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When all is said and done, Doug notices the shift. It’s astonishing, really, how he didn’t see it before, because it’s kind of obvious. Screamingly obvious to the observant eye. And yes, he can pull that old excuse out of his ass, how he had just come back from the brink of death, from being sent spiraling into deep space, and then, and then—
It’s about that point in his train of thought that the void usually starts to consume his mind and his breath derails like a defunct train and he needs that hand on his back and that low voice murmuring in his ear that he is safe, he is not alone, and if he ever spirals out there again, at least there will be someone with him.
And it’s about that point that he comes back. The first time that happened when he came back, he noticed the shift. He hasn’t stopped since. Even when the void tries to remind him…
Well, it doesn’t matter, how he came back from space. What does matter is that he did come back. And it doesn’t matter that they’re still trapped on a station, tip-toeing around one another, wallowing in distrust, giving shifty side-eyes and squints, enforcing new security protocols, the whole nine yards.
What does matter is that they still have the ability to do that.
Hera is still powering through this worst-case scenario like the champion pseudo-AI she is, sharing in Doug’s verbal cajoling and trying to make him give up his beloved pop culture references – never again, he tells her fondly. She talks to him. Just talks about nothing and everything, sometimes when he’s struggling to sleep. She can lure him away from the nightmares—not for long, but just enough sometimes.
Minkowski is still barking orders and dragging him by the ears through each day, even when he wants to curl up and hide because you don’t just get flung out into the deep, dark void and come back without some form of trauma, some kind of deep-seated fear of being alone, accompanied by the desire to just be alone—Minkowski doesn’t quite know how to handle him, but she tries, and it’s good because she’s not delicate, even when he jests about wanting her to be.
Lovelace is still untrusting and untrustworthy, though a little less than before, now. He has her blood in his veins, and they’ve worked their relationship up to little jokes about it. Probably tasteless, but he’ll do whatever it takes to put his mind anywhere else.
Hilbert is…
Doug didn’t notice it before, when he came back. How could he when he was finally pulled into the station and took a breath of that sweet, sweet air that poured through the vents? He held himself together enough to sit through an informal debriefing, and things returned to normal when they all sat down to determine how they would proceed over the next few days. And then the guard shifts came, and the first thing Doug saw when he floated into the observatory was the star, and all the darkness beyond it, and even though it was dotted with lights, everything just—
Slammed into the shuttle wall, breathless, and everything was spinning, and all around was darkness, could barely see the stars, what use were they—
And then a hand, warm on his back, and that voice, saying, “You’re back,” and he calmed, and the voice continued gently, “Alright.”
Hilbert. Well.
Any dark banters Doug had with the doctor vanish. No one else seems to experience the change. Minkowski will float in from checking up on him, raging about how sometimes she doesn’t quite care that she wants to keep all of her crew alive, doesn’t quite care that Hilbert helped save—no, she sometimes wants to put a bullet between his eyes with the way he riles her up.
It’s when it’s Doug’s turn. Dr. Hilbert. Now so, so brief and eerily polite. Sometimes the words vanish all together. Doug will come in, and Hilbert won’t say anything, and they’ll sit as best they can in zero gravity and marvel at the star, the star which is sentient, or houses some form of sentient things.
They’ll sit, and the silence is…
Well.
#
The plan is getting there. That the star is advising them probably helps. It – they? Hm. Well. It’s lonely. So lonely. And yet, it’s honest. Speaks in riddles sometimes, thinks it’s so clever from listening to Doug’s previous broadcasts, but it tells them no lies. Dances around the answer, yes, definitely, but it advises them with a sort of naïve earnestness. It’s endearing, and a little bit—
“Weird.”
Doug notes the way Hilbert jerks out of his trance. He doesn’t blame him. There’s nothing much to look at out there, even with the star, but every time he looks at it, his head fills with wonder and he can’t help but marvel—
“What,” the doctor says flatly.
Doug chews on several different replies, but eventually settles on, “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
Hilbert turns his attention elsewhere without prodding for more.
Doug observes him, and leaves.
#
Is the information correct? It’s been two weeks since they got him back—twelve days, technically, but who’s counting? Not him?
(That’s a lie, but he’ll pretend. Pretending is what gets him through a lot of shit out here.)
The shift. When did that happen? He’d like to say it was when he came back, but he doesn’t believe it was that abrupt. Was it? Could it be? No, there were other factors, surely. Hilbert saved his life, put Lovelace’s blood in him and saved him. And then there was the Talk they had.
Ha. The Talk.
The Talk about a boy who wasn’t allowed to remain a boy for as long as he should have. A boy with a family that was ripped away, a boy with a dream that was stretched at the seams, a boy who figured out too soon that life…life fucks you over. Badly, sometimes.
