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Humming and whirring echoed through The Rhapsody as a sliding door opened with a swish and overhead lights flickered on.
Pyke’s neck, chest, arms, and legs stung. There was a throbbing in his head, a soreness throughout his entire body. A sharp pain erupted in his side. He stifled a hiss and held onto the wound, now wrapped in gauze and healed with aether. The only sounds in the ship were its mechanical workings and Pyke’s ragged breathing.
Willing himself to step forward, Pyke crossed the boundary from his room to the hallway, his feet aching with every slight movement. The doors automatically closed behind him.
Earlier, he had heeded Rett’s advice — his demand, really — and stayed stationary. Aether works faster when no extra energy is spent. (That piece of knowledge was permanently burrowed into his brain from how many times it had been repeated.) He had laid still on his bed, wearing loose but comfortable pants. He couldn’t think of the piercing and crushing sensations scattered across his being. But he couldn’t think of anything else, either: his mind kept wandering and wandering, arriving, in some way or another, at the same exact place, thinking of the same thing. It was even worse. He had kept his eyes closed, first softly then clenched shut, trying to dispel the last of his consciousness so he could have the sweet release of sleep. His traitorous subconscious refused, fighting tooth and nail for him to stay awake for what felt like centuries. So he opened his eyes and thought of nothing at all. He clogged his mind, drowning out any coherent thought. The tiles of his room’s ceiling, every crack, every dot, every dent, every scratch, were forever engraved, in excruciating detail, into his memory. Soon, that became its own torture, just as dreadful as the rest.
Remembering his alternatives, Pyke pushed through, shoving down his body’s protests as if it was second nature. At that point, it probably was. One step after the other, then the next. Pyke slowly regained his rhythm as he trekked through the ship he called home.
Gods , he wished he had a cigarette. But he went against one of Rett’s rules, and breaking one is better than breaking two. He was nearly out of smokes, anyway. It was best to save his last ones for when he could truly enjoy them instead of being plagued by worsened pain.
Pyke was met with a tall wall, the end of the hallway. Unlike the other room doors in The Rhapsody , this room — that he’d nearly spent more time in than in his own — had a handle. (It had been an office and storage space, later repurposed into a bedroom to accommodate a growing crew.) The metal of it was stained black with oil and grime where the same person grabbed it repeatedly, not bothering to clean it again and again. Pyke straightened his back and raised his fist, knocking gently at the door.
Shuffling and walking were followed by the door opening. The sight before him inexplicably felt like taking off the weight of the world off his shoulders. Inside the room, tools and papers were strewn about. Rett, with his lilac colored skin and robotic limbs and inky black hair and singular twitching cyborg eye, stood in front of him, brows furrowed.
Pyke’s legs felt like they were going to snap and fall apart from overexertion, despite how he had only been upright for a handful of minutes. He slightly leaned on the doorway to support himself, one arm against the wall and the other gripping his side. His throat felt as if it was ridden with scratches. He spoke anyway. “Hey, Rett.” His voice was hoarse, much rougher than it was just a few hours before.
“Y’should be asleep and sittin’ perfectly still right now, what’re you doin’ over here at this hour? It’s ‘round three in the mornin’, and you’re not the type o’ guy to not get his daily beauty sleep in.”
Pyke snorted. “You should be sleeping too, but here we are. Since when do you care ‘bout time, anyway? We’re in space, time doesn’t even really exist — not in a way that changes anything, anyway.”
“Look at you, gettin’ all philosophical.”
“Oh, please. You know I’m not the one who uses that excuse.”
“Fair enough,” Rett shrugged, still smiling. “You gon’ answer my question?”
“Why I’m here?” The dwarf tilted his head, gesturing yes . Pyke sighed. “Don’t make me say it.”
Rett’s eyes drifted downwards, the look of worry returning to his face before he shook his head slightly, the expression fading back into a teasing, playful one. “An’ you didn’t have the decency to put a shirt on.”
“You didn’t have the decency to shower.”
“Someone used up all our hot water supply.”
“At your insistence.”
“Only ‘cause you jumped into the thick o’ battle with no regard for y’r own safety.”
