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It was one of those nights where Mickey couldn’t sleep.
Night cycle, more like it. For all he knew, it was the middle of the afternoon in Earth terms.
Maybe it was because he drank smuggled coffee from Timo. Maybe it was that experimental drug that Arkady had pumped into him. Maybe it was the fact that Nasha had been on temporary late shift, and the spot next to his bed was freezing cold. No matter the reason, he tossed and turned for an eternity. The room was frigid from a broken thermostat. Soon enough, he was sitting up in his frustration. He pressed a clammy hand to the back of his neck. He wriggled and peeled the damp fabric of his shirt off his back.
He wondered how he could sweat so much on a voyage in the freezing void of space.
Maybe he just couldn’t sleep because Nasha wasn’t next to him.
Nasha was stuck guarding the weapons section, wasn’t she?
Slow to stand on his feet, sliding on his slippers, Mickey let himself start his stroll to where Nasha was. Beyond those that had to keep the ship running, it was a rarity to have anyone roaming these halls at such odd hours. The already cold ship had become an oppressive space with only half the lights on. There was that lack of doors hissing open, of the noise of whatnots being hauled here, there, and everywhere. The soft whirr of the whole ship sounded more like speaking now. Like it murmured oddities under its breath, and Mickey was stuck listening to the incoherence. Haunted—like those god-awful carnival haunts Timo dragged him on back in their Earth days.
That was why Mickey would pause and end up stuck in staring competitions with other restless people who paced through the tight halls. Not that there were many; there was a small handful, one of them being Dorothy who he greeted with a little wave. She gave him a small nod and a tired ‘good evening’. Most didn’t bother with a smile or even try to maintain any eye contact.
At least back on Earth he’d get a little nod. Or maybe he’d just been happier, younger.
He wondered if others knew which iteration of Mickey he even was.
He wouldn’t usually have to seek out Nasha on these odd moments of restlesness. Oftentimes, she was there next to him, taking up the blanket and snoring away while he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. He was used to pacing back and forth in his room or mindlessly scrolling on his tablet until a sense of exhaustion hit him. And even without her, he’d be trying to lull himself to sleep in the exact same ways. But that night, his body was telling him to see her. Not quite with intense urgency, but rather a nagging feeling in his gut that this would be of help for him.
He wasn't sure why.
Eventually he was in the weapons department. It was a longer walk than he recalled. One glance at the counter and there was wide-eyed Nasha already staring his way. This wasn’t the first time Mickey had dropped by in the middle of her work—some shifts were just so uneventful. But it was the first time he’d done so without a warning. Though it wasn’t long before her gaze softened, and she raised her hand from behind the counter to give him a small wave. No doubt she was trying to reach for her gun.
“You’re up late,” Nasha said, leaning against the small counter where one of those annoying weapon guys would always pester him. She was unable to mask her surprise with his presence, but still beckoned him over. In an instant, he slid over like they were two magnets. Like the first day they’d met each other in the cafeteria, or any other day they were together. “Is something keeping you up?” She seemed expectant until she ended up letting out a small sigh. “Was it that vaccine they made you take?”
Mickey recoiled, but had to ask: “How d’you know about the vaccine?” Not that the vaccine had done anything to his body yet. There wasn’t anything beyond the odd tingle on the site of injection as his fingers instinctively pressed down against it. A reminder of whatever foreign thing now lingered under his skin and slid through his veins. “They were talking a lot about how this stuff was like, top secret. Like… it’s one of those experiments where they’re still not sure they can even tell Marshall about it.”
Just another experiment.
Just another shot in the dark.
Just another Mickey.
“Nothing’s top secret if you share a lunch break with all the gossips in the science department.” She pouted then corrected herself: “Well, sit behind them.” She shrugged as she reached behind to make sure her hair was still secure in her ponytail. “They’re lucky that I didn’t start swinging in there… if you heard the way they spoke about you…”
“Oh.” He took a deep breath. The recycled air was suddenly stale as it filled his nostrils. “Well, I’m used to how they talk about me anyway.” Sometimes, he was already awake despite what the vital signs said. He never liked remembering what was said about him, but some of the senior members of the science department could be cruel. It was masked through technical jargon, but he wasn’t clueless. He knew of their malice—he was nothing more than a guinea pig for the oddities of the Niflheim Expedition.
