Chapter Text
“Eye movement detected.”
Born from childhood necessity, and then honed through rigorous training and years in the field, Court was a light sleeper. He had to be; one slow reaction to an out-of-place noise might be the difference between life and death.
Which was why he found it odd that it was taking him this long to just get his eyes open. He felt as if someone had attached lead weights to the end of each of his limbs and placed a few on his chest for good measure.
The unfamiliarity of the sensation sent a spike of adrenaline through his veins, clearing the fog that still drifted on the periphery of his thoughts.
Okay, Court, he thought, retrieving the words – even mentally – as if they were buried deep in thick mud. Move your hand.
He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but he felt the minute flutter of his lashes against his cheeks as he tried to clench his fist. His body was misfiring, his intentions getting tangled up across a pathway of neurons and reflexes he couldn’t yet control.
“Eye movement detected.”
The voice was entirely unknown. That also bothered Court, and the sheer wrongness of the situation he found himself in seemed to give him enough strength to, finally, crack open his eyes.
“Ow.” He closed them immediately. Everything was far too bright. He had caught a glimpse of white walls, glowing panels set into them that might be opaque windows.
Court tried again, pushing through the discomfort and blinking rapidly to clear the bruises of colour that flashed across his vision. The room was long, with a fairly low ceiling. The walls seemed to be padded, as if someone was worried that the occupant would hurl themself against it deliberately. He wondered vaguely if he had finally snapped on a mission, and been ‘escorted’ to the rooms everyone knew existed but didn’t talk about deep in the C.I.A’s headquarters.
Occupants. The implication of the correction took a moment to land with Court. He turned his head to the right, confirming what he had seen from the corner of his eye. Two other beds, in a line with his. The middle one was occupied, blankets arranged neatly over its sleeping charge. The far left bunk, however, was a mess. The sheets lay in a heap at the foot of it, the pillow hanging precariously off to one side. There seemed to be other detritus in there too, but from this angle and distance, Court couldn’t tell what.
The sight sent a warmth flowing through him that he could not quite name.
With a groan, Courtland sat up, let the room do a lazy spin about him, and brought his hands up to his face, pressing the heel of his palms into his eye sockets. He removed them just in time to see a robot arm lunge for him.
Court dived off the bed, landing in a sloppy shoulder roll and came to a stop on his front beneath the middle bunk. Everything screamed at him, and he dropped his forehead to the weirdly plush floor, steadying his breath.
“What is going on?” He muttered, his voice cracking with disuse. The floor beneath him was vibrating slightly, as if it were moving, or else there was a generator or engine nearby.
He peered out from underneath the bed, and saw the robot arm waiting, perfectly motionless, above his own bunk. He waved a hand at it. “Go away.”
“Good afternoon, Commander.”
The voice did not, as far as he could tell, issue from the arm. It seemed, in fact, to be all around him, and Court surmised there were hidden speakers dotted throughout the room.
“Commander …?” He said. “But –”
It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. He felt the physical impact of it, just beneath his ribs, and all the air rushed from him.
The Petrova Problem. Astrophage. Stratt. Project Hail Mary.
An explosion, hushed up.
Ryland.
Forgetting his current position, Court reared up on sheer instinct, his back colliding with the underside of the bunk, and collapsed back to the floor again.
The all-encompassing hum of the room made sense. He was aboard the Hail Mary, flung out into some unfathomable reach of space, and it was his job to help save all of humanity. And, apparently, he had been designated ‘Commander’ by the ship’s A.I.
Bits and pieces of his final conversation with Stratt and the other two astronauts filtered into his mind as Court edged out from under the bunk. A Commander, an engineer and a scientist. Well, if the chaos of the end bed was anything to go by, the scientist was already up and about. Which left …
Thankfully, the robot arm seemed to have judged him capable, as it didn’t make another grab for him. Court eyed it warily, feeling a weird sense of dislike toward the inanimate object already. Hauling himself up to a very shaky stand, Court looked down onto the middle bed.
Colt was still and quiet, mouth slightly open and breathing in the slow, rhythmic way that came with very deep sleep.
“Hey, kiddo.” He murmured. “We’re here.”
Something was off about Colt, and it took Court a second to process what exactly it was. His hair. It was short – in fact, it was cut at precisely the same length that Colt preferred it.
He assumed the robot arm would have been caring for them on the journey here, and that might have included the occasional shave and trim. But the way Colt’s hair was cut was too personal to have been done by anyone other than someone who knew him.
He reached up and ran a hand over his own hair: cut short, practical, with just the smallest amount of length in the fringe that he allowed for a touch of personality.
Alarm bells began to sound in Courtland’s head. He looked past Colt, toward the obviously used and currently unoccupied bed.
Maybe they were all awake too early? Had the Hail Mary only left the ISS a few days ago and something had gone wrong with the comas they had been put into?
Court contemplated a journey of four years awake as they traversed deep space and shuddered.
“Colt.” He said, shaking his brother’s shoulder.
Colt gave absolutely no response, and slept on. He should have expected that, to be honest: when Colt was out, he was out. Court remembered he had once slept through what had been the beginnings of a hurricane, blissfully unaware as Court had huddled up with Ry, trying to keep his youngest brother calm.
