fine? I am the best?” The world returns to the correct number of dimensions and he sighs in relief. 

“Shut up,” Mouse retorts affectionately. “The pictures are coming through—oh, Etoiles.”

At her worried, disappointed tone, Etoiles freezes for a second. Even Charlie hisses in pity or surprise and oh, that cannot be good. The instant the blindfold is secure he looks up at where the console screen is displaying his x-ray.

Oh, wow, they weren’t exaggerating. That really isn’t good. He can see the dim outline of the flesh of his arm, apparently still under there, now with more divots and slight distortions than last time he saw it but without any obvious cuts open. The bones, however, are clearly visible in bright white and definitely in more pieces than they’re supposed to be. 

“How in the galaxy did you not notice that?” Mouse demands, leveling a glare at him. “You shouldn’t be able to use that arm at all and you tell me it ‘hurts a little’? What is wrong with you?”

“I was not lying!” Etoiles insists, matching Mouse’s raised voice. “It just kind of aches and sometimes stabs me when I try to do things! If I could not use it like you say I can’t, I would have told someone, yes?” 

Mouse pauses, visibly taking a deep breath without looking away from him. “I guess it does make sense. It’s just dulling the pain instead of fully blocking it like we thought, and we’ve seen… changed objects hold together even in multiple pieces, so I guess your bones are doing the same thing?” She glances back at the picture of the broken bones and mutters, “They do not teach you this stuff in medical school.”

“So is it fine?” Etoiles asks, trying out another grin. He always knew the change was good for him.

Charlie cuts in before Mouse can answer. “I’ll be real with you, king, I don’t think it is. Your arm is kind of fully broken.”

“Yeah, I have to side with Charlie’s medical opinion here—which is not a sentence I thought I would say today, for the record,” Mouse laughs, then her expression grows serious again. “This isn’t good, you understand? You can still get hurt under all that stuff but you can’t feel it—that’s dangerous.” Etoiles shrugs and Mouse glares at him for another second. “I’m just gonna try to set it and splint it, and you’ll have to be gentle with it, okay? Hopefully it’ll still heal normally.”

Etoiles sighs dramatically. “We have so much to do, though. I can still use it fine, and me and Charlie have to fix the engines today! How can I do that with my arm in a cast?” Mouse and Charlie look at him in disapproving silence until he sighs again. “Fine. Fine, you are conspiring against me. Get it over with quickly, Mouse, and I will die in silence because no one will listen to me.” 

“Check.”

Phil stares at the board for a long moment before looking back up at Foolish’s grin. “Check? Fucking where?”

Foolish rests a finger lightly on his bishop and Phil sighs when he spots the open path to his own king.

“Motherfucker.”

“That’s how the game is played, baby,” Foolish gloats, gesturing grandly. “Read ‘em and weep.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Phil replies, pulling his knight off the board. It takes a bit of effort—the board and pieces are magnetized, a Federation precaution to reduce the odds things will float off in the low gravity of the upper deck. “There.” He takes Foolish’s bishop and places it in front of him, letting it slide into place on the magnetized inventory stripe of his side of the table. 

Foolish turns his gaze back to the board and frowns, moving one hand vaguely as he strategizes his next move. 

The rec room doors open behind them with the usual amount of noise and Phil hears Baghera call, “Phil, Foolish! Hi!” 

“Hey, Baghera,” Phil replies, twisting in his seat to wave to her. The muscles in his back pull and try to freeze up on him as his wings catch on the harness and poncho, but he manages to turn back to the table and Baghera with barely a wince. “What’s up?”

“Just seeing what people are doing,” Baghera answers. She leans her elbows on the table and looks over their game. “Since Jaiden and I are taking a break from the lab right now. What are you up to?”

“I’m just beating Phil at chess,” Foolish replies as he slides a rook forward. “Where’s Jaiden?”

Phil raises an eyebrow at Foolish and examines the board for a moment before picking his knight up again and moving it into position near Foolish’s king. “You sure about that, mate? Check.”

“Dammit!” Foolish grins at both of them and returns his focus to the board. 

“I think Jaiden said she was going to find Roier,” Baghera answers. Phil had already almost forgotten what the question was—his mind has not been doing him favors recently, huh? “Have either of you seen Roier today?”

“I don’t think so,” Phil answers thoughtfully. “Not for a couple days, actually. Weird.” In the close quarters of Federation ships, it takes serious effort or luck to not see someone for longer than a morning or so. Phil’s even seen Cellbit around, the two of them trying to get things in order to answer to the Federation once they’re planetside, but can’t recall when he last ran into Roier. 

“He was eating breakfast when I was in here this morning,” Foolish says. “So he’s not dead, at least.”

Phil can’t help but laugh. “Okay, good to hear.” He makes a mental note to ask Mouse if there’s anything he should know about Roier. Cellbit would probably have good information, too, but honestly the last couple times Phil’s seen Cellbit the guy’s looked dead on his feet. Phil doesn’t want to add more to his plate or get between him and what little sleep he’s likely to be getting. 

“You have not heard anything else about him?” Baghera prompts, looking between the two of them.

“No, not really. Why?” Phil frowns at her. “Have you heard something?”

“No, no. Just wondering.” She shrugs. “I was also wondering about Evenstide, Phil, I am sorry I did not let you talk yesterday.” 

Phil scoffs and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Sure. So you wanna hear it now?”

“Yeah definitely! I heard that you and Cellbit are trying to make being stuck in space nicer for us.”

Phil gives her half a nod. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Really? First I’ve heard of this,” Foolish comments.

“You’ve been busy,” Phil explains with a shrug. Once again his wings twinge and he tries to ignore it. The official title for Foolish’s job is “security mechanic,” but functionally he’s the engineer for everything the Federation deems “non-essential” and Charlie’s second. Personally Phil would argue that shipwide comms, shielding, and both ship and personal weapons are pretty damn essential, but maybe that’s why he won’t ever be promoted past captain. 

“Fair enough,” Foolish allows. “I’ve been kind of ignoring the whole Evenstide thing, too, honestly. I don’t think Leo wants to talk about it.”

Phil nods. “Yeah, I think Chay and Tallulah are still hoping we’ll be back in time.” They’re past the event horizon now, though—even if Charlie miraculously got their engines back at full speed, there’s too much distance between them and Quesadilla and only six days, almost five, until Evenstide.

“Really? Pomme mentions it all the time,” Baghera adds. “That is why I say I will blow up the ship if my call drops.”

“Woah,” Foolish laughs. “That’s my ship, man, don’t do that.”

“I think you’ll find it’s my ship, actually, mate,” Phil jokes.

Foolish makes an equivocal gesture. “All you do is paperwork and navigate,” he points out with a faux-smug look. “Charlie and I actually keep her up.”

“It does not matter,” Baghera interrupts. Unusually on-task of her, Phil thinks. “I want you to talk about Evenstide.”

“Right, right. Um—mostly we were thinking we should schedule everybody’s calls so they’re less likely to drop. Make sure only one person is trying to send or receive data and use the power at one time. The thing is, I need to find a good time for everybody’s kids planetside to make that work out.”

“That won’t be too hard, right?” Foolish asks, finally making his move in the chess game. “It’s just Leo, Pomme, Richas, and then Chayanne and Tallulah together.” He hesitates. “And Flippa, I guess. Charlie will want to call her.”

“He will,” Phil agrees, and tries not to wince even though Charlie’s not in the room. The engineer seems to have a sixth sense for when people—rightfully—point out how clearly not Flippa the child currently living with him is. “The thing is that we’re right by the Soulfire, so they’re using all the same connection. Bad and Fit will want to call Dapper and Ramón.”

“And then there are time zones,” Baghera chimes in, then adds sarcastically, “How could you forget about the awful light lag every time we return to the planet because somehow the Federation has created a day synced with absolutely no part of Quesadilla?”

“My bad,” Foolish laughs. “I’m trying to ignore that. It’s not real, it can’t hurt me.”

“You keep telling yourself that, mate. But yeah, Baghera, basically me and Cellbit are thinking careful with the calls and trying to do something palatable for, like, a group dinner.”

“That sounds so nice,” Baghera replies and Phil hums appreciation, caught off guard by the warm feeling of the compliment. “Is it taking much work for you and Cellbit to do that?”

“Not too much? I mean, we’re mostly fine.” Honestly, Phil really needs to make time to actually set that stuff in motion. He’s been so busy these past couple days—wrapping up a mission is a hassle at the best of times, and this time pretty much everything that could go wrong went wrong. Damage and losses have to be categorized, reported, and some nameless higher-up is already demanding explanations.

“But you are both doing okay?” Baghera probes. Her gaze suddenly holds more scrutiny than Phil’s comfortable with. “You and Cellbit have not asked anyone else to help with things, that I have heard.”

Even Foolish is giving Baghera a strange look now, and Phil finds himself unreasonably on edge. She probably means well, right? She’s just going about it weirdly bluntly.

“I’d ask if I needed anything,” he tells her firmly. He keeps his gaze on the chessboard. “Thank you, Baghera.”

Foolish has taken his move, removing his king from Phil’s reach. The game is getting down to the wire now and Phil just has to find his opportunity. 

“Touchy,” Baghera comments, holding her hands up. All three of them laugh, but Phil doesn’t look up. 

Cellbit wiggles closer to Roier in a half-asleep haze before the complaint of his stab wound pulls him much more awake with a hiss of pain. 

“Gatinho?” Roier asks sleepily, his uppermost hand finding its way into Cellbit’s hair. “What happened?” He asks in his native language, not the Notren this crew shares. 

“Nothing, love,” Cellbit replies in the same language. “Go to sleep.” 

Roier makes a muffled sound of agreement, and only then does Cellbit realize the room lights are already up. Shit. If it’s already day, he’s overslept—dammit, what priorities had he planned for today? 

Cellbit must’ve made some noise, because Roier hushes him and cards his hand through his hair again. Another arm closes around his chest to pull him in and Cellbit barely manages not to gasp in pain. 

“We have to get up,” Cellbit says quietly. He takes a second to brace himself to move, then forces himself to sit up in as quick a motion as he can manage. Hopefully, Roier’s not awake enough to notice how he fights for breath a second after he sits. 

