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Summary
Curly blames himself. He thinks about Jimmy and him, him and Jimmy, about Earth and when they were kids. Jimmy hadn’t always been sick?
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Jimmy stares at the offered hand before slapping it away and sitting up with a grimace. “That’s a stupid name,” he says bluntly.
Curly’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he seems amused. “Yeah,” he says lightly, “it kinda is.”
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“It’s all right, Jimmy,” Curly said softly, a gentle smile gracing his face, threading his fingers through Jimmy’s hair in a mockery of comfort. “I’m going to fix it. It’s my responsibility as your friend, as your captain
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Sure, she had told him—because what else could she do? Half out of hope, half out of desperation. She wasn’t asking for salvation, not really. She wasn’t naïve enough for that.