Work Text:
Daisuke might be the biggest fuck you Pony Express has ever sent their way.
Half the time, Swansea won't even refer to him by his name. It's kid , it's useless , it's waste of fucking resources. He didn't ask for an intern. Hell, he’d never even filled out the stupid paperwork you were supposed to do to get one. This kid should've been shuffled to another team, any other team , but especially anyone but him. They didn't need another goddamn mechanic. The ship ran fine as she could with corporate giving them pennies to work with, and she was small enough for one man to work out her kinks, anyway. His hands were practiced enough to soothe her. He didn't need this clumsy fucking kid trailing after him, setting her off kilter.
He’d said as much to Curly the day that they departed–in less words, maybe, but no less unkind.
“Tell them to take him back.” He grumbled. “Have they seen the supplies they give us? We can't even feed him.”
And Curly had smiled in that fucking way he did–that patient look and that furrow of the brow that said I understand, I'm here to work with you , but also please just do what I say because I have forty three other tasks to get through before this hunk of metal can get off the ground –and put his hand on Swansea’s shoulder and said, “We could all use some extra hands. And I'll figure the food out. I always do.”
“I don't need an intern. Especially not one that just learned to walk. What is he, twelve?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Big difference.”
“We don't have a choice. They say he's on this ship, we've gotta put him on the ship.” Curly tilted his head. “Just try him out, alright? If he's really that bad, I'll shuffle him to someone else. But I really think he'll learn the most from you, Swansea. No one's got the experience you do, not even me.”
And there was the trick. Flattery and bullshit.
“Fine.” Swansea had snapped, and that was that.
Now, he was stuck with this puppy of a kid trailing around after him, asking a million and one questions about everything. What's that and wait how do I know which screwdriver is which and is the Allen key the weird shaped one or the big one and why are we stripping the screws they're not wearing anything. Swansea wonders if this kid has ever even been in a maintenance position before. He wonders if this kid has ever even seen a toolbox before. Probably not.
When it's not ridiculous questions about things he should already know, it's ridiculous questions about things he has no business knowing.
They're in the engine room, trying to figure out why she's been making so much noise. Well, Swansea is trying to figure that out. Daisuke is sitting cross-legged on a spare crate and handing him tools with varying levels of success while talking endlessly like one of those robo-pet toys you buy for your daughter because she begged and begged but by the third day you're all sick of it and you have to shove in the closet under a mountain of old winter coats to get it to shut up.
“Hey, boss. Can I ask you something?” Daisuke asks, handing him the wrong screwdriver.
Swansea holds it back out to him. “What does that look like?”
“A screwdriver?”
“No shit. What kind? I asked for a phillips.”
“Isn't that…?” Daisuke squints at it. “Wait, is that the plus-sign one, or the–”
Swansea huffs and sits up. He snatches the right one himself, grumbling about useless fucking kids and waste of my time , and then gets back to work where he'd been. Daisuke picks of the discarded hex screwdriver and turns it over in his hands a few times before slotting it back into the box. “So…”
“So what?” Swansea grunts.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Have you ever once not asked me something?”
Daisuke is quiet, and when Swansea looks over at him his brow is furrowed like he's actually wracking his brain for an instance of when he'd done such a thing. Like this was a goddamn pop quiz. Swansea rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ. Just spit it out.”
“Are you married?”
That makes Swansea pause, at least. “Why the fuck are you asking me that?”
“I dunno.” Daisuke shrugs. “I'm just wondering. Nobody ever talks about themselves. Which is cool, I mean, like, that's totally cool. I don't care. I'm not, like, nosy like that. I mean, sometimes I can be–or, my dad used to say that when I asked him stuff, he'd say, ‘Daisuke, if you keep sticking your nose in other people's business one day it's gonna get chopped off,’ which, like, okay, I get the moral I guess, but that's a really weird analogy–but anyway I'm not, like, nosy , I was just wondering because–”
Holy shit. They should invent an off switch for twenty-somethings.
“Yes, I'm married.” Swansea says, if only to shut him up.
He's a fool to even jokingly think that would happen, though.
Daisuke perks up. He kicks his legs over the side of the box and leans forward, looking at Swansea past the equipment. “Really? Wow, boss, that's awesome. That's, like, so cool. I wish I was. I mean, not right now. Probably not right now. Because I think I'm too young. Well, I don't know. My mom doesn't think I'm too young, she tries to set me up on dates with, like, her coworkers’ daughters all the time. I'm not really into them, honestly, if I'm being a hundred percent honest, but, like, I still go because–well, my mom says it's rude not to, and, you know, they're smart girls usually.”