Ry. He had to find him. The kid would probably be scared out of his mind, having clearly woken up first. Court grimaced, the memory of Ryland’s final hours on Earth still vivid in his mind’s eye. Looking down at Colt once more, as if to check with finality that he was all right, Court released the edge of the bunk and took a few staggering steps into the middle of the room.
He felt ancient, his joints stiff and uncooperative. Determined not to fall, Court pressed on, heading for the only means of egress the room had. His bare feet made a hollow ringing sound on the latticed metal walkway, his steps dragging and slow. Keeping a hand on the wall for balance, he followed the corridor until it opened out into a laboratory.
There were many things to keep the eye busy in there, but all of it fell into disregard as Court saw the figure sitting entirely at ease on the floor, framed by an octagonal window. A patchwork quilt was draped around his shoulders. Court could only make out his profile, turned away as he was to look out at the view beyond.
And what a view it was. The endlessness of the black expanse made Court’s knees go weak. Knowing you were going up into space, and actually seeing it, being amongst that liquid dark, were two very different things.
“Ry?” The name fell from his lips. He was distantly aware that the only thing truly holding him up was his tenuous grip on the corridor opening.
Ryland turned around, his eyes blown wide and jaw slack. The seconds that stretched between them felt indeterminable.
There were a million and one things Court wanted to ask, to say, but fatigue washed over him like the tide, pulling him back out into the depths. “What …?” He began.
A wave closed over him, and he felt the floor rush upwards.
Consciousness didn’t depart entirely, and Court came back to himself a moment later. Hands, trembling but strong, held onto his shoulder, his forearm. There was a voice too, and Courtland shook his head, trying to clear it so he could parse out the words being spoken.
“Court, Court, oh my goodness, what – when did you, I mean, I’m –”
“Ry.” Court said, effectively stopping the ramble his little brother had fallen into. “Just … just give me a minute.”
He screwed his eyes shut, willed everything to stop spinning and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt, rather than saw, Ryland’s own hand coming up to ghost his movement, as if Court were fragile. The thought didn’t sit right, and Court opened his eyes again and appraised his brother.
Ryland looked about as pale as Court felt. His chest rose and fell rapidly and not for a single second did he take his eyes off of Court. They darted across his entire frame, drinking him in.
“Okay.” Court breathed in deeply and let out a shuddering exhale. “Okay.” He smiled a little wanly at Ry and said, “So, space, huh?”
He ended up with an armful of sobbing brother a moment later.
Court was content to let time pass like that for a while. He just held onto Ryland, feeling his hands fist themselves into Court’s t-shirt as he shook. There were questions that needed answering, explanations to be given, but for now, Ry needed him in a much more simplistic way, and Court was happy to oblige. He brought his hand up to rest on the back of Ry’s neck, fingers gently carding through his hair.
“You’re okay, Rylie,” he murmured, the very old nickname slipping out unlooked for. “We’re okay.”
Ryland’s sobs began to quiet, the shaking of his shoulders more sporadic and less forceful.
Court gave him a few more minutes to calm down, before ever so carefully disentangling himself from Ry, leaning back to appraise him.
Ry sniffled, pulled off his glasses, set them on the floor, and pulled the cuffs of his cardigan over his palms, using the fabric to wipe away the stray tears still trickling down his cheeks. He took in a few long breaths, nodded once – seemingly to himself – and looked back at Court.
“You’ll break them,” Court said softly, picking up Ryland’s glasses. He peered through the lenses and sighed, pinching an edge of the patchwork quilt that now lay pooled about them both. “They also look like a biohazard.” He started to clean the glasses and let the silence spread between them; an open invite for Ry to accept.
“Are you …” Ryland began, his voice trailing off.
Court knew that Ry’s words might fail him in this moment, they so often did if he was deeply distressed over something, and filled in the blanks. “I feel tired, and weak, and a little bit dizzy, but I assume that’s what being in a coma will do to you.” He glanced around the lab. “I also assume that it will be better once I’ve eaten and had something to drink?”
“Oh! Uh –” It was almost amusing how quickly Ryland sprang to his feet.
He watched Ryland whirl through the lab, picking up and then depositing a heavy tumbler into his hand. He unscrewed the lid and saw clear water inside, reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. It wasn’t cold and it tasted a tad metallic, but he could almost feel it flowing through his body, revitalising him and making everything seem just a little sharper about the edges.
A package was then placed gently into his lap. Ryland had apparently left and reentered the lab without his noticing. He didn’t like that his senses were still so dulled, but he recognised the need to cut himself some slack. Besides, it wasn’t like he was in any danger here.
Aside from being – potentially – in deep space in a tin can full of air.
“What is it?” Court asked, roughly shoving all space-related anxiety to the side. The box felt warm beneath his hands.
“Probably a burrito.” Ryland said, fiddling with the hem of the blanket and now not at all meeting Court’s gaze.
He was right; a small cloud of steam wafted up as Courtland opened the box and found a perfectly tinfoil-wrapped burrito inside. “I thought space food was supposed to be freeze-dried,” he said lightly, pulling it out and beginning to unwrap it.
Whatever Ryland might have said in response to that was entirely lost to Court as an animal hunger reared up, clamouring to be fed. The burrito was gone in under a minute.
Shuffling backwards, Court leaned against the wall and felt the waves of fatigue begin to smooth out into ripples. He gestured to Ryland to come and sit beside him. He knew that he could probably do with some more sleep, but Court acknowledged that they both needed to talk before either of them could rest.