Once he’s up, he realizes that at some point in the night his body decided to mirror Roier yet again and he blinks at all of the hands in his lap. Perhaps it’s just that he’s more used to his usual two-armed form, but he doesn’t know how Roier handles all this. 

“Already?” Roier asks. Cellbit hears him roll onto his back. “I… I don’t want to.”

Something about his voice gives Cellbit pause. He shifts gingerly, breathing through the pain, to look at his husband. The man is flat on his back, all six arms splayed out, staring at the ceiling with the telltale flat, troubled look that Cellbit was previously too tired to notice. “How are you feeling?” Cellbit asks him, taking one of his hands and keeping his voice quiet. 

Roier meets his eyes and Cellbit could swear he looks guilty. “Just tired,” he responds after a moment. 

“Just tired?” Cellbit probes. Internally, he’s scolding himself for his inattention. He’s married to Roier, for universe’s sake, and Evenstide—all holidays, really—have been hard for Roier for as long as they’ve known each other. He would have noticed the warning signs of Roier’s mental health far earlier if he hadn’t been so caught up in his own ridiculous troubles. 

Roier holds his gaze a moment longer, then lets out a sigh and turns his head back to face the ceiling. “No, not really,” he admits. Cellbit makes a sympathetic sound. 

“That’s alright,” he assures his husband. “Do you want to get breakfast?” On a shelf, Cellbit’s comm buzzes. He ignores it. 

Roier shakes his head. “I should,” he admits. Cellbit brushes his thumb over the back of Roier’s hand. “I just want to sleep,” he mutters.

“I know. I know, guapito.” Roier gives him a momentary look over the nickname and Cellbit smiles. “Just get dressed and come to breakfast, okay? You can take your meds and then if you still want you can come back.”

With a slow nod, Roier sits up. “Hey, you’re mimicking me again,” he points out with a gesture at Cellbit’s arms, and his presumably more-than-usual number of eyes. He smiles wanly, but his expression still shows a sadness even beyond what his brain is inflicting on him. 

“It’s because I love you,” Cellbit jokes, giving Roier’s hand a final squeeze. “Come on, up you get.” Both of them stand and Cellbit is once again reminded of the hole in his abdomen. He really wishes that would start getting better soon. 

Cellbit turns away and retreats into a corner of the small room to corral his limbs into their usual shape and change into his uniform jumpsuit. It hides the parts of the bandages that have dark blood seeping through them; Cellbit just has to try to move fast enough that Roier doesn’t see the bandages wrapping around to his back. Part of him hopes Roier is still too out of it to think anything of the behavior—it’s undeniably strange and Roier doesn’t need to worry for him when he has so little energy already. 

Roier doesn’t mention it when they leave the room hand in hand, so Cellbit assumes he’s in the clear. 

Somehow the injury seems to hurt even more today than it did yesterday. He feels sick while they walk the halls to the rec room. Usually he’d be keeping up a stream of chatter, trying to encourage and engage Roier—Roier’s told him that even when he doesn’t talk back, it helps him feel more awake and less alone. Today Cellbit can barely even think a coherent sentence at the same time as walking. 

“Morning, you two,” Phil greets as they enter the rec room. 

“Morning,” Cellbit manages. Roier waves. The room is otherwise empty and it looks like Phil is just finishing his food—they’re either later or earlier than Cellbit thought. He doesn’t remember the time. 

At the pantry, Cellbit punches in his employee number at the keypad and opens the door. Luckily, Roier takes the initiative to pull out pouches of freeze-dried ration for both of them; Cellbit feels dizzy. 

They end up at the same end of the long central table as Phil. The food tastes like it might have once been fruit. 

“Any thoughts on the priorities today, Cellbit?” Phil asks after a moment. “Should I send them out?”

“I… I have not seen them, sorry,” Cellbit replies. He pulls his comm from his waistband. Thank the universe he remembered to grab it. Sure enough, there it is:

[[Philza] to [Cellbit]: daily priorities, date Q10.25:
Crew checkups (Mouse)
Engine repairs (Charlie)
Long-range comm repairs (Foolish)
Damage report stuff (Phil)]

[[Philza] to [Cellbit]: look good?]

Mouse’s task is still on there, he notices. He doubts at this point he could remove it without somebody calling him out. “Um… yeah, looks good to me,” he tells Phil. “Why did you take Etoiles off?”

“Didn’t you see?” Phil asks, giving Cellbit a quizzical look. Cellbit shakes his head. He’s been a bit distracted, understandably. “Etoiles broke his fucking arm, mate.”

“What?” Cellbit blinks and tries to focus. “Yesterday?”

“Nah man, like a week ago. Apparently the whole… infection thing was barely holding him together and he didn’t notice.” Phil shakes his head in bemusement. “Mouse put a cast on him and he won’t shut up about it. I’ve got no idea how you avoided it.”

“I’ve been… a bit busy?” Cellbit offers.

“Yeah, no shit,” Phil scoffs. “You don’t need to tell me. Would you mind seeing what Jaiden and Baghera need in the lab today, actually? I need to deal with a commander and I think it’ll take a bit.”

Cellbit nods sympathetically. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” 

After Roier and Cellbit have finished eating and Phil has long since left the room, Cellbit checks in with Roier again. “Are you going to go back to the room?” he asks gently, switching to Roier’s native Estish out of habit. 

Roier seems to think about it for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he replies eventually. Cellbit nods. That’s a good sign, it means getting up and moving around gave him some energy back and things aren’t nearly as bad as they could be. “I’ll text Jaiden and ask if she wants to play a game or something.”

“That’s good,” Cellbit tells him. “That sounds nice. Do you want me to stay?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Roier answers. Cellbit looks at him a bit longer, trying to figure out if Roier really doesn’t mind or if he just doesn’t want to “bother” Cellbit. “Really,” Roier insists, giving him a small smile. “I know you have things to do.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I’m done, okay?”

Roier’s smile grows. “I know you will.” He leans forward in his seat to press his forehead against Cellbit’s, then pulls back with a concerned frown. “You’re running hot, gatinho.”

Cellbit shakes his head minutely. “I’m an endotherm, love, I’m supposed to.”

“No, warmer than usual. Do you feel okay?”

Cellbit meets Roier’s eyes and takes one of his hands on the table. “I’m not running a fever, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m fine, I promise.” The lie squeezes around his stomach like some kind of worm, even though it has a grain of truth in it. Cellbit’s sure he’s not really running a fever—that would mean something is seriously wrong. And that’s just not true. 

“Alright,” Roier concedes. “Have fun with the girls in the lab, then.”

Cellbit smiles and bumps their foreheads together one more time for good measure. “I will.”

Okay, so maybe Charlie should have announced his presence earlier. In his defense, he had thought Cellbit was in a good mood, and scaring him would be funny.

Unfortunately, Cellbit appears to be in a bad mood. All Charlie did was get close behind him in the hall as he left Jaiden and Baghera’s lab and say hey, and Cellbit visibly jumped and maybe grabbed for a weapon on his belt that’s not there. And now he’s just white-knuckling a pipe on the wall and staring at Charlie while Charlie apologizes profusely.

Charlie might be a bit of a dumbass, now that he thinks about it. That sounds about right. 

“Charlie.” Cellbit cuts him off, but at least he doesn’t sound angry. “It’s fine, really, stop apologizing. You caught me off guard, is all. Do you need something?” He removes his hand from the wall, seeming steadier on his feet now. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Charlie replies, relaxing now that Cellbit’s not at risk of shouting at or running from him—both things he’s been known to do in particularly rough moments. “How are you, Cellbit?”

Cellbit gives him a weird look. “I’m fine? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Can’t a guy just check in with his crew?” Charlie gets closer and peers at Cellbit, trying to spot any obvious clues that Baghera would know what to do with. Cellbit looks fucking exhausted, and his sleeveless Federation jumpsuit exposes the mess of scars and few remaining bandages on his arm, but that’s honestly pretty normal. Everybody’s hurt and tired after that mission, and Cellbit in particular really does just look like that. “So whatcha doing?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cellbit answers. He looks perplexed and maybe a bit suspicious. Charlie really isn’t great at this whole scheming thing. “I just finished up with Baghera and I’m going to find Roier. Shouldn’t you be in the engine?”

Charlie hesitates a second. “Yeah, probably. How’s Roier doing? I haven’t heard much from him recently.”

Cellbit’s expression somehow becomes even more guarded. “He’s fine. Really, don’t you have something to do?”

“Wow, okay,” Charlie jokes.

Cellbit almost smiles. “Sorry, sorry. That was blunt; I’m just tired. You can chat if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” Charlie doubts he’ll get anything useful out of Cellbit right now. “Foolish probably needs me back. See you, Cellbit!”

“See you,” Cellbit replies with a bemused wave.

“Etoiles? Are you awake?” Phil doesn’t move from where he’s lying on his stomach on a bedroll on the floor of the rec room as he calls out. He half hopes Etoiles isn’t and the attempt will fall flat.

“What kind of shit question is that, Phil?” Etoiles answers from his own bedroll nearby. “What if you had woken me up with that question?”

“I wouldn’t have woken you up,” Phil argues, feeling a smile creep across his face.

“I am a very light sleeper,” Etoiles insists. “You could have woken me up by asking if I was awake, and then you would feel very bad.”

“Well, I didn’t, and I don’t.”

Etoiles scoffs at him in amusement. “Of course not. Why do you want me to be awake?”

Phil hesitates for a second, staring at the far wall. “I’m not really sure,” he admits. It’s hard for him to sleep in general, especially in places that aren’t his quarters, and at the moment he thinks he’d be too uncomfortable to sleep even in his quarters. His wings still ache and itch, now getting to a point where he keeps thinking the muscles will start twitching in a subconscious attempt to align the feathers. He’s kept his poncho and weighted harness on to sleep, which he definitely isn’t meant to do, but at least in the short run the pressure is somewhat soothing. 

Etoiles makes a hmph sound. “Well, we are both awake and I can’t sleep either, so we have to find something to talk about.”

“Do we?”

“Of course.” Etoiles pauses, then says, “I miss Pomme.”

Phil lets out a breath. He’d been trying not to think about his kids at home, left in impersonal Federation care over Evenstide because both Phil and Missa are stuck out here. “Yeah, I miss Chayanne and Tallulah too.”

“Charlie and I are getting the engines working better, kind of, so maybe we will not be too late.”

