Chapter Text
Daisuke stares down at the trembling figure curled up on the floor of the storage closet before him—arms splayed out to touch each wall beside them as if prepared to run or grab something in defence, fear-stricken face only partially illuminated by the hallway light that isn't obscured by the intern's own frame—and thinks, damn, Pony Express is really shit at maintenance.
They're clearly not meant to be here (no shit, Sherlock) if the outfit is anything to go by; dull yellow hoodie covered in what looks to be soot and ash, dark grey sweats, and white converses that Daisuke's pretty sure have bloodstains on them. He hopes it's just ketchup. It doesn't look like they want to be here, either, not with the way they're sweating and breathing way too fast to be healthy. Daisuke can totally relate.
He was just meant to grab something for Swansea and be right back. Hell, he doesn't even remember what he was supposed to be looking for now. Because it's literally his second day here, and he's never had a job before in his life, and he also doesn't know how to handle teenagers, Daisuke just lifts a hand to wave awkwardly. "Uhm... hi?" Yeah, he'd be shit at customer service.
The kid just furrows their brows at him, looks a little bewildered, then gulps before quietly whispering, "...don't tell anyone."
"I, uh... alright, man." Daisuke nods and begins to step back, slowly closing the closet door behind him. Didn't even grab whatever it was he needed. It's almost comical how quickly that not-conversation ended.
Of course, he immediately tells Swansea, and Swansea goes to check the closet for himself, which scares the shit out of their unexpected company. Sorry, random kid. They glare daggers at him from over the big man's shoulder, betrayed but evidently not super surprised. Daisuke hopes the sheepish, apologetic half-smile he gives in response at least somewhat makes up for that.
"You found 'em, you're telling the captain."
Swansea, the saint that he is, had the courtesy to at least close the door before openly discussing this. Daisuke shifts his weight between his feet, unable to take his eyes off the door. "I dunno, I think we should, like, tell Nurse Anya first? Maybe? I-I know Curly's the captain n' all, but this kid's totally not doing great at all, man..."
His mentor pinches the bridge of his nose, then drags that hand down his face as he looks aside. "Always report to upper management first. First aid's for when somebody's hurt, damnit."
"Didn't you see?" Daisuke glances between Swansea and the closet in disbelief. "It looks like they rolled out of a freakin' dumpster fire, dude! That can't be right, I'm telling you. Maybe they hopped on board to escape something—"
Swansea makes a frustrated hand gesture that tells Daisuke to shut up, so he does. "Motive don't matter. What matters is we got a stray on board now, and now all our paychecks are at risk if we don't handle this to a tee, got that? No more gold star reference for you, kid."
Daisuke balks. "I didn't even do anything! This isn't my fault!"
"So get over to the cockpit before I pick ya up and throw yer ass down those stairs myself."
The stairs are glorified iron grates and his ass is not prepared for that kind of damage, so Daisuke relents in the name of retaining his dignity as a man. The walk to the cockpit is long and boring and leaves him way too alone with his own thoughts. Where the hell did this kid come from? Why did they look like that? How did they even get on board? Do they like Pokémon? Much to think about.
He knocks before sliding the cockpit door open, finding both the captain and his co-pilot in their respective seats. At least he thinks so. He heard somewhere that the captain was meant to be on the left, but he never actually saw Curly in that chair. Completely redundant! Okay, back on point. Curly swivels around in the chair to face him, leaning back all relaxed and cool and super awesome like he's really in his element.
"Daisuke," the blonde man regards him with a nod, "what's up?
Now he realises he's just kinda standing there in the doorway like a loser. Daisuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans one shoulder against the doorframe. "Uhhh, well, uhm... we've kinda got, like, an extra passenger on the ship?" Great delivery. Five stars.
Curly smiles awkwardly, one eyebrow raised. "What, you mean a bug or somethin'? Don't tell me there's a rat on board."
Daisuke's lips flatten into a line as he starts to fidget again, swaying between his feet, and he doesn't miss the way it makes a look of genuine anxiety flash in the captain's eyes. "S-So about that," he tries to start lightheartedly, "it's more like, uhm... another person entirely...?"
The man's smile drops, and him and Jimmy exchange wary glances before both stand up from their seats. Ohhh boy.