Ryland joined him, sitting a little stiffly at Court’s side.
It struck him as odd – he didn’t think Ry would feel embarrassed about his breakdown, he very rarely did. And besides, Ryland tended to be a very tactile person, finding reassurance in closeness far more readily than Court ever did.
He was about to comment on it, when his eye caught something that definitely was not meant to be a part of the ship.
It looked like a glass tunnel, sections of it made up from geometric shapes fused together. It ran the length of the lab across the ceiling, a few wider areas where it dropped down to about chest-height here and there. It disappeared down the corridor back toward the dormitory and Court wondered how on earth he had missed seeing it when he first woke up. The tunnel also ran in the opposite direction, into the next series of rooms Court had not yet seen.
“Ry, what is that?”
Ryland laughed.
It was such an unexpected response that Court shot him a concerned glance.
“Xenonite.”
“And what is the … xenonite doing?” Court asked. “Why is it here?” The more he looked at it, the more he saw that whilst it certainly appeared glass-like, it was definitely constructed from something else. It had an iridescence to it, so that if he moved his head slightly from side to side, the smooth surface began to look like an oil slick on water. It bubbled and distorted in places too, as if it had been handmade and not manufactured.
Ryland might have answered him, but something else had snagged Court’s attention. On the far wall of the laboratory, through the panels, writing ranged up and down the surface. There seemed to be a numbered list of things, one of them viciously crossed out, and what appeared to be a makeshift calendar. Little boxes with numbers in them formed a grid, the majority of them struck through with a red ‘X’.
There were too many boxes on that grid, and Courtland felt a terrible sinking sensation in his chest.
“Ry … how long have you been awake?”
Ryland, who had been gazing up at the tunnels – the ‘xenonite’ – with an odd wistful expression, turned to face Court.
“Don’t be upset.”
“Wha – why would I be upset?” Court asked, “Ry, you’re worrying me here, what’s going on?”
“I’ve been awake for about eight months. I think. I lost track.”
Ryland’s voice was so calm, so matter of fact, that it took Court a moment to process the true implications of what he had just said. The feeling that came with understanding was not entirely dissimilar to the times, unfortunately multiple, that Court had been thrown through a window.
“Eight –” He started, having to pause and trying to control the hammering of his heart. “Eight months?”
What had gone wrong? What had failed so spectacularly with the machinery Ryland had said was a marvel, that had allowed his little brother to be alone in space for eight months?
Court slumped back against the wall, eyes fixed on the calendar opposite him. Then, he slowly sat back up; there were a lot of boxes crossed off there, that was true, but not enough for eight months worth. The last box had a model taped into it, and it looked for all the world like a small metal spider.
When Ryland had been at university, Court had been able to check in on him a handful of times. Ry had been sharing a slightly run-down apartment with Colt; although, Colt hadn’t enrolled himself at the same university and was instead trying to build his stunt-work portfolio. That apparently entailed a lot of travel on Colt’s part, so Ry would be left alone for days, if not weeks at a time. Court knew Ryland was incredibly smart, sometimes to the point of his own detriment, but the one thing that he was consistently stupid about, was looking after himself.
During one of Colt’s trips away, Court had managed to secure himself a few days off – slightly unorthodox for a Sierra agent, but Fitz had always had a soft spot for him that he wasn’t necessarily above exploiting – and visited his younger brothers’ apartment. He had found Ry sitting in the living room, surrounded by papers and books, sleep-deprived, coffee mug in hand, and totally manic.
It had taken all of Court’s persuasive power to get Ryland to eat something, shower, and then go to bed. He’d then spent the next five hours cleaning up the war-zone of an apartment, and then sitting idly for another seven waiting for Ryland to resurface to the land of the living.
All this to say, Court knew Ryland had a slightly worrying propensity to go off the deep end when left in isolation, and everything he was currently seeing around the Hail Mary told him that Ry had not only gone off the deep end, but had dived full force into it.
“Ry, what happened?” Court turned bodily to face him, reaching out and catching both of Ryland’s arms in his grip. He watched as a minute wince flickered across Ry’s face, and a second later he had gently pulled his right arm from Court’s grasp. Court filed that away for later.
“You wouldn’t wake up.” Ryland nearly whispered it. “I woke up alone and … I didn’t know what was going on, or where I was – I could have, I don’t know, tried other things to wake you, but I was just scared of making it worse, or – or killing you, so I didn’t, and then so much other stuff happened, and I’m sorry I didn’t forget about you, I swear, I just had to do other things first, and –” His voice had become more and more panicked as he talked, rising in pitch and volume.
Court’s heart cracked a little, taking in how unstable Ryland seemed to be.
“Hey, hey, take a breath,” Court cut across him for the second time. “Can you do that?” He breathed in exaggeratedly, watching Ry try to mimic him, his own breathing faltering for a second before smoothing out.
“Good job, kiddo.” He smiled for the both of them, trying to put on an air of reassurance he didn’t have an ounce of confidence in. “I’m going to need you to start from the beginning, okay? We can take as long as you want.”
Ryland nodded, and finally sank back against the wall, leaning into Court’s side.
His arm came up and wrapped around Ry’s shoulders, and Courtland felt the tiny tremors that passed through there.
Touch-starved, his brain supplied. He’s probably touch-starved, which is why he’s all over the place right now. It’s all too much. Give him time.