Phil hums agreement, then pauses. “Didn’t Mouse say you’re not supposed to be in the engines with your arm?” The central engines of a Federation ship are a struggle even for people who aren’t Phil and don’t already have problems with balance. 

“Please, Philza, I am very good at what I do.”

“You’re a captain, Etoiles.”

“But I was an engineer,” Etoiles corrects. “You know that. Not all of us were command track in the academy, you know. How pretentious of you.”

Phil laughs even though it makes his wings rub uncomfortably against his poncho. “Sorry.” He lets the silence stretch for a moment. “Maybe we won’t be very late, yeah. That’d be nice.” Another pause. “Chayanne says that all the kids are calling each other, at least.”

“That is nice,” Etoiles agrees. “They won’t be lonely. I hope they get into trouble while we are gone.”

“Really?” Phil asks playfully.

“Really. They are probably some of the only ones in the care centers this week,” Etoiles adds. Phil winces. He has a point—the short-term Federation missions that put the kids temporarily in the care centers don’t usually last over major holidays. Even this one wasn’t meant to. “Imagine the kind of places they could sneak into!”

“They probably just all have a bunch of workers with them all the time,” Phil argues. “If they’re the last ones there.”

“They are clever,” Etoiles retorts, “they will get away. Pomme, she is just like me, she is always prepared to cause trouble. It runs in the family.”

Phil snorts. “She’s not biologically related, Etoiles.”

“Okay, and? She learns it from me. It runs in the family.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Phil smiles to himself in the dark, imagining all the kids calling each other to hang out and running around their care centers. 

“How are your plans to call everyone’s kids going, by the way?”

“Pretty well, I guess. Tubbo’s on board and we’re working on when daytime is for all the kids.” Honestly, Phil might be making this harder than it needs to be. But long-range video call is even spottier out here than short-range and it’s rare that the whole ship’s data and power are free enough for a smooth long-range call. It will, genuinely, take everybody else staying off their comms or any computers to ensure people will get to call their kids, so it takes some amount of organization.

Plus, the distraction is nice. It keeps Phil’s mind off adversarial Federation reports and his complaining body.

“I have been waiting a very long time to hug my daughter,” Etoiles says suddenly after another beat of silence.

“This career kind of sucks when you think about it,” Phil agrees.

Etoiles laughs. “I loved it until I got Pomme. I still love it, you know? I just… love my daughter too.”

“Yeah,” Phil sighs. “I keep thinking my kids deserve better.” Missa’s work as a scientist keeps him away from home even when he’s planetside and Phil’s in space more than a third of his time. Wilbur’s gods only know where, doing gods only know what. Phil tries to be engaged and present when he’s there, but it’s still a lot of time in Federation care centers. 

“I’m starting to understand why everybody on these ships is always so young,” Etoiles laughs. “I’m sure Tubbo has a long and promising career ahead of him. You and I, we are as old as our first captain.”

“Gods, we are, aren’t we?” Phil shuffles in place, trying to relieve the pressure on his back and wings. It doesn’t really work. “Where the hell did the time go?”

“Lost between the stars, Phil,” Etoiles replies, somehow more thoughtful but still cheerful. “We did not waste it, but it is not coming back.”

Phil just hums agreement, not sure what to say.

[[Cellbit] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: daily prioritoes, date Q10,27:
Shield repairs IFoolish)
Specifmin catalogying (Jaiden, Baghera)
Engine thigns (Charlie)
Mission reports (PHil)]

Jaiden has a bad feeling about today. Of course, she also has her bad-but-normal feeling about today, which is that it’s three days to Evenstide and Bobby is still gone and yesterday she and Roier held hands in silence in her quarters for nearly half an hour straight. But she also has on top of that another bad feeling that she can’t place, and it’s making her nervous.

[[Philza] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: I think you forgot Mouse’s priority, mate]

[[Charlie] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: prioritoes]

[[Foolish] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: that’s a lot of typos man are you okay]

She doesn’t really know what to do about it, though, other than irrationally locate all her crew members before they start their tasks for the day. 

Foolish, Mouse, and Phil are in the rec room. Carre’s still in an isolation room in medbay but he seemed no worse than usual when Jaiden stopped to chat with him. 

[[Cellbit] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: so good]

Everything is probably fine, Jaiden tries to reason. This is just some kind of… symptom. Of something. Wait, that doesn’t make her feel better at all.

[[Charlie] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: specifmin]

[[Roier] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: leave my husband alone]

Jaiden frowns at her comm as it continues to ping in her hand. She should check in with Roier soon, see if he wants to come help out in the lab or just sit with her. He and Cellbit weren’t in the rec room when last she checked, so they may not have eaten yet. Maybe joining them for breakfast would help her calm down. 

[[Jaiden] to [Cellbit]: hey where are you?]

[[Jaiden] to [Cellbit]: have you gotten breakfast?]

[[Charlie to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: idk man it’s not a prioritoe for me]

[[Roier] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: shut up shut up shut up]

Jaiden paces the halls of the upper deck while she waits for a response, hoping she’s not waking anyone up walking by their doors. 

A minute passes, then two. If Cellbit’s awake and not working, it’s unusual for him not to immediately answer pings. Jaiden chews on her lower lip. 

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: hey where are you?]

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: in Cellbit’s room why? are you okay?]

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: yeah I’m fine]

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: have you eaten breakfast? I kinda wanted to eat with you and Cellbit]

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: also tell your husband to answer his messages lmao]

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: ??? okay I will do that when I see him]

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: wait he’s not with you?]

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: no? why?]

Jaiden forces herself to take a deep breath and look up from her comm for a moment. There’s probably nothing even wrong, and she’s just freaking out for no reason.

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: ???]

[[Jaiden] to [Cellbit]: are you okay?]

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: is something wrong??]

[[Jaiden] to [Roier]: he’s just not answering my messages. it’s probably fine]

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: okay I will also message him]

[[Cellbit] to [Jaiden]: ok]

[[Jaiden] to [Cellbit]: ????????]

[[Cellbit] to [Jaiden]: i an good]

Something is definitely wrong with Cellbit. Probably just a coincidence, but Jaiden wants to believe her feeling was right. 

[[Jaiden] to [Cellbit]: where are you?]

She takes a deep breath and tries to clear her head. Roier said he’s not in his quarters, and it’s highly unlikely he’s in someone else’s quarters either. That leaves the rec room, the bridge, and the lower deck—still a lot of the ship. 

[[Roier] to [Jaiden]: he told me he’s on the bridge. I am going there]

Jaiden doesn’t even reply, just snaps her comm closed and heads towards the bridge door. 

When she gets there, Roier is already hesitating a few feet back, just out of the badge detection range. The two of them nod at each other, and then Jaiden steps close enough that the door slides open with a solid hiss.

Cellbit has his back to the door when they enter. He’s standing over the helm, and under normal circumstances Jaiden might assume he was checking the ship’s coordinates or Phil’s navigating. He’s hunched partially over, though, one hand braced on the console and the other wrapped around his midsection. 

“Gatinho?” Roier calls quietly, going to Cellbit’s side when Jaiden stops dead in the center of the bridge. “What’s happening?”

Cellbit murmurs something too quiet for Jaiden to hear. She forces herself to take a step forward, then another, until she’s at Roier’s shoulder. She can see Cellbit’s face in profile and his solid black eyes are wide and tense, trained on the floor. 

“I’m right here,” Roier says, his voice still low. He rests a hand on Cellbit’s shoulder and Cellbit takes in a sharp breath, then lets out a strangled whine. “Cellbo?”

Jaiden can see Cellbit’s joints trying to shift, both under his clothes and in his exposed arms. She’s seen him shapeshift once or twice, knew he was capable of this, but it’s still a bit nauseating to look at. Roier doesn’t seem put off—he’s probably more used to it. Jaiden looks for something to say and comes up dry; even just standing here she feels like she’s intruding on the moment Cellbit and Roier are having. 

“Cellbit,” Roier prompts again, the worry in his voice becoming so much more obvious. “Answer me, love. What’s wrong?” 

Cellbit takes another labored breath, then straightens up abruptly. For a split second as he moves, it looks like he’s about to say something—and then a spasm of pain and shock crosses his face, and with a louder, wordless sound he crumples forward into Roier.

Roier catches him easily with an exclamation of surprise, all six arms wrapping around Cellbit to hold him up. Cellbit melts into his grip, his limbs bending fluidly. Jaiden only barely doesn’t look away. Roier casts her a fearful look over his shoulder before kneeling down and bringing Cellbit with him. Only then does Jaiden see that Cellbit’s eyes are closed, his body limp even as he keeps making small, pitiful sounds. 

Jaiden and Roier stare at each other in shock for a second longer before Jaiden thinks to move.

[[Jaiden] to [Mouse]: MOUSE]

[[Jaiden] to [Mouse]: COME TO THE BRIDGE]

[[Mouse] to [Jaiden]: what happened??]

[[Jaiden] to [Mouse]: cellbit collapsed idk]

[[Jaiden] to [Mouse]: just get here]

Mouse doesn’t reply again, which Jaiden hopes means she’s on her way. 

Roier is murmuring something to Cellbit in a language Jaiden doesn’t speak—she’s not sure if it’s Roier’s or Cellbit’s native language. Jaiden crouches next to him to look at both him and Cellbit. “What the hell did we just watch?” she mutters.

Roier just shakes his head. “He’s burning up,” he reports. “I thought—I should have noticed, I— idiot.”

“Hey,” Jaiden cuts him off. “Have you met Cellbit? I’d be more surprised if you had known something was wrong.”

Roier laughs wetly. He whispers something else to Cellbit, then turns back to Jaiden. “And I thought Evenstide could not get ruined any worse for me,” he jokes with a sad smile.

Jaiden has to take a second to catch her breath, suddenly thinking about holding Bobby and how he only held still for her exactly once. Cellbit’s form cradled in Roier’s arms suddenly seems so much more familiar. “He’ll live,” she whispers fiercely. “Okay? Promise me, Roier. Promise me you think Cellbit will make it.”

Roier’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but before he can speak the bridge door slides open and Mouse barges in. 

“Mouse!” Jaiden calls in relief as Mouse takes in the scene. 

“Oh you weren’t kidding,” Mouse says, seemingly to no one, standing over the group. “Do you know what happened?”