"You're serious?" Curly asks exasperatedly, head tilted askew. When Daisuke responds with a hesitant nod, his hands fly up to thread into his golden hair. "Fuck! This is-... Christ, okay, I'll figure something out. Where are they, how'd they get on board, and are they dangerous?"
Wooaaahh that is way too many questions at once. Daisuke puts up his arms in defeat. "Dude, I don't know! I mean, uhm, they were hiding in a storage closet, but- but I dunno anything else, I swear! Swansea's watching them right now, I think."
"Oh, for fuck's sake- get out of the way," Jimmy snarls and doesn't actually wait for the intern to move before shoving him out of the doorway and barging past, with Curly following quick on his heels.
…It’s gonna be a long day.
“I say we toss both of ‘em in a pod each so the rest of us can get on with our damn jobs.”
Curly shoots a disapproving glare Swansea’s way at the suggestion, and shakes his head. “First of all, that’s inhumane. Second, one of them is your intern. He’s actually meant to be here.”
The older man just rolls his eyes and leans back on the sofa, “even without the stowaway, we ain’t got enough rations for everyone else! I said this already, day one. Maybe we coulda made it last with five, but six is pushin’ it, captain.”
“I know, I know.” Curly drags a hand down his face, pacing back and forth in front of the daytime display screen. Jimmy leans against the back wall, arms folded with a scowl on his face, as per usual. Across the hallway in medical, Daisuke’s stuck watching the kid while the real adults talk it out.
“Even if locking them in a cryo pod helped, it’d still spell poorly for the rest of us in an emergency,” Anya thinks aloud, fingers tapping against her knee restlessly from where she sits on the stairs.
Swansea snorts humourlessly, more at her expense. “No shit. We had that issue with Daisuke to begin with.” The mechanic looks back over to the other two men, hands raised either side of him as if open to suggestion. “What is this? A stating-the-obvious committee? We’re getting nowhere.”
“You aren’t helping either,” Jimmy points out, to which the older man looks aside without comment. “Look, it’ll be fine. We’ll probably run out of dehydrated food before the end of transit, but we have the backup essentials. Sure, powdered gelatine isn’t appetising, but at least we aren’t going to starve.”
Curly nods approvingly, then looks back at Anya. “We still have more bedrolls in your office, don’t we?”
She supplies a nod of her own in response, albeit hesitantly. “Yes, but—”
”Then we’ll just do the same thing we did before, yeah? Since Swansea’s already sharing his room with Daisuke, one of us will have to volunteer to share with the kid.”
“Not it,” Jimmy chuckles.
Before the captain can make his argument otherwise, Anya just sighs as she stands up, one hand raised. “It’s fine. They can stay in my room.”
“Then that’s settled!” Curly claps his hands together, gaze travelling over the other three for a moment as if looking for any objections, to which he finds none. “Alright, let’s get moving. We’ve still got work to do today.”
Daisuke quickly learns that the kid isn’t much of a talker. Either that, or they specifically don’t trust him after he gave away their position, which is fair enough. He probably shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but he does anyway.
They’re laying on the cot in the back of the office, full fetal position, arms wrapped around their knees with their back to the screen behind them. They won’t look at him, or respond to any of his questions (such as ‘how old are you’, ‘how did you even get on the ship’, or ‘do you have parents the captain could maybe contact’), they just… stare at the door. And blink occasionally. Which is frankly way more preferable to the first few minutes they were stuck in here, which apparently involved toppling over a bunch of probably really expensive medical equipment and throwing around whatever they could get their hands on and growling in frustration until their voice went hoarse.
He’d long since given up on trying to make small talk, so now Daisuke’s just sitting in Anya’s chair with his feet up on her desk, leaned back with his arms folded behind his head. It’s been what, like, twenty minutes since the others started talking? He didn’t get to have a say in that conversation, apparently. Which was also fair enough. Daisuke isn’t super great with serious decisions like that, and he’s always been the guy with all the dumb questions and even dumber ideas, so it’s probably for the best that he sits this one out. Not that he got a choice either way.
Both he and the kid jolt in place when the medical bay door suddenly slides open, and Anya steps inside. Daisuke scrambles to sit upright, feet firmly planted on the floor, and she looks aside at him, he just gives a thumbs-up.