The smirk on Pyke’s lips turned into a genuine smile as he shifted his weight and, in the blink of an eye, pulled Rett in for a quick embrace. He moved away just a moment later, staring into Rett’s eyes, almost pleading. Rett stepped back and gestured for him to come inside, and he did.
Corks, screws, gears, wrenches, scraps, hammers — countless objects transformed the floor of this small room into a minefield. Gracefully making his way around them all with practiced ease, Pyke followed Rett, who was wiping off the stains from his hands with a small towel. Pyke sat down on the stiff mattress, wincing upon contact.
“Better check on that,” Rett said. A simple statement. Pyke didn’t resist, remaining motionless as Rett slowly and methodically unraveled the bandaging on his chest and stomach. His hands loosened the last wrap, stained with dried blood, and gathered them all in his closed fist before observing the wound, no doubt reading the collected data from his inhuman eye.
“Well, it ain’t bleedin’ anymore, so that’s good.” Pyke shuddered as Rett ran a thumb across the wound where shrapnel from the damaged Sparrow had pierced his flesh. It wasn’t the only wound — he had cuts and bruises and scratches littered all over him — but it was by far the worst. “Still a little sensitive, but healin’ well. You’ll be alright soon enough.”
“If you hadn’t stabbed me with that aether needle, I’d have bled out right then and there,” he joked.
Rett’s features became hard as stone. “Don’t.” When he was met with a puzzled look from Pyke, he continued, though his gaze was affixed on Pyke’s side and not his eyes. “Don’t make comments like that.”
Pyke was taken aback for a split second prior to the realization dawning on him. “Right. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine, I just,” Rett exhaled, “Today’s not the day.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Rett turned and went to the shelves at the corner, opening one of the many cabinets without a second thought and retrieving another roll of gauze. He walked back to Pyke and began to pull on the edge.
“Thanks, I’ll wrap myself up again real quick.”
“No. Let me do this for you, Pyke.”
His voice was steady, gentle. He didn’t wait for permission, but he didn’t need it. A few silent minutes passed as Rett coiled the material around his torso. Pyke couldn’t look away from where a deep gash had been just a mere hours prior, nor could he get rid of that nagging whisper in the back of his mind. It was right, in a way. If he had done things even slightly differently, none of this would’ve happened. Through some twisted quirk in fate, his decision to leave the Prismatic Pathway behind led to greater and greater loss, one after the other. Deep down, Pyke knew he was at fault. A sudden pull shocked him back into the present, his blurred vision coming into focus. It was just Rett securing the last bit. “There, covered up y’r chest too while I was at it, since that allergy against wearin’ tops is actin’ up.”
Pyke let out a hearty chuckle. “Can’t a man heal in peace? Cut me some slack, big guy.”
Rett snorted and sat on the bed next to him. Maybe a little too close, but neither of them seemed to mind.
“Been a long time since you’ve picked that old thing apart and reassembled it again,” Pyke pointed out, gesturing at the scattered pile of metal pieces, big and small, that would, on any other day, be a lamp.
“Well, I need somethin’ to do with my hands. Keeps my head occupied.”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ll leave y’to it, then,” Pyke said, beginning to get up, and Rett grabbed his wrist. Firmly, but with no aggression or unnecessary strength. “What, d’you like me talking your ears off at dawn?”
“Why’re you a comedian all of a sudden?”
“Eh, probably exhaustion and medicinal side effects.”
“Sure. Well, I do, actually. Your voice is…soothin’.”
“Oh.” He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. They spoke every day — Rett would’ve told him to shut the hell up by then. Still, soothing isn’t exactly the word he’d use. Not by a long shot. “That’s a new one. Makes sense for a mechanic who hears the slow, loud gratin’ of machinery every day, I guess.”
“Somethin’ like that.”
Pyke sat back down and Rett’s hand slipped away. They stayed there, side by side.
“So,” Rett broke the silence, “what’s on your mind that’s keepin’ you awake all this time?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Quit dodgin’ the question.”
“Take a shot in the dark and guess,” he replied, leaning forward onto his knees and looking at Rett from the side.
Rett crossed his arms. “I could, but I don’t want to presume anythin’.”
“C’mon, Rett, you’re smart, use that big brain of yours — or, better yet, don’t. I came here to escape it, not talk about it.”