Nestled together, Court twitching the blanket up and over the both of them, Ry began to talk. Halting at first, and then, like drawing poison from a wound, faster and with more urgency. The words poured from him, and though the story was long, Courtland did not once relinquish his embrace.
***
Never in Court’s life had he hated a single person more than Eva fucking Stratt. The rage he felt directed at her was insurmountable. It was probably a good thing, he reflected, that he was indeed in deep space and not on Earth, because he would have hunted her down and hurt her in ways that made him feel a little sick to envision.
Ryland had woken up and not known who he was, where he was, or what he was doing here. His entire autobiographical memory had been erased, a fact that Stratt had conveniently forgotten to disclose to Court and Colt in their first and only ever meeting.
He had forgotten them. He’d been alone with nothing more than unconscious strangers for company. Ryland had confessed, voice tight with emotion, that he had only remembered Court’s name by accident and hadn’t known who was who until about a month ago.
Ryland had to pause, disappearing to the dormitory for some water. Apparently the robot arm – or Armando, as Court had come to learn; classic Ry, he thought drily – was not only responsible for comatose patients, but also dealt out their supply of food and water.
Court used this short reprieve to stand, duck under the ‘xenonite’ tunnel, and make his way over to the scribblings Ryland had done during his time alone.
Or not entirely alone, as there was also the matter of the alien.
Ry had sworn profusely that it hadn’t been a figment of his imagination, nor a stress-induced hallucination. Court wasn’t entirely too inclined to believe him, since it appeared very obviously to him that Ryland was not in the best place mentally.
Apparently, there were video logs. He would get to those after he had begun to piece his brother back together.
The list on the wall was headed ‘Who Am I?’, with a smaller subtitle beneath that read, ‘things I know are true’. Number five simply read ‘I’m not going home’, and Court felt a wave of lightheadedness pass over him. He leaned his arm on the wall, forehead resting on it, the writing now too close for him to make out. Tears blurred his vision, and before he could think it through fully, he reared back and sent a fist into the wall. The plushness of the dormitory did not come into the lab, and Court relished the sting in his knuckles and throb up his arm as he did it again, and again.
“Court? Court!”
He felt hands pulling him backward, and tried to shake them off. “How could she do that to you?” The words came out as a snarl. “You gave them everything, and she does this to you!”
“I know,” Ryland’s tone was pleading, and it occurred vaguely to Court that he was scaring him. “I know and I was angry too, for a while.”
He pulled at Court again, and this time Court let himself be dragged backward.
“But it’s done now. It’s done and we can’t change that.”
Courtland rounded on Ry, so entirely disbelieving of his brother’s capacity to soldier forward that it only seemed to make him angrier. He fell short as he looked into Ryland’s eyes. There was a pragmatism there, and strength too, something made of steel forged from desperation and sheer bloody mindedness that Ry never exhibited on Earth. The only time Court could think of when this Ryland made an appearance was when he called that idiot scientist a staggering waste of carbon.
“Alright,” Court said. The anger died and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He shook out his fist, noting detachedly the spots of blood that now beaded his already bruising knuckles.
“Do you need –” Ryland started.
“It’s fine.” He said curtly. Needing something other to do than look at Ry, Court turned back to the wall, this time taking in the marked off boxes and the spider-thing in the last one. “What’s this?”
“That’s Rocky.”
Oh, right. The alien that may or may not exist. “Okay.” Court said levelly. “And why is … Rocky in the last box?”
Silence met his question, and Courtland had to look over his shoulder to see if Ry was still there.
There was something both guilty and furtive in Ryland’s expression that made Court feel uneasy. He’d seen that face far too many times on Colt, but very rarely on Ry.
“What is it?”
Ryland sighed, posture slumping a little. “There’s more to the story. A lot more.” He turned away, heading back to the octagonal window.
Court followed, accepting the half-filled cup of water Ryland had been drinking from. He finished it off, making a rolling gesture with his free hand as if to say well, go on then.
Surprisingly, there was hardly any shock when Ry told him that he had solved the Petrova Problem. Call it brotherly pride or premonition, but Courtland had always known, deep down, that Ryland would do something great one day. It only saddened him that he couldn’t have been a part of it, a prop to hold Ry up as he worked diligently from afar to save Earth.
He also noted with interest how Ryland seemed to skirt over the details of what happened above Tau Ceti-E – or ‘Adrian’, as he seemed to have designated it. Whatever had happened had clearly been bad and there was an ember of concern that he knew would kindle into a fire sooner or later, but Court didn’t push the issue; he was already utterly exhausted, and he could tell Ryland was flagging too.
The explanation for the calendar unfolded. A countdown, Ryland retracing his cosmic steps back to the last known location of the ‘Blip-A’ to save his alien friend. He had tripped over his words considerably when he had told Court that there had been a possibility of going home.
“I – I couldn’t leave him, Court. It would have meant the extinction of – of his whole species, and I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I had.” Ry looked down, anxiously intertwining his fingers as he spoke. “I honestly thought that, at that point, you weren’t ever going to wake up.”