Roier shakes his head. Cellbit’s eyelids are fluttering now as Roier brushes a hand through his hair, but they don’t quite open. “He just fell,” Roier says helplessly. “He was just standing there, kind of hunched over, and then he fell. He’s got a fever, I think, but I—I don’t know.”

Mouse mutters something under her breath, squinting at Cellbit, then straightens up with a sigh. “Roier, do you think you can carry him to medbay? I can get a better look there.”

Awareness returns to Cellbit slowly. 

The first things he notices are his position—lying on his back, his torso propped slightly above horizontal—and a cool hand holding one of his own, the thumb slowly brushing back and forth. He’s breathing and it doesn’t hurt, and that fact startles him into fighting for alertness that remains out of his reach. 

“Cellbit?” Roier’s familiar voice comes from somewhere above him. “Are you awake?”

Cellbit makes some kind of noise of agreement and forces his eyes open. He is, in fact, lying on his back, and Roier is sitting next to the bed. He doesn’t recognize the room they’re in but can’t quite summon any panic about that. He squints at his husband, trying to string words together in his head. 

“Pendejo,” Roier says quietly but sharply when Cellbit meets his eyes. “Pendejo. You fucking idiot, how could you do that?”

Cellbit blinks at him. “Bom dia, Roier.” 

Roier barks a wet, sharp laugh. “Dios mío, Cellbit, what the fuck?”

Cellbit hums and tugs at Roier’s hand, using both of the arms he currently has to pull Roier’s hand up and press his nose and mouth against it.

“Gatinho, what are you doing?” Roier sounds a bit less upset now and Cellbit smiles. His hand feels blissfully cool against Cellbit’s skin. “What is this?”

How did they even get here? Cellbit tries to remember and—oh—shit, he did get stabbed. A while ago now. It had hurt—he catches himself whining just at the memory—and it had only been getting worse, and… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. 

He turns his gaze back to Roier and moves Roier’s hand to ask, “Where are we?” The words come out sounding a little mushier than they were in Cellbit’s head, but Roier seems to understand. 

Roier sighs and all that worry and sadness comes right back. “The other isolation room in medbay, remember? Mouse put you in here—Cellbit, when the fuck were you stabbed?”

“Mmm… on the mission, I think? I’m okay,” he adds, because Roier seems so worried. “Don’t look so sad, okay?”

Roier laughs again but he doesn’t sound amused at all. “You passed out in my arms, dumbass. Mouse says it’s fucking infected.”

That… sounds about right, actually. Infection is generally a reason that injuries get worse instead of better. 

Cellbit suddenly remembers he’s still holding Roier’s hand. It still feels nice and cool to hold and it’s pretty to look at, his husband’s hand calloused and strong from working as a Federation mechanic. Cellbit should look at this more often, he thinks, gently turning it in his hold and tangling then untangling their fingers. Beautiful, just like Roier. He brings it back up to his face and slowly, with a glance at Roier’s face, takes the tip of his first finger between his teeth. 

Roier pulls back with an indignant sound and Cellbit makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Gross, gatinho, what the fuck?”

“I love you,” Cellbit whines, grabbing in the air to get Roier’s hand back. He can’t manage to actually connect until Roier grabs his wrist with another hand and guides him. Cellbit lets their joined hands fall back to the thin sheets of the bed and laughs. His stomach aches a little at that and he remembers the stab wound. It hurt a lot more than this the last time he was awake, he thinks. He casts Roier a confused glance even though he’s still thinking too slowly to really be afraid when he asks, “Did you drug me?”

Roier returns his look for a long second before replying, “Mouse gave you a painkiller because she had to clean your wound. She’s a doctor, she didn’t drug you.” 

Cellbit makes an equivocal sound. He doesn’t like that, really; he likes Mouse but he doesn’t trust her. He’s tired, though, and he trusts Roier, and he can’t quite bring himself to care. He taps his fingers against Roier’s where they’re holding hands. 

Roier sighs and gives him yet another sad smile. “You know, this would be adorable if I wasn’t so frightened,” he comments. Cellbit bares his teeth halfheartedly. He is not adorable. “I am angry, by the way,” he adds, voice growing sharp again. “It was dangerous and stupid to hide that. I’ll yell at you when you’re less out of it, just you wait.”

“No you won’t,” Cellbit replies.

“Really? Why not?”

Cellbit gestures vaguely with a free hand and blinks slowly up at the ceiling. He’s too tired to think of real reasons. 

“Oh, wow, so convincing.” Roier’s stifled laughter feels a bit more genuine now that it was when Cellbit first woke up, if still a little forced. “Are you going back to sleep already?”

“Mhm,” Cellbit agrees. He hadn’t really thought about it but now he decides he definitely is. His limbs and mind feel heavy. He’s safe, Roier is right here. Roier will protect him.

Roier says something else, but Cellbit doesn’t understand it. 

“Charlie?” Foolish asks without turning around. They’re both in the upper engineering deck, working on their respective parts of the ship in parallel and silence.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel like everything is going wrong?”

“Like, recently? All the fucking time, man. Why, did something happen?”

“I mean, I just now learned we probably don’t have a spare of the part I need to get the shields back to full strength. There’s everything else, too, though.”

“Yeah, true. There is in fact everything else also going wrong.”

“I just wanna get back planetside, y’know? It’s been so long.” Foolish sighs to himself.

Charlie laughs. “We are so fucked, dude. So fucked.”

Baghera almost feels bad that she was right about Cellbit. It’s kind of the worst of both worlds, somehow—she knew something was wrong and she was correct, but she was too slow to do anything about it. She had to get text updates from a panicked Jaiden while things actually went down and only now, a few hours later once she’s sure the situation has settled down, is she coming to sheepishly check in on Roier.

Mouse isn’t in medbay when Baghera gets down to it. She can see Carre awake and reading through the window of one isolation room and Cellbit and Roier in the other one. Cellbit seems asleep, or at least still, and Roier sits by the head of his bed holding his hand. She gives her wings a nervous flick to settle the feathers. The door to the isolation room is open, but Baghera knocks on the wall anyway. 

Roier looks up at her immediately. He looks exhausted, but gives her a friendly look that doesn’t quite pull off being a smile and waves her to come inside.

“How is he?” Baghera asks, coming to stand at Roier’s shoulder and angling herself so she can see both of them through the eye that isn’t covered in a bandage. Cellbit is definitely asleep, relaxed. Mouse seems to have unzipped his jumpsuit to the waist and pulled the top half down, leaving a loose pool of fabric below his hips and revealing the bandage around his midsection. 

Roier shrugs. “He’s… fine. Mouse says if he takes his antibiotics he isn’t in real danger, so… yeah.”

“Have you gotten to talk to him?”

“He’s been awake a couple times, yeah.” Roier gives a sad, strained laugh. “But the fever and painkillers have him pretty loopy. It’ll be a while before we can actually talk, I think.” 

Baghera nods to him. “I am sorry all this happened,” she offers.

Roier just shrugs again. “It did. It is not your fault.”

The two of them stand in silence for a long moment. Baghera still feels a stone in the pit of her stomach, the mess of everything that’s happened for the past few weeks weighing her down from her soul to the tips of her feathers. 

She looks at Roier: his tired eyes, the slumped lines of his posture, his hand tangled with Cellbit’s on the bed. “How are you?” 

Roier hesitates too long. “Much less stabbed, you know? Doing good.”

“Really?” Baghera asks gently. 

Roier doesn’t answer. The two of them don’t even look at each other. 

Baghera doesn’t know Roier too well—they hadn’t been on the same ship until recently, to be fair. But she’s met him enough times to know he’s not usually this quiet. She figures that to be married to Cellbit he must be at least somewhat in favor of bluntness and honesty. “I am worried, Roier,” she says after settling her internal argument. “You have been so quiet and only spending time with Cellbit and Jaiden, and now Cellbit has given you this shock. I don’t want anyone else to suffer in silence on this ship.” 

Roier stays silent a moment longer, his expression tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’m just being stupid,” he tells her. “It is not anything you can help with.”

“Can I try? I would still like to try.”

Roier sighs, his eyes closing for a long, slow moment. “Jaiden is better at talking about it than I am,” he answers eventually. “You should talk to her, really. I just… I miss Bobby, right?” He gives a harsh wet laugh. “None of those words are right. It’s like… you know, it is Evenstide in two days and Bobby is supposed to be here for all the holidays, and he’s not here for any of them. It’s like he’s still here, but it’s not him that’s here it’s the lack-of-him that’s right by my side. It is stupid.” 

“That does not sound stupid to me,” Baghera offers. Bobby was already gone by the time Baghera and Jaiden were assigned together and became friends. Baghera can barely even imagine losing Pomme without wanting to cry. 

“Jaiden and I have these… rituals, I guess. Some holidays and Bobby’s birthday, we light candles and bring him little gifts and… yeah. We cannot really do that here. It kind of messes with how my brain already is, and it makes things hard.”

“I’m sorry, Roier.” Baghera doesn’t think there’s anything she can say to make the hurt in Roier’s face lessen. 

“Evenstide will be done soon,” Roier says flatly with a shrug. “And meanwhile I will just be stupid.”

“We’ve all been planning with our kids without even thinking about you and Jaiden,” Baghera realizes. “I am so sorry, that must be awful.” 

Roier finally looks up at her and shakes his head. “No, do not stop.” He looks like he fishes for words for a moment. “I am sad, yes. I miss Bobby. You should call your kids, you should make plans. He… he would not want everything to stop. He told us to keep living, and that is living.” He turns his gaze back to the floor. “I’m not making any sense. Don’t listen to me, forget I said anything.”

Cellbit stirs, immediately catching both of their attention, but he settles back down without opening his eyes.

“I know you and Jaiden can’t do your usual things in space,” Baghera says carefully. “But we are all already planning to keep the ship quiet to conserve power and data so people can take turns making calls. Would it help if we set aside time for you and Jaiden to have a private moment and do… something?” She watches Roier as he processes her barely half-baked idea. 

“Maybe, yeah,” he agrees finally. “We have old videos, it could be… it could be nice.” He shakes his head again, looking back up at her. “Can I ask you to talk to Phil for me?” he asks with a tentative half-smile. “I should do it, I know, but explaining takes energy and I am bad with words. You—you don’t have to, I’m sorry—but maybe?”