Swansea says nothing, just tries to focus on the work and ignore his growing headache, so Daisuke blabs on.
“I mean, they're really smart. One of them was training to be, like, a doctor, or something. Something with neuro–or, like, brain stuff, I think. It's, like, eight years in college, she told me, which is a lot of time. You're, like, thirty by the time you get out of it! I couldn't ever do that. I mean, like, yeah, maybe it's for some people, but not me, you know?”
“Oh, I know.” Swansea hums.
“Right? I don't know. I didn't even wanna go to college.” Daisuke rocks back on the box, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud. “I wanted to do, um, whatever my dad does. He's got a store, you know. Or, like, a business. I don't know. He makes a lot of money. Or, he made a lot of money. He wanted me to go to college, though, so I did, but he kinda died when I was in my second year, and I didn't drop out right away ‘cos he wanted me to finish but I didn't really wanna do business after that, but I dropped out after that. And mom let me move back home so I did, and I got one of those, those like, ready degrees on the internet. Like, online classes?”
Swansea glances at him over the equipment. What the fuck is this kid talking about? How did they get here from marriage?
Daisuke is staring at the ceiling, though. Dumb kid is on a roll. “I just thought, like, hey, I don't really care about any of this stuff, anyway. I tried. I mean, I tried really hard to care about it, but I didn't. It's hard, you know, boss? I mean, I bet you know, you probably got, like, four degrees to have your job–”
He didn't. He partied and failed his way through college forty years ago and spent his sober years working dead end jobs like these. Does this kid even understand where he's working?
“–but not me. No, sir. My mom signed me up for this internship, I didn't even know, but, like, I was excited, you know. When I found out. I partied a lot when I was there–I guess I wasn't doing much at home, so I get it. I should've been doing better, probably. Like her coworkers’ daughters, neuro-whatever. I probably could have if I tried harder. I dunno. But they approved me for this internship, so I did that right. Even if it's not brain stuff.” Daisuke drew one leg up to cross on the box. Sweansea reached a hand out and, surprisingly, Daisuke actually gave him the right tool this time.
“You’re just a wide-open book, aren't you, kid?” Swansea grumbles.
“Am I?” Daisuke furrows his brow and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, boss. My mom says that, too. I used to get detention all the time for it in school. Talking. I talked all the time, like, my brain doesn't really stop. Once–”
Eager to cut off what would undoubtedly be another tangent, Swansea says, “I don't care. Shuddup.” He drags a hand down his face. “For fuck’s sake, you don’t shut up.”
Daisuke, to his credit, doesn’t seem very fazed hearing that. He's probably used to being talked to like this by now, though, between Swansea’s scolding and Jimmy’s snide-ass remarks every mealtime. Curly and Anya are probably the only two nice enough not to give him shit. Maybe a better man would feel bad about that fact, but, well, Swansea is just toughening him up for the real world. Sheltered kids have to leave the nest eventually. And besides, he doesn’t have the patience for anything else these days.
…but. Well. Maybe part of him does feel something. Not bad, per se, but–
Fuck it. Whatever.
“Hand me my drink.” He grunts, and Daisuke obliges. Swansea sits up, takes a sip of his water (because god forbid he gets anything with taste on this hunk of garbage), and wipes his mouth. Then, with the reluctance of a man kneeling at the chopping block, he say, “...when my oldest was young, she never shut up, either. Swear to God, I didn't know something could talk that much. About your age now, and she's still just the same.
Daisuke’s face lights up like a tree on Christmas. “You have a daughter?”
Oh, for Christ's sake. “Nevermind–”
“No, boss, c’mon, you can't say that and then say nevermind, that's, like, that's totally unfair–” Daisuke draws his legs back up on the box–he really can't sit still, can he?–and goes on, “I just told you a bunch of stuff–”
“That I didn't ask for.” Swansea grunts.
“–so you can, like, totally tell me this. For sure. This is bonding! We're bonding!”
“We're not fucking bonding. And life’s not fair, kid. Give me the wrench.” Daisuke shuts his mouth for one blissful second and does as he is asked.
Then, a minute later. “So, she's my age…?”