He hated the preemptive grief he heard in Ryland’s voice. It should never have been there, the malfunction that left them asleep and useless shouldn’t have happened. They could have talked it out, together, and not left the weight of such a choice on Ry’s shoulders alone. Court then realised that his maintained skepticism over the existence of Rocky the Eridian had faltered. Ry had been so fervent, so pleading for Court’s approval, forgiveness, whatever he felt he needed from his older brother, that he’d believed the more outlandish elements of Ryland’s story without hesitation.
Claire. The name drifted to the forefront of Court’s mind, overriding all other thoughts, and he brought a hand up to his chest as if to ease the pain he felt there. He could have seen Claire again, returned to Earth without an apocalypse hanging over them, and lauded a hero. Returned to raise Claire with the attention and love she deserved.
Ryland’s own words came back to him. It’s done and we can’t change that. Ry had had to make an impossible choice, and that choice was set in stone now, their way home fading like the IR light of their engines amongst the dark vastness of space.
“Are you … are you mad at me?”
The question so forcibly reminded Courtland of Ry as a young kid that he wanted to cry. Instead, he cleared his throat, shuffled all thoughts of Claire to a corner of his mind to unpack – or ignore – later, and returned his attention to his brother.
“No. No, I’m not. It’s just a lot, y’know?”
“Yeah.” Ryland plucked at a stray thread on his quilt, pulling it until he forced himself to stop as it came further unravelled. “He is real, Court. I swear.”
Court didn’t need to quantify who the ‘he’ was. He chose his next words carefully. “Ry, I’m not trying to be insensitive here, but you need to look at this from my perspective, okay? You’ve been alone for a long time, in a situation that would drive anyone, even me, to the absolute edge.” Court raised his hands placatingly as he watched a flash of anger cross Ryland’s face. “You told me there were video logs, right?”
Ryland nodded, scowling, and Court had to fight incredibly hard not to smile. He looked, in that moment, every inch a sulky teenager.
“Can you show me?” He requested. “I want to believe you, truly, and we already know Astrophage exists, which is an alien life-form. But a rock spider who speaks in – what was it, birdsong? – is a big ask to have faith in.”
“Whalesong.”
“Huh?”
“He speaks in whalesong, and it’s not whalesong, it’s Eridianese and you need to prepare to eat your words.” Ryland stood up and marched over to a cluttered table. He rummaged around, muttering under his breath as he did so. With Ry’s back safely turned, Court did allow himself to smile.
The Ryland he knew, had raised and loved, was still there.
A laptop with a camcorder attached via cable landed in his lap. He looked up, seeing Ry standing over him with his arms crossed. “Go on, then.”
Courtland hit the play button. He felt his eyes grow wider and wider as he watched Ryland cavorting, almost playfully, in a strange looking tunnel divided by another wall of clear xenonite, he guessed, on the other side of which –
“I think I might need to go back to bed.” He said weakly, passing the laptop up to Ry.
“I told you.”
“Why is a school teacher in space, question?” Issued tinnily from the laptop speakers, in a thick Scouse accent.
“On second thought, I’ll just stay here.” Courtland let himself fall sideways with a soft whumf into the blanket, and began to delicately rearrange his entire worldview.
Ryland huffed a laugh, and sank down next to him. “Go to sleep, Court. I’ll watch you.”
The statement felt like it should be odd to Court, but he found that it was nothing but reassuring. Despite the emotions still roiling in his chest, despite the sheer enormity of everything he had heard and learnt over the past few hours, Court fell asleep nearly instantly. The soft tap-tap-tap of Ry working on his laptop lulled him, and then there was simply a blissful nothing.
***
The first few days after Courtland had woken up were difficult. Not least because he was still struggling with some of the after effects that a four year coma brought about, but also due to Ryland’s behaviour. It was downright skittish at times, and it was putting Court on edge.
He would be in the control room, the lab, the simulation room – or, the ‘Don’t Go Crazy Room’ as it had been dubbed – and Ryland would invariably jump a little when he found Court in there first.
Once or twice, he had caught Ryland staring at him, brow furrowed in concentration. When Court met his gaze, or asked if he was all right, Ry would come back to himself and nod, immediately changing the subject or redirecting his attention.
It would have to be addressed at some point, but Court found he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Instead, he had wanted to start learning the ropes aboard the Hail Mary, to begin to take some of the responsibility off of Ryland. But his brother had become almost terrifyingly self-sufficient, and whilst he did promise to teach Court the ins and outs of the ship, he insisted that, for now, Court rest and regain his strength.
So Court found himself more often than not in the dormitory, forcing his body and mind into inactivity and trying not to chafe at it. If Ryland needed him to rest, he would rest. He would do almost anything his brother asked of him during those first days, trying to offer an anchor point for Ryland as and when he might need it.
He also found himself talking more to Colt, narrating his new day to day, filling him in on everything Ry had told him so far. He hoped Colt would wake soon; his prolonged unconsciousness was worrying Court, although there had been a few tiny signs that Colt was steadily clambering his way back toward them. A few twitches of his hand, eyes darting behind closed lids.
It became evident what was really happening a week after Court had woken. Ryland was avoiding him.
The realisation came to him fully formed as he sat at the foot of Colt’s bed, laptop with some of Ry’s video logs on it, paused, beside him. Ryland was deliberately avoiding him, and the strange restlessness Court felt grow with each passing day was loneliness.
Ry could be socially awkward at times, more often than not happy to lurk in the background as Colt did the talking, but he had never been like this with his own family. Not even when Courtland’s own contact with them had been sporadic at best and the better part of a year could go by before they saw one another again.