Baghera returns his smile with a much wider one. “Of course, yes. I am just glad I can help.”

“Psst, Baghera,” Charlie stage-whispers from the mouth of a hallway.

Baghera, passing him down the perpendicular hallway of the intersection, startles slightly. “Charlie? Are you alright?”

Charlie gestures vigorously with the top section of his body, giving the impression of a nod. “C’mon! Are you busy?”

With a bemused look around, Baghera steps into the same hallway as him. “No?”

“We’ve gotta scheme, Baghera, we haven’t talked about our scheme in days,” Charlie says, leading her further down the hallway. This corridor only has the doors to people’s quarters in it, and in the middle of the afternoon most people aren’t in their rooms. It’s the perfect place to discuss a scheme.

Baghera laughs and Charlie preens internally. “What did you want to talk about? I am supposed to be meeting Foolish.”

“I dunno, just—updates!” To be honest, Charlie didn’t have much of a plan when he decided to talk to Baghera. He’s a little bored, almost done with his personal mission to drag everyone to medbay, and fixing the engines has kept him way too separate from his crew these past few days. “Um, Cellbit happened, right? Foolish told me what Jaiden told him.”

“It did not look great for our scheme,” Baghera comments. 

Charlie jiggles awkwardly for a moment. “Yeah, I think that one’s on me. Cellbit looked like he was gonna bite me when I asked if he wanted to go to medbay and I stopped trying.”

Baghera makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “I feel bad too, yeah. At least now we know what was going on?” She doesn’t sound too happy about it. Charlie understands. “But I talked to Roier, and that is going to be cleared up soon.”

“Really? What was up with Roier?”

Baghera hesitates a second, then says, “The holiday season reminds him of Bobby, he says. It has been rough for him and Jaiden, but Jaiden is… a better actress, I think. I told him I will talk to Phil, we have a plan.”

Charlie gets the definite vibe that Baghera isn’t sure she’s supposed to talk about it. He does his nod-approximation again to show he respects that. Part of him wants to go talk to Jaiden and Roier himself, commiserate with them because he remembers losing Flippa. A more rational part of him knows that the reminder that Flippa is back and Bobby isn’t probably won’t help and people react weirdly when he brings up Flippa anyway. 

“What about you?” Baghera finishes, snapping Charlie back to reality.

He bounces in place a little. “I’ve brought everyone to Mouse except Phil, Cellbit, and Foolish—and Foolish is because he went on his own before all this. No big surprises except Etoiles and I think Mouse is starting to wonder why I’m always in her medbay. Have you figured anything out about Phil? Something’s definitely still up with him.” Phil’s been spacey when Charlie’s talked to him, and his temper’s been shorter than usual. Plus, when Charlie pays attention he can tell Phil is avoiding people as best he can given that he’s literally sleeping in the rec room. 

Baghera makes a more or less gesture. “I will drag Phil to medbay tomorrow, okay? I think his wings are bothering him—something about the way he moves and turns.”

“Aren’t his wings always bothering him?” Charlie asks skeptically. “Didn’t he say way back in like our first month on the ship together that he’s got, like, permanent problems with them?” Charlie still feels a little bad that he was one of the people whose curiosity and persistence got Phil to explain even in the vaguest possible terms why he wore the cloak. It was so long ago now that Phil himself has probably forgotten about it, though. 

“Worse than usual.” Baghera pauses, looking into space and narrowing her eyes in focus or frustration. “I cannot quite explain it. He moves them more under the poncho than usual and he leans on things more often.” 

Charlie hums, still not fully buying it. Balance problems are, again, fairly common behavior for Phil. He holds onto things for balance pretty frequently on ships and stations with grav-gen, and the few times Charlie’s seen Phil planetside, Phil was using forearm crutches to help him walk. Charlie has the sense not to ask about that one, but clearly something is up if the objectively fucked gravity on Federation ships is easier to navigate. 

“Just trust me, Charlie,” Baghera says, apparently picking up on his hesitation. “There is something with his wings, I also have wings—I think it might be more comfortable for me to be in the room than you.”

Charlie gestures surrender with two tendrils. “Okay, okay, I trust you. I’ll leave it to you.”

“Good.” Baghera nods. “Are you still okay? The… that still doesn’t bother you?” She gestures vaguely at Charlie. He looks down at himself for a moment and figures she must mean that weird rash that still won’t go away. 

“Nah, nah, that’s fine. Everything’s great,” he assures her. The patches of rash kinda burn sometimes, and the weird black-and-green glow can get a bit uncanny shining through him, but it’s fine. Flippa’s got the same kind of thing and nothing’s wrong with her. “How about you?” 

Baghera shrugs. “Fine, yes. Hoping to see out of both eyes again soon. Can I go meet Foolish now, or is there something else?” 

There’s absolutely nothing to do in here, and it’s really starting to get to Cellbit. 

Mouse is making him take way too many medications, in his opinion—antibiotic, painkiller, fever reducer, etc—but the upside is that his head is clearer than it’s felt in days. Roier tells him he’s still out of it; Cellbit’s not sure he believes that. 

He tries to return his attention to the book in his lap but only manages to focus on the words for a couple sentences. It’s Roier’s, not his. After longer than they intended to be out here, everybody is running out of the entertainment they brought. Cellbit can never stand to reread a book, which makes it worse. 

Roier’s half-asleep in the chair by the bed. Cellbit doesn’t want to disturb him. He needs the rest. 

He looks back at the book. Roier’s favored action-adventure genre does very little to satisfy Cellbit’s love of mysteries. This one in particular must be strangely confusing for the genre—Cellbit can barely keep the plot straight in his head. 

There’s probably stuff on the ship to do. He could check his comm for where the ship’s direction will take them next. He’s been just sitting in medbay for so long; it’s boring. Cellbit despises boredom. 

For Roier’s sake he tries to go back to reading. Roier needs sleep and Cellbit can contain his twitchiness at least that long, right? Sure. Probably.

“I’m a little bit busy, Baghera.”

“No, you are not.”

Her response is so blunt and abrupt that it startles Phil into actually looking up from his comm at her. 

“See? Not busy.”

“I—no. And I’m fine anyway.” Phil does his best to refocus on his comm. 

Baghera props a hand on her hip, giving Phil a disapproving look. “Then you have no problem with visiting Mouse. Come on, she is expecting you.” 

“I’m busy,” Phil replies firmly. He isn’t sure he likes his odds of out-stubborning Baghera, but he’s going to try. Mouse will just tell him he’s not seriously hurt—well, any more than usual—and hassle him about his wings, and he doesn’t wanna hear it. He will stay right here, perched at the central table of the rec room, until Baghera walks away. 

“Literally you are texting Tallulah.”

“Hey!” Phil holds his comm against his chest for a second and glares at Baghera. “That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Phil. I told Mouse you would be down soon. You are the last person for her to see.” 

“I really don’t have to see her, mate. I promise you I’m fine.” The whole point of that priority was to make sure all the various injuries were properly dealt with after the mission. Phil already knows he didn’t sustain anything severe; his wings getting worse doesn’t count. There’s no point. 

“It will be quick, then,” Baghera insists. “I am not going to stop, Phil.” 

“Yeah, you go on ahead then.” Phil opens his comm back to reply to Tallulah. 

The next thing he knows he’s being tugged sharply sideways. His wings flare out on an instinct he somehow still has, shoving against the fabric of his poncho. He manages to catch himself on the edge of the table before he actually falls but his comm goes clattering across the floor.

It takes a moment to realize what actually happened: Baghera grabbed his arm and pulled him off the chair. He glares at her while he recovers his bearings and she watches unapologetically. 

“Low fucking blow, Baghera. Real fucking classy.” He probably shouldn’t snap at her. After the whole moment with nearly falling, his wings are settled awkwardly, not in their usual places. He tries to coerce the nerves into cooperating without physically reaching back to adjust them. 

“You are already up now,” Baghera says cheerfully as Phil moves to pick up his comm. “No point in not just going down to see Mouse, right?”

“You’re really not gonna stop, are you?” Phil sighs. He crouches to grab his comm. Baghera offers him a hand up that he’s just a bit too unbalanced to be petty about. 

“Nope!”

“Fine,” Phil says sharply. “Let’s get it the fuck over with, then.” He can sit through a lecture from Mouse as well as he can one from Carre, and in theory it really will be over soon. 

Baghera claps once and starts rapidly towards the door. 

“You’re ganging up on me,” Cellbit declares from his position in the open isolation room door. “And I won’t have it.”

“We’re not, gatinho, I promise,” Roier replies, sounding more amused than anything else. 

Phil and Baghera exchange a look, not sure what argument they’ve walked into. 

Mouse, perched on one of her exam tables, spots the two of them and grins. “Phil! Tell Cellbit he’s not going back on duty and he has to stay here at least another day.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘off duty,’ that is not how these ships work,” Cellbit argues. He’s still in the entrance to the isolation room, one hand hanging onto the doorframe and the other wrapped loosely around his stomach. Roier stands behind him with one hand on his shoulder. His expression shows mostly humor and a bit of concern, but Mouse looks more annoyed. “We should be coming up on an asteroid field and the navigation will need work.”

“I handled that, mate,” Phil interjects. “We reached it this morning.” The captain and first mate of a Federation ship have nearly the same duties, but Phil generally navigates. He’s got a more intuitive sense for it usually, and Cellbit’s happy to just check over his work. This time Phil had gotten Etoiles to check it and left Cellbit alone.

Cellbit gives him a bitterly disappointed look. “Traitor.”

Phil just shrugs. His feathers catch on his cloak again. 

“Phil’s here for his exam, Mouse,” Baghera says, sounding a bit too self-satisfied for Phil’s tastes. “The last one.”

Mouse snorts a laugh. “I can’t believe it isn’t Charlie dragging somebody in this time.” She looks back at Cellbit and Roier. “Would you two mind…?” She gestures vaguely and Roier guides Cellbit back into the room by his shoulder. Cellbit still looks put out, but doesn’t argue. “Anyway. Hi, Phil.”

“Hey,” Phil chuckles. He has no idea why he’s so nervous about this. He’s a goddamn adult and talking to Carre in his capacity as a doctor doesn’t bother him, even when he gets the same damn lecture every time. 