“What?” Hilbert says. Less monotone today, more curiosity. Or maybe Doug is misreading it. Yes, probably. He’s been staring at Hilbert for the past five minutes, barely blinking.
“I…” The words slip away. What if the information is incorrect?
Doug floats closer and Hilbert squirms. It’s subtle, right there in his uncomfortable shift closer to the window, under the guise of making room. It’s there in the eyes which lower, perhaps in defeat, or something else entirely.
Doug leaves.
#
So the next question should probably be, what to do with the information? A few weeks ago, he’d have thrown it in the doctor’s face and spat on him for good measure. But that was before the blood and before the Talk and before the void—
“You are not alone.” The words, a boon in his ear.
The shudders subside.
The hand on his back is warm, weighted, grounding. “Alright.”
“Sorry,” Doug manages, drying his cheeks. “It just happens like a, a mist or something.”
“I understand.”
That warm tether disappears.
He glances up. He knows Hilbert had been right next to him, but now he’s practically plastered against the window, eyes fixed on the star’s brilliance.
Not long ago ago, if given this information, Doug would have used it to pick the doctor apart for everything he’s done to them.
Now? Now, he thinks he could maybe, just maybe—
He leaves.
#
He’s running out of questions. Maybe he’s just stalling now. Ah, there’s no maybe. There is only truth. And the truth is he’s absolutely stalling. Is it fear that’s keeping him from clueing Hilbert in that he knows? Yes, but fear of what?
A denial of the information, perhaps? Or of the others learning about it, and of the ensuing rage or disappointment that is sure to follow?
Hilbert sleeps.
Doug cocks his head. When Hera gives them her report on his status, he’s always awake. When Minkowski checks in – Lovelace is not allowed anywhere near him, not anymore, even after all they’ve been through, because those old wounds have not healed in the slightest, maybe they never will – he’s awake.
With Doug, he sleeps.
Doug reaches out, lays a single finger on the crown of his head.
Hilbert jerks awake. Looks over to assess whether he should be kicking off out of fear for his life. He takes in the quirk of Doug’s lips, gives him a flat look, and closes his eyes, presumably to sleep some more.
Doug stares.
“What,” Hilbert grunts, more monotone today.
Doug lets the words fall. “You aged well.”
“Get out.”
Doug leaves, grinning.
#
The question is why. Why? Why?
The hand at his back is running in soothing circles. Doug vaguely acknowledges that, ironically enough, this is where he comes to deal with the panic attacks now. This just is. It. Safe. How sad.
“Why, what?”
Doug pauses, ignoring Hilbert’s command to keep breathing. Those words weren’t supposed to leave his mouth. They weren’t allowed. They hadn’t been mulled over yet, he couldn’t just let him know that he knew, not yet, not until he knew why—
A firm grip forces him to meet a cool gaze.
“If you’re not going to listen,” Hilbert grinds out slowly, indelicately, “then get out of my prison cell and pass out somewhere else.”
The silence is punctuated by Doug’s erratic breath, and then he swallows and manages somewhat calmly, “Fuck you.”
And his breath somehow manages to leap back onto the right track.
Hilbert nods, satisfied, and lets go.
Doug catches his sleeve.
The doctor will not look at him. “Alright.”
So Doug leaves.
#
The nightmares leave him breathless tonight.
Hilbert is still awake when the door opens. “What—”
Doug reaches him, drags him in, presses their mouths together, messy, desperate, begging. Hilbert allows it, but makes no move to continue when Doug pulls back. His eyes are patient and, God forbid, pitying.
Doug feels sick.
Why, why, why, indeed.
Hilbert takes him to the floor, and Doug curls into the hem of the lab coat which is, amusingly, so white despite all it should have been through.
He sleeps. He stays.
#
It’s when there are no nightmares that he comes back, tries for one more time. The door opens – Hera has said nothing about anything. Maybe it’s because she understands, or she doesn’t want to, or she cares and doesn’t understand and just wants him to be alright—
Hilbert is looking at the star.
Doug floats to him, looks out too. Looks at him.
Hilbert’s gaze finally slides over, quiet, waiting. And Doug leans over, kisses him carefully, slowly. When he pulls back, Hilbert still doesn’t chase him, but that’s okay.
“Why?” Doug asks.
Hilbert looks a little…frightened. Like that was supposed to be his line – it was, it really was – and he doesn’t know, he doesn’t…
“I don’t know.”
Doug nods. That’s good. That’s okay. It means they’re still sane. Still present.
“And you?” Hilbert asks roughly. “Why?”
Doug gives him a lopsided grin, warm, comfortable. “No clue.”
All the information was correct. So where to go from here? Is there anything to investigate further?
Hilbert kisses him again, this time with a purpose. Like he’s going to find out the answer to “why”, and he’s taking Doug with him.
Well. That answers that.