“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Nasha said, and Mickey heard a click from where she stood. His head darted to stare at the now opened door to the weapons department. She pointed to the entrance with her thumb. And hesitant as he was—he’d never had to go inside like this before—he still did as asked. He doubted Nasha was comfortable having to poke out her head the way she was too. And it’s not as if everything in there was going to point at him, and take aim…
He walked through the door, and there he was face to face with shelves upon shelves full of weapons. The lights inside were dimmer. The air was strangely stale still—it wasn’t supposed to be. Colder now, too. Submachine guns, flamethrowers, missile launchers—heavy duty, while the smaller pistols and machetes had been relegated to a smaller section to the side. He shivered at the sight. As much as he handled these things on a near day-to-day basis, it was strange to be in the presence of what he’d considered excess; the shelves were a seeming infinite supply.
Did they have this many members on the ship willing to lay their lives on the line for the expedition?
Nasha placed a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced down at her. He only realized then that his shoulders had tensed. There was that gentleness in her eyes and it was as if all was well. He melted against her without a hint of hesitation.
“Are you looking to take one of those on a test run?” she asked, and he chuckled. She could tell him a brief quip and he’d be laughing for ages. A less playful tone from her: “Actually, there’s a practice room in the back. I can just tell them that I was handling these things.”
“No, I just…” He frowned. “I’ve just never been back here. They always bring the stuff out for everyone that doesn’t have to use all this everyday,” he said, leaning back against a wall. Though Nasha soon dragged over a metal stool with her foot. As he sat down, she dragged another one close and sat next to him. As he glanced around the room, he couldn’t help but ask: “Why’s it just you in here? You usually get paired up for the other areas of the ship, don’t you?”
“That’s true. But the security guard I’m supposed to be with is currently stuck in the medbay after a flamethrower had shot back at him rather than in front–” As Mickey grimaced and groaned at the thought, she didn’t finish her sentence. Just cleared her throat. Placed a hand atop his planted on his knees. Stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, and he realized how warm she was against him. It was better than the half-developed mental image that was already dissipating from his mind. “You’re here now, though. That’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
“I guess… but I’m not trained the way you guys are. What if something bad happened and I kinda just flopped like a–” Mickey smiled, his sentence going nowhere as Nasha pushed back the hair that clung to his forehead with her other hand. And losing his track of thought with her touch, he just said the first thing that came to mind: “I mean, you used to talk to me about how this security stuff wasn’t your thing and now you’re like… real important.”
“Elite agent,” Nasha said in a joke of a correction, but that was followed by a laugh. One with a wide grin and a roll of the eyes, and Mickey tilted his head at the unexpected action. “See, they label me that and stick me in here. All alone, too.” She motioned at the shelves and sighed. “Not like anyone’s ballsy enough on this ship to be stealing in here, since you need certain codes to activate these anyway.”
“But what you’re doing is still important work, isn’t it?” Mickey scooted his seat closer, acting like he ignored how the stool’s legs scratched against the ground (a small groan stayed in his throat). “They say that you’re one of the best on the ship. So they trust you to do stuff like this. That’s something to brag about.”
She hummed in thought. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “But there’s not a lot of people on this ship that are worth bragging to.”
“Well, that’s true…”
Mickey simply watched as Nasha leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. And she looked down at her, saw the soft contours of her face, saw the way she just about sank against him. She had been working all day. There were cameras in the room but no one checked footage except in times of emergency. So he let her stay there, knowing that there would be no repercussions, knowing that he could appreciate her presence even in the middle of what was supposed to be busy work. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her bicep. Even with the muscle she developed, she was still so soft. He liked that.
Nasha turned to glance up at him. There were her wide eyes staring at him, the gentle curve of a smile on her lips. She didn’t say a word, wasn’t expecting one—they just stared at one another. And then she yawned, and he hummed.
Mickey couldn’t help but joke: “You better not fall asleep, or I’ll be stealing one of those really tiny pistols…”
Nasha chuckled. “Oh yeah? You wouldn’t even have any reason to use them.” She patted his hand, and made him flip over so her fingers could slip against his. “Besides, I’d expect a bigger gun for you–”
“Why a big one?”
“Because you’ll just drop the small one in the snow anyway.”
They both laughed.
And there they fell back into silence.
He turned back towards the endless sea of weapons, looked past the glistening muzzles and glinting blades. There was that teeny tiny window on the end of the room. And there he saw the stars framed through thick glass and steel: cold, distant. Earth’s sky remained as vague memories of baby blues and honey yellow. Niflheim was a goal that would remain untouched for some time. Mickey was still the odd expendable who’d die and die for eternity for the sake of the ship.
But Nasha’s head was still on his shoulder.
And it wasn’t so cold anymore.