“I don’t understand what’s going on with him, Colt.” He said, nudging Colt’s foot with his own. “I thought he’d be ecstatic to see us again, have us with him. And I suppose he was, for a little bit, but now …”
Court looked down the row of bunks to the end one. It hadn’t been slept in for a while. Ry had taken to sleeping in a little nest of blankets and pillows in the lab, by the window. He hadn’t noticed it as a conscious choice, not until now, and had assumed that Ryland wanted to be closer to whatever experiments he was working on.
He sighed. “What do you think I should do?” He asked Colt. “Talk to him? Or let him come to me?”
He wished Colt could answer him. His advice on Ryland was invaluable, and often correct. He was also far better at cornering Ry and telling him to spit it out, Ry, for god’s sake.
Court knew he could try that, pull rank in several senses of the term, both as the actual official Commander of this mission (which he had missed all of) and as the older brother. But he feared it would just lead to Ryland shutting him out entirely, disallowing Court with finality any explanation as to what was going on inside his head.
“Okay.” Court said, with no real idea behind his intention, and stood. “Good talk.” He patted Colt’s shoulder as he left the dormitory and wandered through the corridors of the Hail Mary.
He found Ryland in the control room, sitting in front of a dizzying array of panels, buttons and lights. Court had been in there a few times, keeping his hands to himself, and steadily by sight alone beginning to familiarise himself with what the screens displayed. He guessed at their functions, watching Ry navigate through them with ease, often muttering to himself as he updated their trajectory or velocity.
“Hey, kiddo.” He stuck his hands in his jumpsuit’s pockets, coming to stand beside the pilot’s chair.
Ryland, predictably, started a little at Court’s voice. The chair creaked, rocking ever so slightly where it was bolted to the floor.
“Sounds like that needs fixing,” Court said, keeping his voice light and kneeling down to peer at the mooring. Two of the four heavy bolts that should be keeping it solidly in place were missing, the square plate of metal that formed the chair’s foundation bent and, in some places, even sheared.
“Looks like it needs fixing too.” Court rearranged himself so he was kneeling beside the chair, not wanting to have this conversation, whatever it may end up being, standing over Ry like he was scolding him. “I’m surprised anything on this ship could break like that. What have you been doing up here?”
Court’s smile fell as he took in Ryland’s expression and posture. His eyes were ever so slightly unfocused, his hands stilled in position above the touch screen panels. Court was intimately familiar with this sort of body language. He’d seen it too many times in his own mirror.
“Hey, are you –”
“Fine!” Ryland snapped back from wherever he had just disappeared to, his voice cutting through the peaceful ambience of the control room. He winced. “Sorry, sorry, I’m fine.” He shot Court a glance, trying to pull a smile onto his face. “Did you need something?”
Now or never, he thought. Taking in a deep breath, Court reached out and placed a hand on Ryland’s wrist; a light and reassuring touch, he hoped. “Yeah. Ry, can we talk?” He gestured with his free hand around the room. “Is there anything that needs doing imminently, or can you take five?”
“Uh,” Ryland cast about, almost as if he were willing an emergency to occur right then and there so he could get out of this conversation.
It sent a spike of frustration through Court, and instead of pushing it away, he let it embolden him. Ry had survived eight months in space doing the impossible, it was time to stop treating him like he was made of glass and let Courtland say his piece.
“I can’t see any red lights or hear anything that tells me we’re going to blow up in the next few seconds.”
Something in his tone must have shifted, as Ryland gave Court his full attention then.
“No, we’re – we’re good.” He finished lamely. “What did you want to talk about?”
“This.” Court waved a hand up and down, encompassing Ryland’s whole frame. “You.”
“What do you mean, ‘this’? There is no ‘this’.” Ry slipped his wrist out from beneath Court’s grip. He held his hands together in his lap, staring down at them.
“Ryland.” Court waited. When Ry didn’t look up, he tried again. “Ryland, will you look at me, please?”
Not a Commander, he reminded himself, just a brother.
Ry’s gaze flickered to meet Court’s, darted away again, came back, and this time, held steady.
“Thank you.” Court didn’t hesitate for another second. “You’ve been avoiding me since my first day awake, and I want to know why.”
Ryland gaped at him. “I haven’t!”
“Yes, you absolutely have, Ry.” Court ticked them off on his fingers. “You’ve been sleeping in the lab, you leave the room when I come in, just then you looked like you’d rather have an emergency decompression happen than agree to talk to me. What’s going on, kid?”
He paused, giving Ry time to answer. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t, Court pressed on. “It’s worrying me. No, more than that, it’s scaring me, Ryland. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but when I come into a room, or talk, or whatever, you jump.” He didn’t want to voice the next part, in case it was true, but he had to know. “Are you, I don’t know, frightened of me, or something?”
It had been on Court’s mind. In the hours it took for him to fall asleep these days, half-baked theories would tumble over and over in his head, each one more distressing than the last. The one he had settled on most recently was that, whilst Ryland still confessed to having large gaps in his memory, he had begun to recall what Court had done for a living. That he was remembering the killer Courtland had been.
Ryland ducked his head, breaking eye contact. Court followed him, hunching down further and looking up into his brother’s face. “I need you to start talking to me, okay?”
“It’s …” Ry faltered. “It’s nothing.”