The door closes behind Roier and Mouse nods. “So! First of all, anything you’re worried about?”

“Nope,” Phil replies immediately, popping the p some for emphasis. “Pretty much everything from the mission’s already healed, that’s all been smooth sailing.” He tugs the hem of his poncho up to show one arm and the healed or scabbed scrapes. “Seriously, I really don’t think we need to do this.”

“Phil,” Baghera says with clear irritation. Sucks to be her, Phil thinks. Petty, he knows, but he feels justified. 

“You’re worse than Etoiles,” Mouse complains with a lighthearted roll of her eyes. “Do you think they teach it when you become a captain?” she asks with a look at Baghera. 

Baghera laughs. 

“Very funny,” Phil comments sarcastically. 

“Anyway, Phil, your wings are doing fine too? Nothing new with that or your balance?”

“Nah, nothing I can’t handle.” He’s already getting used to the new daily pain level, kind of.  It’s getting easier to tolerate. “You need to see them, right?” It’s actually easier not to be irritated now, even if he’s bracing internally for the lecture. It’s just a question that has to be asked, same as Carre checking in with Jaiden or Phil and Etoiles’ old crew doctor checking on Etoiles about their chronic shit. Mouse is just doing her job. 

“If you could, yeah.” Mouse sounds almost surprised at his lack of argument. 

Phil nods, perches on an exam table, and goes to undo the buttons down the front of his poncho. Honestly, he probably should let his wings breathe more than he does, but it’s fine. Their strength doesn’t really matter when they’re mostly missing and don’t want to move anyway, and he preens the feathers regularly… or he did, he realizes, until this past week. He hasn’t quite found the time or space since he’s been living in the rec room with Etoiles. 

Well, too late now. The poncho is open and Phil pulls it around his shoulders to lay on the table next to him. He goes to unstrap the harness next, studiously avoiding Mouse and Baghera’s gazes. Three easy clicks of plastic fasteners and that slips off his shoulders too, hitting the exam table with a quiet thunk and leaving Phil feeling almost incorporeal. 

Mouse walks an arc around the table and back, taking his wings in. Phil starts to stretch them, then stops and winces when the buzzing pain spikes. 

“I’m not your usual doctor, so you’re gonna have to talk me through it,” Mouse starts. “How are they right now, compared to usual?” 

Phil shrugs. “A bit worse?” he offers stiffly. He keeps his eyes down, on the light gray of his Federation jumpsuit. Both the fabric itself, so much lighter than his dark green poncho, and his bare arms feel so strange to have exposed. Between that and how having the harness off fucks his equilibrium—the price he pays for committing so hard to it—this whole situation feels surreal.

“Right. Can you explain that?”

“I haven’t really had a chance to preen them?” Phil wishes he could implode, just a little. “And I think I might’ve strained them a bit on that planet. The nerves are… worse. Yeah.” 

“How long?” Baghera demands abruptly. “Sorry, Mouse. Keep going.”

“No, it’s a good question. You preen your wings normally, right, and you haven’t since… when?”

Phil actually has to think about it. “A couple days before we left for Quesadilla,” he remembers after a moment. He gives a dark chuckle. “It’s not like they can function any worse.”

“I am going to preen you,” Baghera declares. “As soon as you’re done here. My feathers hurt just from you saying that, Phil.”

“Fucking hell,” Phil mutters. “You really don’t want to, they’re all scarred and shit. I’ve been dealing with it alone for like… ten years, mate, I’ll get to it.”

“Really? When?”

Phil hesitates. “Eventually.”

Baghera scoffs. “I am texting Jaiden. She will help.” 

“You don’t—don’t text Jaiden, mate.”

“Too late.”

Phil looks to Mouse for help and gets nothing but a shrug. “You’ve got as-needed pain meds, right?” she asks when it’s clear Baghera won’t interrupt again immediately. “Your file says so. Have you been taking those?”

Gods above. Phil doesn’t know why he didn’t expect Mouse to get access to his medical records. A whole career in the Federation and apparently some part of him still expects privacy. “Yeah, sure, when I need them.” He almost never takes them, actually, but he doesn’t wanna hear about it. Most of the time he honestly forgets they exist, and the rest of the time—who cares? It’ll still hurt when they wear off, and anything worse than usual passes with time no matter what he does. 

“Is it just the feathers that are giving you problems?” Mouse asks. Phil sends half a prayer to whatever’s out there that they’re wrapping up.

“Pretty much? I’ve got nerve pain too, but there’s not a ton I can do about that. I cope.”

“I see.” Mouse has been pacing around him for a minute or so now, one of the strangest medical exams Phil’s ever gotten. He would honestly feel less exposed if she would just take his pulse or blood pressure. “You look pretty good to me honestly, other than the wings.” Phil pulls the limbs in question closer to his back and they mostly comply, in a series of small, twitchy motions. “Everything’s healing. No secret broken bones or horrifying rash or literal stab wound—your crew is a mess, Phil, by the way.”

Phil can’t help but laugh. “Hey, Etoiles is yours.” He tracks her face cautiously for a second longer, then twists to grab the harness and start settling it back in place.

Baghera cuts him off with a glare. “No, put that down. It is crushing the feathers on your back, I can see it. We are going to Jaiden’s quarters and preening you before you do anything else.”

Phil continues to strap the harness and arrange his wings to work with it. “Baghera, I have bad news for you about my ability to walk. I’ll take it back off when we get to the room, okay? Promise.” He knows from the look in Baghera’s eyes he’s not getting out of this now, so he may as well just make it as quick and painless as possible. 

“Fine,” Baghera allows. Her gaze is on her comm—still texting Jaiden, maybe. Phil has another brief moment of wondering if he can slip away before he has to expose and deal with his wings again. “If you need it. Just do not drag your feet, okay?”

Jaiden wasn’t totally sure what she had expected when Baghera messaged to inform her that Phil had been ignoring his wings and they were going to make him fix them, but honestly this about tracks. They’re fucked up, to be sure—and that’s coming from Jaiden with fucked-up-wings disorder—but nothing too horrific. 

The three of them are kneeling on Jaiden’s bed, Phil in front of the other two, while he nervously talks. 

“You don’t need to be too careful, okay?” Phil is explaining. “The nerves are kind of… finicky? I can’t really feel some parts and other parts will hurt no matter how you touch them. Don’t feel bad if it hurts, there’s nothing you could do differently.” 

“Phil,” Jaiden says when he pauses, speaking firmly to cut him off. “I’m gonna start at the outside, okay? Right here.” She places a hand just beyond the top joint of his left wing, letting her fingers rest over the feathers. “Is that alright?”

Phil’s shoulders tense, but he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead. Just get it over with.” 

Jaiden presses down gently, working the pads of her fingers into the feathers, and combs them downward. A short covert feather comes free in her hand easily as she finishes the gesture. She gives Phil a long moment to object before she repeats the motion in the same motion. The wing moves with her just a little, she notices; the muscles don’t hold their own against gravity the way they should. 

After that pregnant pause, Phil relaxes some and shifts his posture: starting to work on the underside of the same wing himself and angling his arm to support the wing and hold it out. Jaiden takes the cue and puts her free hand over the back feathers in the same spot, helping him pin and support the limb. 

Baghera starts on the auxiliary feathers on the skin of his back itself, most of them bedraggled and flat from being pressed under Phil’s weighted harness. Even so they’re more and thicker than what Jaiden has there, and for once she doesn’t envy typical development—even for Jaiden those are a hassle, and she barely has to deal with them. 

It’s quick and easy for Jaiden to fall into the meditative rhythm of preening. She tries to be gentler with Phil than she is with herself, even though he said not to worry too much about it. His skin is warm and feels fragile under his feathers, without the muscle tone one would expect. 

“Are we just gonna sit here in silence the whole time?” Phil asks with an awkward chuckle as Jaiden finishes the outermost segments and moves both hands closer to Phil’s back. “It’s kinda spooky.”

“I mean, I can make small talk,” Jaiden jokes. “Lovely weather we’re having, am I right?” 

Phil snorts a laugh. “Empty with a chance of radiation. My favorite.” 

“Oh,” Baghera says, looking up from her hands. “Actually, Phil, Roier asked me to talk to you. If this is not a bad time?”

Phil shrugs, jostling Jaiden from his wing briefly. “Now is fine. Not like this is particularly complicated, right? Jaiden, do you mind or should we wait?”

As Jaiden weighs her respect for Roier’s privacy versus her nosiness, Baghera says, “Actually it kind of involves Jaiden too. She should be here.”

“Really?” Jaiden gives Baghera a sharp, curious look. “Go on, then.” 

“Um…” Baghera seems to take a moment to gather her thoughts and finish up with Phil’s auxiliary feathers. “So Roier and I were talking about Evenstide, right?” Oh. Jaiden swallows. She thinks she knows what Baghera wants to talk about. “And how everybody is scheduling to call their kids and everything. He, so, you know how he and Jaiden lost Bobby.” Just focus on the task. Just like you always do. Don’t cry, Jaiden, don’t. “He asked me to ask you to set time for Jaiden and him to use the ship’s data connection, so they can do some of the things they do to remember Bobby. Can that work with what you and Tubbo are planning?”

“Yeah, of course,” Phil answers immediately. “It won’t be hard at all. Jaiden, is that what you want, too? Did Roier talk to you?”

Jaiden has to look for words for a moment. “I—not, not really? It’s… complicated.” The two of them haven’t really been talking when they’ve been together this past week. They just find each other by silent accord and sit in some tucked-away corner. A lot of the time they don’t even really cry, just hold each other and stare numbly at the blank paneled walls. Sometimes they even fall asleep. “Sorry, I…” Jaiden takes deep, measured breaths, her hands stilling on Phil’s wings. 

“I am sorry,” Baghera replies. Jaiden must be showing something on her face, because Baghera’s giving her a concerned look. “I did not mean to upset you, okay? I should have waited.”

Jaiden shakes her head instantly. “No, no, you’re fine. I—” She takes another breath, pulling herself together. “That would be really nice. Really—it would really mean a lot to Roier and me.” She won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it—worried about it, obsessed about it—that this will be the first major holiday she and Roier will spend without having or visiting Bobby. Maybe they can watch the old videos. Maybe he’ll forgive them their distance if they keep him close. 