Swansea wrinkles his nose. “Shaddup. You haven't got a chance in hell, kid.”
Daisuke flushes beet red. “I didn't mean–”
"Sure you didn't.”
“No, seriously!” Daisuke waves his hands. “Seriously, boss, I just meant, like, what's she doing? I mean, I wanted to do what my dad did. So I'm wondering, like, is she a pilot or something? Or, like, mechanics?”
“...She's a teacher.” Swansea says. “Preschool. Don't know how she handles the brats. I definitely couldn't.”
Daisuke’s eyes go wide. “A teacher? That’s really cool! You must be proud, right?”
Swansea’s hands freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the enthusiasm. Something warm rises in his chest. “Yeah, sure. Proud.” He shrugged, attempting to dismiss the feeling.
Daisuke nods. “I would suck at teaching, I bet. I mean, kids are just… wild, right? They’ve got all that energy, and they don’t even know what to do with it. That’s kind of how I was, I think. Am, maybe, I don’t know. I was always bouncing off the walls. My mom used to have to bribe me just to get me to sit still during dinner.” He laughs, a bright sound that echoes in the cramped engine room. Ray of goddamn sunshine.
It makes Swansea’s head hurt. “Yeah? What’s your bribe now?”
“I dunno. Not getting yelled at, I guess. Or–oh! When Captain Curly gives me extra sweeteners. Oh, wait, I'm not supposed to tell you that. Forget I said that, boss.”
“Huh. Workin’ for sugar.” Swansea snorts. “That doesn't sound healthy.”
Not that it mattered. All they ate was pre-packaged, pre-portioned slop anyway. Might as well enjoy something.
“Probably not,” Daisuke admits, his smile fading slightly. “But it’s better than just sitting around, you know? That's the whole reason my mom sent me up here. She wants me to, like, do something with my life, I guess. My potential. I don't know. Everyone talks about that stuff, my dad did, too, before he died, but I’m just not… I dunno. Inspired.”
Swansea raises an eyebrow. “So, when we get back home, you're just gonna… what? Couch surf? Cry to your mom?”
Daisuke shrugs again, this time more sheepishly. “I don’t know. I guess I thought this internship would help me figure stuff out. You know, like, what I really want to, like…do. With my life.”
“How's that working out?”
Daisuke tilts his head. “I'm pretty close to figuring out the screwdrivers, so…”
“Ha-ha.” Swansea rolls his eyes, but, despite his annoyance, he can’t suppress something almost neutral (because he wouldn't say kind, he wasn't fucking Curly) from his voice. “Well, it’s just mechanics. You’ll get it.”
“Yeah, I hope so.” Daisuke leans back against the crate. “Hey, what about you? How'd you end up here, boss?”
Swansea hesitates. He doesn’t want to go down that path, God knows it wasn't anything inspiring or whatever the fuck Daisuke is looking for, but the notion tugs at him anyway. “…I wasn’t always a mechanic. Didn’t go to school for it, anyway. Had my share of stupid choices. Spent a lot of time getting drunk instead of doing anything worthwhile.”
“Really?” Daisuke’s eyes go wide again, this time in confusion, how brow furrowing almost comically. “But you’re so good at this. Like, really good. You know everything about the ship!”
“Experience doesn’t come from textbooks, kid. It comes from fucking up and figuring it out the hard way.” Swansea mutters. “I've been in more ships than I can count. Blew the engines out on a few of ‘em. You learn to fix what you break, until you don’t break so much anymore.”
“So, you’re saying I should screw up more?”
“More like, pay attention so you don't screw my job up.” Swansea scoffs. “Fuck up on your own time.”
“Got it.” Daisuke nods vigorously. “Fail on my own. I can do that!”
Swansea just shakes his head. That smile, that energy, that stupid sense of humor. Makes him think of his own kids when they were younger, when they still looked to him for help. When Dad was some kind of hero, not just the grumpy old man who came around for Sunday dinners.
He can’t suppress the ghost of a smile. “You really are a piece of work, kid.”
Daisuke grins. Somewhere in this god-awful conversion with this god-awful kid, the air between them has shifted into something almost comfortable. For the first time, Swansea feels like maybe—just maybe—this intern won't be the worst thing to happen to him.
Maybe.
“Okay, Daisuke,” Swansea says as he sets the wrench aside. “Let’s see if you can hand me the right screwdriver this time.”