“You can’t run forever, Pyke.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to stop now.”
“You could.”
Pyke stopped. His gaze slipped from Rett to the metallic floor beneath him. “I’m not like that. Like you said, I enjoy gettin’ my beauty sleep,” he said with a flourish and half-hearted grin.
Pyke lived in the moment. As much as he hated Rex and Khan for calling him an adrenaline junkie and thrill chaser, they weren’t wrong. After all, it’s what drove him out of home, out of fame, out of family. He collected bounty after bounty, paycheck after paycheck, just enough to stay afloat. He liked it just fine that way. Dwelling, sulking — it only distracted him, only brought him down. If he started to think about all his regrets, his losses…he’d be miserable. Pyke took a deep breath. He almost fell down that hole again. He’d been slipping a lot lately. He really, really wanted a cigarette.
“Not like that’d do me any good. And you’re not the most vulnerable, either, Rett.”
Rett inhaled sharply. “I guess. I’m real fuckin’ tired of it, too.” The aether core’s pull was strong within him, it felt akin to that of a black hole. His past weighed down on him even more. He had been doing a good job at ignoring it. Until today. He couldn’t sleep, his eyes were dry and burning; he couldn’t think straight, but he couldn’t stop thinking; he couldn’t go on, but he couldn’t die. He was a minor inconvenience from snapping, and he had only just realized it. Rett placed a hand on Pyke’s shoulder. “When the pressure’s too high on a mechanism, you don’t pile up more on top and pray it fixes itself. You release it.”
A somber look befell Pyke’s features. “So, you expect me to just pour my heart out right here? Y’might as well map out my entire body inside out.”
“I’d listen, is all I’m sayin’.”
Another long pause.
“Look, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Just thinkin’ about any of it is worse than a blade straight through the gut.”
“Yeah. Y’re not alone there.”
“So, why? What’re you even gettin’ at with this?”
“I can’t hold it anymore. I figured we were in the same boat.”
Pyke leaned back a bit and sighed. “They were the last straw for us both, huh?”
He didn’t name them, but they both knew. Rett was there for the abduction and corruption of Dandy; the desperate, foolish action of Kavir and him crumbling to sand before their very eyes. He would never have them again. He’d never again listen to her sweet even voice, never again catch a glimpse of his grin, never again hear their laughter alongside that of the rest while sipping on a cup filled with bitter coffee they picked out and ended up despising. The cold, red stare of a machine of war and the distant expression of a man seconds away from death were forever burned into his mind. Pyke wished those memories would just go away, yet he wanted them to stay forever.
Bounty-hunting is a dangerous line of work. Go after someone who’s much stronger, grow too confident, bite off more than you can chew, and you end up dead. They were all well aware of that risk. Bounty hunters don’t make it into old age. If any of them were to get killed like that, it would be an inexplicable loss, though not unexpected.
But to die like this? To lose yourself to forces beyond your control, one way or another? To disappear with so many unfulfilled dreams and hopes? To die for nothing at all?
They deserved so much better.
Pyke promised them so much better.
If he had just been stronger, faster, more powerful, more resilient, more everything , they would be still be alive, they would still happy. If he wasn’t this damn weak, buckling under a few scratches and a cut, The Rhapsody wouldn’t be so dark, so quiet.
It was as if his chest was collapsing on itself and shutting down as beads of tears ran down Pyke’s cheeks. They began to fall and just kept coming, a never-ending stream like a river crashing through a dam. His chest hiccuped and his shoulders shook despite his attempts at stiffening them, at controlling himself. Pyke covered his mouth with one hand, barely stifling his sobs, and used the other to try, in a futile attempt, to wipe his tears. He buried his face in his quivering hands, choking out a muffled “ fuck .”
Rett leaned the side of his face on Pyke’s shoulder and gently cupped the other. Blinking away his own tears, he caressed it with his thumb in slow, soft circles. The storm inside Pyke quelled just a bit, the shaking of his body coming to a stop. He drew in sharp, short breaths. His eyes overflowed still. He let his head rest on Rett’s.
They didn’t speak about how they awoke the following morning curled around each other, stains running down both their faces.