“We’ll set aside time,” Phil assures her. His voice is soft and gentle, and it’s not doing Jaiden’s composure any favors. “And tell Roier that you two aren’t under any pressure, okay? Don’t take anybody’s shit if they try to drag you into stuff and you need space.” 

Jaiden nods, then remembers Phil can’t see her. “Yeah, got it.” There’s a short beat of silence. “Hey, can we go back to spooky silence now?” she tries to joke. “I think we’ve done plenty of small talk.” She picks her hand up and starts back at preening—she and Phil are almost done with his left wing and Baghera’s starting on the base of the right.

“I don’t know, I still have thoughts about the weather,” Baghera replies lightly. Jaiden sends her a silent thank you. “Unseasonably warm, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Phil jumps in. “Almost three whole degrees Kelvin out there, can you believe it?” 

Jaiden tries to laugh and mostly succeeds. “Woah, that’s crazy. Is someone gonna do something about that?” 

[[Philza] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: daily priorities, date Q10.30:
none :)
happy evenstide]

[[Baghera] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: that is so cheesy Phil what the hell]

[[Philza] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: i’m excited so sue me]

[[Foolish] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: WHOS EXCITED FOR KIDS WOO]

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: L]

[[Charlie] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: okay childless loser]

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: WOW] 

[[Charlie] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: they hate me because im honest]

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: HONEST YOUR DICK]

[[Baghera] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: Carre is your all caps stuck?] 

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: NO] 

[[Foolish] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: calm down boys]

[[Philza] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: hey does anyone wanna help get dinner ready later? it was gonna be me and Cellbit but now someone else should help out. shouldn’t be too hard]

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: i can help i am not busy :)]

[[Foolish] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: um aren’t you still sick]

[[Mouse] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: yes he is]

[[Mouse] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: Carre you’re on thin ice just going to dinner. don’t test me]

[[Carre] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: :(]

[[Cellbit] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: i will help]

[[Mouse] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: no]

[[Cellbit] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: let me cook]

[[Mouse] to [GROUP: BOLAS+]: i hate you all]

Etoiles paces the bridge, waiting for his call to connect. Baghera’s waiting much more patiently, but Etoiles can still see her tension as they watch three dots bounce on the large screen. Her comm is propped up and open on the central helm, so the both of them can see Pomme’s messages as they come through. 

With a loud chime the call finally goes through, and two rectangles of video fill the bridge screen. Apparently, Pierre’s end had already connected with Pomme on Quesadilla. 

All four of them on the call exclaim happily—Pomme with excited wiggling and her parents vocally. 

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: maman! papa!]

“Pomme! My little girl!” Baghera calls, waving to the girl. “How are you?”

“Happy Evenstide!” Etoiles adds, pacing faster. Seeing her there only makes him more aware of the distance between them; the vast terrible space between him and holding his daughter. 

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: i miss you maman]

“What, no love for me?” Etoiles jokes, gesturing in mock offense. “Pierre, she says she misses her maman, no mention of us at all.”

“Unbelievable,” Pierre replies, shaking his head. 

Pomme giggles, typing on her pocket computer. The video makes her so blurry, Etoiles laments. He can barely pick out the colors of her scales, let alone her mismatched eyes or the design on her shirt. 

“Etoiles she is calling us jealous,” Pierre reports, indignant.

“You wound me, Pomme!” Etoiles continues his dramatic gesturing as best he can with his arm still in its cast. The cast doesn’t itch like he thought it would, likely thanks to the change. Still irritating, though, and he still wants it gone as soon as Mouse will allow. “Wound me to my core!”  

“So dramatic,” Baghera says, giving Etoiles a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Both of you. Pomme, how are you? It is not too lonely down there?” 

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: a little lonely :(]

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: but i’m okay]

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: something silly happened yesterday :) do you wanna hear?]

“Wait, Leo, show me that a little closer?” Foolish squints at the large screen at the front of the bridge as Leo once again holds her model windmill close to her camera. This time, thankfully, the picture clears enough for Foolish to see the details—the layered paneling, the thin paper in the blades, the painted wooden flowers around its base. “Yeah that’s awesome! I’m so proud of you.”

Leo puts the model back down on the desk near him and gives Foolish a proud smile. 

[[Leonarda] to [Foolish]: i want to build a waterwheel to go with it]

“That sounds sick,” Foolish agrees. “They’ll look super cute together.”

[[Leonarda] to [Foolish]: will you help when you get home?] 

“Yeah, of course,” Foolish agrees. “Vegeta can help too, right? He’s great at that stuff.” Although Leo’s other parent has to travel for work more than either of them want, at least his job has the decency to get him home for Evenstide. It might be a bit selfish, given how many of the other people on this crew are parents, but Foolish is glad Leo doesn’t have to spend today in a Federation care center. 

[[Leonarda] to [Foolish]: i want  *you* to help with this one]

“Alright, gotcha,” Foolish replies with half a sigh. “I miss you too, Leo.”

[[FL1PP4] to [Charlie]: 333VEN57IDE F0R TH3 B4BY !!]

[[FL1PP4] to [Charlie]: 1 l0VE Y0u p4p4:   )]  

“Maybe next year, okay Pomme?” Baghera offers with a small laugh. “Maybe next year you can come see my lab. Right now you are still too young, okay?”

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: next year is now!]

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: hold on let me tell papa Pierre]

“She has a point, it’s Evenstide,” Pierre points out when Pomme finishes typing. “Next year is in less than a day.” 

“You know what I mean.” Baghera rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Her lab is scary even to me, Pomme,” Etoiles weighs in, only barely lying. “You do not want to go in there just yet.” 

[[Pomme!] to [Baghera]: I’m brave]

“I know you’re brave,” Baghera assures her. “Next year, maybe. It’s the rules, not you, I promise.” 

In a video taken years ago on a handheld camera with a strange aspect ratio, Jaiden plays patty-cake with her toddler son. She chants the rhyme and Bobby makes small sounds as if he’s following along, their voices almost covering the noises of their hands making contact. 

On the last line— baby and me! —Jaiden suddenly leans forward, grabbing at Bobby’s belly as he screams happily. 

The view shakes as Roier crouches and gets closer. All three of them laugh as Jaiden and Roier repeat the line. Baby and me, mi bebé y yo!

Jaiden tucks her face against Roier’s shoulder and he holds her even closer. 

“You can stay if you want,” Cellbit offers. Roier and Jaiden share a glance, then both shake their heads. “Richas would love to see you both. You won’t have to explain.” 

“Enjoy your call,” Roier says firmly. His arm has been around Cellbit’s torso for the whole walk up to the bridge from medbay, an ineffectual and fairly unneeded gesture of support. Now he leans in for a short kiss before pulling fully away. “Meet you back in your quarters?”

“Of course. Keep safe, guapito,” Cellbit tells him with a small smile. 

Jaiden manages a smile back. “Tell Richas we said hi?”

“Yes, of course. Of course.” 

The door slides shut behind the two of them, leaving Cellbit alone on the bridge. 

He stares at the door for a long second. He feels so useless times like now. He cannot love or problem-solve his way out of Roier and Jaiden’s grief. There’s no mystery, no puzzle or cypher, nothing that companionship or somatic activation or a gentle reminder to take meds can fix. He doesn’t even really understand it, and selfishly for once he hopes he never does.

The bridge comms station pings before Cellbit can go farther down that spiral. He walks to the station to accept the call before going back to the center of the bridge and sitting in the singular chair facing the camera. 

Usually he wouldn’t bother sitting—the gravity on the upper deck is low enough to never really become a problem for him. The finally-healing injury in his stomach bothers him if he uses those muscles too much, though, so he’ll sit. He’s put his foot down somewhat with Mouse: he’ll take her painkillers, if she insists, but it won’t be the kind that was fucking him up the past few days. He can’t put up with that brain fog any longer. The price he pays is, understandably, pain. He’ll sit down. 

The screen comes to life with a flash of light—Cellbit needs to focus. 

“So what’re you making, Chay?” Phil asks. Chayanne has mostly been in the background of the call so far, standing on a stool in front of an impersonal steel stove. His pocket computer isn’t even near him—he’s been writing on a notebook resting by the cooktop and Tallulah’s been relaying it to Phil. 

Chayanne puts down his spoon to write, then Tallulah takes a long moment to type it up. Phil waits, content to just watch his kids for a moment. Missa, on the Soulfire bridge showing in the other half of the screen, watches too. 

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: Chay: mashed potatoes, stuffing, and a stew]

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: the stew and stuffing also have potatoes. just btw.]

“That’s a lot,” Missa exclaims. “Is it just for you two?” 

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: also for the workers :)] 

“Aw, that’s sweet, mate,” Phil replies. “I’m proud of you.”

There’s another round of writing-to-typing with the kids.

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: Chay: well I have to cook for someone, don’t I?]

“It’s very nice of you,” Missa assures him. 

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: tomorrow they’re going to show us places we shouldn’t be :)]

“Of course they are,” Phil laughs.  

Filmed years ago on that same video camera, Roier keeps one hand on Bobby’s back as the little boy unsteadily pedals a bike. He looks back at Jaiden behind the camera, who shouts something mostly lost to the wind and audio quality. 

Bobby refocuses on the road and with a brief countdown Roier gives him a soft push and steps away from the bike. 

For a moment, it works. Bobby is pedaling along without his training wheels, and both his parents jog to keep up. 

Then he twists to look back at them again, and in a single busy second the front wheel turns, the bike tips, and Bobby spills out onto the sidewalk. (Watching the video, Jaiden and Roier flinch as hard as they do every time.)

The camera swings as both of them rush towards Bobby to check on and soothe him. A moment of that chaos is captured in the video, Bobby’s crying and his parents’ rapid speech in two different languages, before Jaiden remembers to stop recording. 

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: do you know when you’ll be home?]

Phil weighs the question for a moment. “Probably another week? Y’know, fingers crossed.”

Missa nods. “Another week is what Tubbo told us, since we’re keeping pace with you. I’m sorry, mi niña, we wish it could be sooner.”

Tallulah nods back, her little ears flicking as she clearly tries to put on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Phil says, smiling at her. “I’ll be home for a while once I’m back, okay? I don’t have another mission scheduled yet, and the Federation couldn’t force me back on a ship for months after this.” He laughs, but he means it. He’s worked on Federation space crews for over a decade now, and he has some small control over his schedule. If there was ever a time he was going to leverage it, it will be now. 