Court wasn’t proud of it, but he lost his temper then. All the feelings that he had tried so very hard to keep at bay, to press into the back of his mind and ignore, rushed forward like a river breaking its banks.
“Bullshit! That’s such utter shit, Ry!” He was on his feet now, all previous good intentions forgotten. “I know things have been god-awful for you, and I’m sorry that we, that I, wasn’t there, but this avoidant crap is getting ridiculous.”
Court paced the short length of the control room, letting the words pour from him. “I thought that you might be happy to see me, to have someone to talk to properly, but you just keep creeping around me like you wish I wasn’t here. Is that it, huh? That you want to still be alone, or, I don’t know, off with your new alien friend?”
The minute he said it, Court wanted to snatch the words back. Ryland looked like he’d slapped him.
“Shit, no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean –”
“Do you have any idea what it was like?” Ryland’s voice was dangerously low. “How terrifying it was? Do you know how many times I had to try and make peace with dying, thinking I was never going to see you, or hear you, ever again?” He stood now, glaring across the room at Court. “How could you ever think I would prefer that to you being here?”
“Then why,” Court said, desperation entering his words now, “why are you avoiding me? Explain, please, Ryland, and maybe I can begin to understand what it was like.”
“Because I don’t know why you’re here!” Ryland yelled. “I remembered Yáo and Ilyukhina before I knew the difference between you and Colt, and I had absolutely no clue why they weren’t here and you were!” He marched over to be face to face with Court.
Court stood his ground and sensed that, finally, he would get some answers. He also knew he was about to hate them.
“I tried to patch together what I could from the Project, and couldn’t find any trace of you two in it, nothing! And then I remembered that I wasn’t brave, that I would have let all of humanity die because I was too scared to do the right thing, and then I remembered that, yeah, I’m a coward, but Court and Colt aren’t. They’d do the right thing. They’d also keep their idiot brother in line to make sure he wouldn’t do something astronomically stupid like sabotage the whole mission for the sake of spite!”
Ryland reached up and tugged at his hair. His voice had cracked entirely on the last few words and there was such a vulnerable rawness in his eyes that Court almost felt the need to look away. The pieces began to click together.
“Ry … did you think we were up here because we thought you couldn’t, or wouldn’t do it? That we would happily force you to toe Stratt’s line and orders because, what, we thought less of you? Because you had a very human reaction being told you would be sent to die?” Court came forward a step, reaching out for his brother.
Ryland didn’t back away, but he shrank down on himself, shoulders rolling up and forearms coming together to obscure his face. “I thought –” He broke off on a half strangled sob. “I don’t know what I thought. That maybe you had been forced too, because I was – am – a coward.”
Court waited, breathing seizing in his chest, for what was coming next.
“I … I thought you might hate me. Because you’re here with me, not on Earth. Because I’ve forced you to die, too.”
“Oh, Ry.” Courtland breathed. He surged forward and wrapped him up in a tight embrace. Ryland was stiff at first, but as the seconds rolled into one another, Court felt the tension begin to melt from his body. “We could never hate you, kid. Never.”
Ryland’s head dropped onto Court’s shoulder, and Court found himself, like on his first day, carding a hand through Ry’s unkempt hair.
“But –”
“Nope, no buts.” Court cut him off. “My turn.”
He let go of Ry and gestured to the pilot’s chair. He sat, and Court took up his previous position on the floor.
“Let’s get one thing clear right away: Colt and I came up with you because we wanted to be here. You don’t, and unfortunately won’t, remember the ‘why’ because you were already sedated.” He watched Ryland pale a little, obviously recalling his last few hours on Earth. “We found out too late to stop that, so we went straight to Stratt and demanded she replace Yáo and Ilyukhina with me and Colt.”
“You did what?” Ryland leaned forward, gripping the armrests of the chair.
“Save all questions until after class, please.” Court said with a wry smile. “She was … reluctant, shall we say, but we convinced her in the end. Well, actually, Colt convinced her, he was very good – and it helped that Commander Yáo flat out refused to join a mission with a press-ganged crewmate aboard.”
He inched forward, slowly setting his hand atop Ryland’s again. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“We came with you, Rylie, because we couldn’t bear to lose you.”
For a while, the only sound was the soft whir of the Hail Mary’s engines. It blanketed them, familiar and comforting. Court found he was beginning to associate the noise with ‘home’. The idea floated through his mind, causing no ripples as it passed by, and he felt nothing but contentment with it. Home was, after all, wherever his brothers happened to be.
“So, please, will you stop avoiding me? I’ve missed you.” Court poured every ounce of sincerity he could into his words, and he watched as a single tear hit the inside of Ryland’s glasses lens, his head bowed. It left a rainbow-tinted droplet there.
Ryland nodded. “Yes.” And then, so quietly Court had to strain to hear it over the engines, “M’sorry.”
“I don’t want apologies,” Court reprimanded him gently. “I just wanted to know what was going on in that head of yours, and now I do. And,” he added, letting some humour back into his tone, “I wanted someone to watch the – frankly ridiculous – number of movies we have here with me.”
Ry laughed, a little wetly, and nodded. “I can do that.”
“And will you stop sleeping in the lab? You’ll fuck up your spine, as Colt would tell you if he were here right now.”