“Hey! Uh, they haven’t, like, said anything yet. I tried.”
On the other side of the room, the kid glares at him and curls up tighter.
”That’s fine,” Anya sighs softly, walking closer to the cot but stopping in the middle of the room, keeping her distance. “Hey. You’re not in trouble, okay? Do you know where you are?”
A pause. They shake their head.
“Alright. I’ll need to do a general physical check-up to make sure you’re not injured or sick, but if it’s too invasive, you can refuse now or tell me to stop at any time, okay?” After a nod from her impromptu patient, Anya smiles and continues, “can I ask some more questions, or would that be too much?”
Dark brown eyes flicker back in the intern’s direction again, and this time, she follows them. “Ah… okay.” She waves, gestures for Daisuke to stand up, which he does. “Daisuke, could you leave us alone for now? You’ve done great.”
With a dejected nod, he departs from medical, and the kid's posture relaxes almost immediately. She doesn't let it show too much, but a sad frown twitches on Anya's face as she watches them slowly unfurl themself, still refusing eye contact but visibly far less tense than they were a minute ago.
"He's harmless," she says gently, some attempt at both small talk and reassurance.
They just shake their head, gaze downcast to the floor. "Ion like men," comes a blunt reply, voicing a thought Anya's kept entirely to herself for years now. "...Or narks."
Anya retrieves her desk chair from the other side of the room, setting it back down nearby but not too close to the side of the cot before picking up her clipboard and a pen. She nods in response, listening to whatever small conversation they're willing to make. "I can understand that. Are you alright with me doing a physical exam? We can just talk otherwise."
"Nah," the kid answers curtly, sitting upright. "I ain't taking anything off. I know I got bruises n' shit, but I can treat those myself. Don't need your help."
They're... a lot more talkative that she thought they'd be, actually. She expected some give, but they're real chatty now. Anya offers a smile and nods once again. "That's alright. Can I ask your name?"
They cross their arms. "It's-..." a hesitant pause. "It's Sharkie."
Everything about this kid—their body language, their stilted responses, the absolute state of their clothing—tells Anya she's going to be here all night asking questions. She can only hope they'll have the patience to answer as many as she hopes they will. How they got on the ship is irrelevant, but any potential allergies or injuries are paramount to take note of in this situation. Everything else can come later, when they're more ready to trust her (or better yet, other crew members).
"Mine is Anya," she replies in turn, if only to establish a mutual understanding. "Do you have any allergies or other conditions I should know about?"
Sharkie squints in thought. "Uhhh. Shellfish allergy, I think. That's all."
The two go back and forth like that for a little under an hour. Anya's questions get straight answers maybe half the time, but it's better than nothing; she learns that Sharkie is sixteen years old, has no family back on Earth to contact or return to, has been effectively homeless for about four years now, and that they really like crows, among other similarly trivial things.
Now, for the difficult part.
Anya chews on the back of her pen as she pretends to review her clipboard now full of notes, when in truth she's trying to figure out how to explain the newly-proposed sleeping situation. By all means, she doesn't mind the idea of having to share her room with this—well, she does, but she'd have far more to complain about if it were any of her other crewmates instead of Sharkie—but with what she can glean of them thus far, Anya figures they'd rather throw themself out of the airlock than share a room with a more-or-less complete stranger.
"I think that's all for now," she eventually sighs, looking up at Sharkie from her notes. They're lying down again now, hands folded over their stomach comfortably, almost as if they're talking to a therapist. "So, ah... would you be alright to stay in here for the night? We can figure out other sleeping arrangements another time. Or now, if you like—"
"Here's fine."
Anya's almost amused with how quickly they answer. That, and relieved she can now comfortably postpone having to make room for them on the floor or her personal quarters indefinitely. She gives a gentle laugh and smiles, setting her clipboard down on the corner of her desk. "Alright. I'll go fetch you some bedding and something to eat." Then she adds, halfway through the door, "...if it helps you feel safer, there's a lock on this door in case of emergencies. You can use it at your discretion."
Sharkie only nods slowly in response, briefly eyeing the bright red locking mechanism.