“I… will try,” Missa offers with his own, sadder smile. “It will depend on what the regional lab needs from me.” Phil does his best to give his husband an understanding look, knowing that the grainy camera might ruin it. 

Honestly, Phil’s hopes aren’t high for Missa getting some time at home when they’re back. The Federation lab scientist schedule is even more brutal than space crews—he wasn’t going to be home for Evenstide even before getting partway stranded. 

Chayanne turns to the camera to make a face halfway between a glare and a pout. 

[[Tallulah] to [GROUP: FAMILIA]: i think Chay wants you to stay lol]

“I know, mijo,” Missa says, sounding just as bitterly disappointed as Chayanne looks. “I promise you I will try.”

Try. Phil doesn’t begrudge Missa his job, his life, but all four of them sure do hear that word a lot.

Cellbit is honestly mostly happy to watch. Richas is as energetic as usual, bouncing in his seat and texting rapidly. Most of the texts are going to Pac’s comm, aboard the Soulfire with Richas’ four other parents. Understandable. There are many more people on that end, and Cellbit’s been quiet. The result of this, of course, is that Cellbit only gets half the conversation. 

He only minds a little. He’s tired anyway, and every so often he manages to join in the joke or ask a question, and his family is having fun. They’re what really counts—he can watch.

“Foolish, I think this might be the worst meal I’ve ever cooked.” 

Foolish and Phil look at the food in front of them. It’s genuinely mostly a lot of oatmeal: easy to cook, ample in their storage bay, simple to dress up. They’re using the large silicon bags as serving containers, and to separate the different toppings. The not-oatmeal options involve freeze-dried fruit in granola, some extremely sad vegetables, and pouches of juice. 

“Wow, way to brag about the rest of your cooking,” Foolish laughs in reply. “Not all of us are so lucky.” 

“Wait, what?” Phil gives Foolish a concerned look. “What have you made?” 

“Well now I don’t want to tell you,” Foolish exclaims. “If you’ll just judge me.”

“I just—this is really sad,” Phil defends himself. “Like, seriously sad.” 

“It’ll taste better than it looks,” Foolish insists. “Wasn’t this all your idea anyway?”

He has a point. Phil nods. “It’s better than nothing, at least.”

“I mean, yeah, technically,” Foolish agrees. “In the sense this is food, and nothing would not be food.”

“Shut up, mate.” Phil slaps Foolish on the shoulder and laughs. 

Behind them, the rec room door opens with a hydraulic hiss. “I am hearing there is food?” Etoiles calls, rapidly approaching them. 

“Yeah!”

“For certain definitions of food,” Phil adds. 

“Ah, oatmeal,” Etoiles says, spotting the spread they have. “Famously in the Evenstide spirit,” he adds with a quizzical glance. 

“Look mate, it’s hot and it’s different from what we’ve been eating. Take it or leave it.”

“Well, since you are so persuasive…” Etoiles helps himself to a plastic bowl and some oatmeal. 

From there, things only pick up, Etoiles apparently being the harbinger of the rest of the crew. The rec room is one of the biggest spaces on the ship, but with all ten of them walking around, it feels crowded quickly. 

After a while of standing near the food with Foolish, Phil spots Jaiden, Roier, and Cellbit sitting around a table near the door. 

“Hey,” Phil calls as he approaches. “Have you guys eaten yet?” Cellbit and Roier both have bowls in front of them; it’s not a question Phil needs to ask. It’s an easier check-in than anything he’s actually wondering, though. 

“We’re eating, yes,” Cellbit agrees. He gestures with his spoon, showing off oatmeal and half melted freeze-dried blueberries. “Very good, Phil, thanks to you and Foolish.”

“Aw, thanks mate. You don’t need to talk it up.”

“No, I like it,” Cellbit insists. His flat black eyes make it hard to read his expression—Phil can’t tell if he’s kidding. 

“He’s a freak, don’t mind him,” Roier says, giving Cellbit a sidelong look. Cellbit shakes his head with a gentle smile and bumps Roier’s hand with his own. 

Roier picks at his serving of limp vegetables while Jaiden watches the others beyond their little bubble of quiet. Cellbit, usually an anxiously fast eater, is keeping pace with Roier—matching him bite for bite carefully enough that Phil can notice. Still, the three of them are here. 

“I’m glad you came,” Phil tells them hesitantly. 

“Me too,” Jaiden agrees, returning his slow smile. “Roier made me, I wanted to go to bed. Thanks, I guess.” She elbows Roier and he huffs a laugh. 

“Anything for you,” Roier jokes, making a motion like he’s going to kiss Jaiden’s hand. 

“Hey, that is my husband you’re flirting with,” Cellbit says with a vague gesture to the two of them. “Phil, can you believe this?”

“He started it,” Jaiden exclaims, pulling her hand away from Roier. “Phil, back me up.”

“I am not getting involved in this,” Phil retorts. “You guys can work your drama out, I’m getting out of here.” He makes good on his declaration, taking several steps back. 

“You should go with him,” Roier murmurs as Phil walks away, just barely loud enough for Phil to pick out. “Talk. Have fun.”

Cellbit’s answer is even quieter, and perhaps impolitely Phil focuses to hear it: “No, I’m happy here.” 

The dinner never quite settles down. The long table at the center of the rec room has space for all of them, but most people walk around or gather elsewhere. They’ve been in close quarters a full week at this point, longer if you count the mission itself, and Phil supposes some restlessness is understandable. 

Roier and Jaiden goad Cellbit into playing chess against Charlie and only laugh at Cellbit’s rising frustration with Charlie’s lack of focus or strategy. Mouse holds court near the treadmill, chatting with a rotating cast of crew members. Carre is similarly letting people come to him at the main table—Phil suspects he’s still exhausted from his recent ordeal. 

“How is your party going?” Baghera asks, sidling up beside Phil. 

“It’s not exactly a party,” Phil argues. Baghera gestures dismissively. “Well, my preteen son in a Federation care center is eating better than this and I haven’t experienced weather in a week. But it’s actually going  pretty well, I think.” 

Baghera laughs. “Better than everyone moping alone, certainly.”

“Yeah, for sure. Hey, by the way, how are you holding up?”

“What do you mean?” Baghera gives him a quizzical look. Even the auxiliary feathers around her face shift when she furrows her brow like that; it’s a very distinctive expression 

“I mean, you’ve been everywhere this week,” Phil explains. “You’ve done a lot to make Evenstide in space more tolerable—you’ve been taking care of yourself, too, right?”

“Oh, yes, more or less,” she replies, almost too offhand. 

“Really,” Phil says with lighthearted skepticism. “So how’re you doing?”

She shrugs. “Fine, fine. Tired and cooped up, like everyone, but alright. Everybody else was doing much worse, you know?”

Phil can’t help but consider the contrast between that statement and the bandage still covering one of her eyes. “You’d better take it easy next week, okay? You’ve done plenty for the whole trip back.”

“We are not done in the lab,” Baghera retorts. “Jaiden cannot do it all, it is still rough for her.”

“Okay, that’s true,” Phil allows. “But some, okay? I’ll come help; I should have plenty of free time. You need to rest too.”

Baghera rolls her eyes, but nods and smiles. “Fine. Fine, if you are going to bother me about it.”

“I am. Taste of your own medicine, huh? How’s that feel?”

“Do not push your luck.”

Phil holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, yeah, I get it. I’ll take what I can get.”

Baghera nods firmly. “Good.”

“Looking forward to it,” Phil tells her, tone half teasing, “finally seeing what my scientists do all day.”

“You cannot touch anything. Especially not Jaiden’s specimens.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“Stop it,” she says lightly, swatting at him. Phil returns his hands to the table for balance. “I am having second thoughts.”

“Aw, don’t do that. You deserve a hand, okay? It’s been stressful, and you’ve done a lot.”

“I said stop pushing your luck,” Baghera chides, smiling at the far wall. Phil holds a hand up again with his own smile. Across the room, Mouse waves to him and he retreats from Baghera before he can annoy her any further. 

“I still wish we were on Quesadilla.” Etoiles’ voice carries easily over the machinery hum of the ship, pulling Phil from his preparation for bed. “You know? I had fun tonight, but I wish I was home.”

Phil makes a vague sound of agreement. “Tallulah’s probably not gonna let go of me for a week once we get back.” He smooths out his sleeping bag as he goes through his mental checklist to make sure he’s done for the day.

Etoiles laughs. “She is a sweet girl. We should visit you, sometime, Pomme and us. That could be nice.”

“Haven’t you had enough travel lately?” The room is dim for the night, but Phil shuffles around where he’s sitting to look at Etoiles. Etoiles, digging through his bag, doesn’t look up in return. 

“We cannot have enough of travel, Phil, it is literally most of our job. Literally most of what we do is shuttle scientists and engineers ridiculous distances.” Etoiles laughs again, brushing his hair from his face as he finally turns. 

“Yeah, fair enough,” Phil replies. “I usually stick close to home while I’m planetside, though. Going to and from the spacedock is plenty for me.” 

“Boring,” Etoiles declares. “You are so boring.”

“Weren’t you just talking about how you wanted to retire from space crews? Like a couple days ago.”

“I will be the world’s most interesting retired person, and you will just be boring.” 

“Wow.” Phil shuffles back around, carefully avoiding straining his back. “Okay, mate, I’m just gonna go to bed if you’re gonna bully me.” 

“I see you are getting an early start on your boring retirement.” 

Phil doesn’t dignify that one with a reply, instead focusing on getting into his bedroll and waiting to hear Etoiles do the same. 

“Hey Phil?”

“Yeah mate?”

“Happy Evenstide.”

“Yeah, you too. Go to sleep.”

“Boring.”

“Fuck off.”

[[Tubbo] to [Philza]: well we tried]

[[Philza] to [Tubbo]: ?]

[[Tubbo] to [Philza]: no evenstide miracle I guess. still stuck out in space]

[[Philza] to [Tubbo]: nah I think we found one actually]

[[Tubbo] to [Philza]: what]

[[Tubbo] to [Philza]: what the fuck does that mean]

[[Tubbo] to [Philza]: Phil?]