“I’ll stop sleeping in the lab.” Ryland agreed, smiling more easily now. He met Court’s eye, and Court felt some intangible veil lift from between the two of them.
Whoever had said ‘ignorance is bliss’ had been, Court thought, entirely and utterly wrong. There were a few more things in his mental inventory, and he felt a little more able now to pursue answers for them.
“I need to ask you a couple more questions, is that okay?”
Ry nodded, almost eagerly, as if he were trying to impress upon Court that he wanted to talk, to open up as much as he could.
“Because it’s my job, I worry about you.” He started.
“I wouldn’t say that it’s your –”
“No, it is.” Court said firmly. “And I have to admit to being a little concerned about your mental state, Ry.”
The dry sarcasm of Ryland’s response caught him entirely off guard. “Yeah, going nuts is the most likely, and probably only way, to deal with a variety of horrible deaths you could have, whilst also not being able to remember when your own birthday is. Not to mention, the whole being stuck in space thing.”
“Yeah, okay, I actually take it back, you’re fine.” Court said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Wait, do you actually not remember when your birthday is, or was that just for the bit?”
Ry suddenly seemed uncomfortable, and Court took that as his answer.
“It’s February 17th.” He said softly.
“Thank you.”
“You could have used that as an excuse to finally have a birthday to yourself, and made one up,” Court said, trying again for some levity. “Colt has a habit of hijacking it, being your twin and all.”
“I don’t mind. Or, at least, I don’t think that I mind? Anyway, we’re not talking about that right now, are we?”
“No, we aren’t.” Courtland wasn’t sure how to approach what he truly wanted to say without making Ry feel observed, but honesty had to be their best policy here, so he marshaled his thoughts and marched onwards. “You seem to freak out a bit, whenever you come into a room and you don’t see me straight away, or if I start talking without you noticing I’m there first. And I lose you sometimes, it’s like you check out.”
“I do?” Ryland furrowed his brow. “I haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, kiddo, you do. Like earlier, when I was talking about the chair?”
“Oh.” He shifted, the chair in question squeaking again as he did so.
“I know you haven’t told me everything that’s happened whilst you’ve been up here alone, and you don’t have to tell me now, but I just need to know this – some real bad stuff happened, right? Not just the existential stuff, although I know that was also probably horrible, but things that … that might cause flashbacks, if you know what I’m saying.” It wasn’t the most dazzling example of eloquence, but Court had no idea how to begin broaching this topic with professional sensitivity, so it would have to do.
He watched as Ryland’s left hand ran up and down his right arm, the motion gentle and light, like he was soothing an ache.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Court decided not to push the matter then and there. “What do you need me to do in those situations?”
He offered because no one else had ever done the same for him. There had been too many nights where Courtland had woken up, gasping and drenched in sweat, utterly convinced that the latest person he had put a bullet through their skull was standing, waiting, at the foot of his bed. Ready and oh so willing to do the same to him.
“Um. I don’t know, really. Maybe just keep talking? About normal stuff?” Ryland hedged his way through his request, clearly unsure.
“I can do that,” Court agreed easily. “And what about when I come into rooms? Do I need to wear a bell?”
“What – no!” Ryland laughed. “No, it’s just …” He sobered. “Sometimes I forget that, you know. You’re actually here. Or, real, or whatever.”
Aw, kid. Court ran a hand through his hair. That made sense. He wondered with morbid curiosity if Ryland had, before meeting Rocky, been experiencing some sort of loneliness induced hallucinations of him and Colt. It wouldn't have surprised him, he was fairly certain that he would have done the same – if not on purpose, simply as some sort of coping mechanism.
Court took in Ryland, and saw that he had nearly reached his limit. “One more thing, and then we’re going to move your mattress back to the dormitory and throw things at Colt until he wakes up, alright?”
That got a smile. “Yeah, okay, shoot.”
“How much do you remember about what my job used to be?”
The question was, this time, entirely self-motivated. The nagging anxiety that Ry did remember Court’s time in the C.I.A’s pocket and feared him for it, he knew, would not leave him alone until it had been addressed outright.
“What, the Sierra thing?” It was said so blasé that Courtland blinked, nonplussed. “Yeah, why?”
“Oh, uh. Okay, no, there’s no reason.”
“Court.” Ryland raised an eyebrow. “Spill.”
“Well, I just wondered if you had remembered and if it, maybe, had freaked you out?” He had tried for nonchalance in his tone and, judging by Ry’s smirk, had failed spectacularly.
“I seem to remember telling you that there are no guns in space.”
“I don’t need a gun to kill someone.” Well done, Courtland, what happened to ‘non-threatening’?
“No, it did not and does not freak me out.”
The last of the tension seeped from Court’s body, and he actually felt himself slump a few inches. He was entirely wrung out, but it was the sort of fatigue that he knew would be cured by some downtime with his brother at his side.
“Besides,” Ryland said, standing from the pilot’s chair and offering a hand down to Court. “My big brother was a spy. Do you have any idea how many people wish they could have said the same?”
Court smiled properly for the first time in days as he took Ryland’s hand. He felt something thaw, and then begin to warm up, a part of himself that had been iced over since he first awoke. Slinging an arm around Ry’s shoulders, he steered them both in the direction of the lab.
The Hail Mary continued her journey through the silver-beaded black; a tiny microcosm of love radiating outward, caught amidst the red glow of the engine lights.