Chapter Text
There's something so bittersweet looking at the stars in silence this time. Purple could whip up about ten other explanations, but they know, really, why it feels scarier this time. The other elephant that's not ever leaving the room.
Everyone is dead, and now it's too quiet.
"…Puuuurple?"
Well, almost everyone.
Purple tears their gaze away from the big window, backing away from the end of the cafeteria to turn round to Red's unblinking stare. They don't look any different than when Purple had last left—which is a silly thing to point out. The most life-threatening moment of their lives was only thirty minutes ago.
What a cosmic joke. Pun intended.
Red shifts in their spot, clearly unsure what to say or do, choosing to watch out as well. Past the last remains of alien grime and the last remaining stains of blood and gore they couldn't quite get rid of. Maybe if Purple doesn't look hard enough, they can pretend it was never there.
Red chooses to come closer, chipping away at the palpable gap between them. They scratch their neck.
Purple speaks first. "You know, it feels weird seeing you hesistating."
"I'm not hesitating," they reiterate, crossing their arms like that fixes anything. "I'm just choosing my words carefully."
"Sure you are," Purple says. It's a throwaway line and they know it. How would you respond to that normally? Treading conversation felt like walking through a minefield without any actual explosions, just the uneasiness of what to expect. How did talking work now—when everything was not fine just moments before?
Purple looks back at the window, eye travelling over to the multitudes of stars, shooting ones. The explosions haven't ceased, the streams of pink still floating across space and time.
"I know it's kind of a silly question, but," Red leans over, though not meeting their eye. "What do we do now?"
Huh. That is a question indeed.
"Keep flying the ship?" Purple offers. "Do everything around here like we're supposed to? I mean, you said it yourself." An exhale follows, one they haven't realized they'd been holding. "With everybody dead, everything's our job."
"Everything, huh?" Red winces, like they're finally considering the weight of that task. "Flying's a breeze, ship's on autopilot half the time—oh wait, forget I said that. But wiring? Cooking?" A nervous laugh. "They say a Red's calling isn't in culinary arts."
Purple groans. "Please don't burn anything."
Red grins. "No promises."
"I'll handle the kitchen, thank you. And I'll lock the door."
"Hah! Good one!" Red scrambles for a comeback. "Then I'll—I'll pick the lock."
"Please, you'd just break the handle."
"Hey! For your information, that was one time only," Red says, stretching out the word, affixing that authorative lilt to their voice. The sentiment fades quickly, smile dropping from their face as reality sinks in.
All of that's going to have to be their job. No Brown or Yellow to guide or at the very least aid them in anything, no Lime to critique their every move. No Blue for the aches throbbing underneath their hands and feet, no Cyan or Black to keep conversation.
None of that. Just pitch perfect silence.
"…At least I won't have to check the cameras anymore," Purple mutters. There's no one to watch.
"One thing to sweep under the rug! Maybe those cameras, were, uh—" Red stops, realizing what they might be saying. "—maybe those cameras weren't the best things in the world."
"Aha!" Purple spins, jabbing a finger to Red's chest and for once it's not out of malice. "So you do admit it! You do admit those cameras are shitty as hell!"
"Well, okay, what if they are?" they retort, backing away, trying to save face before actually thinking about it. "Like you said—don't record, black and white—which is actually a really good question. Why'd MIRA have black and white if we're made of color?"
"That's what I've been saying!" Purple huffs. "God knows if we were all formless, I'd have no way of identifying any of you! And not to forget you're practically forcing me not to have a wink of sleep because one moment I look away, surprise! I see nothing because those stupid things. Don't. Record!"
There's a moment of silent heaving of air before Purple realizes they probably might have been too harsh. This is confirmed with Red's very unnerved nod.
"Yeah," Red says quietly. They look uneasy.
Crap. That wasn't called for at all.
"Sorry," Purple says, turning to the opposite side of the room. "I got a bit too much there."
"Oh no—it's okay!" Red says, pulling them back. Their voice takes on a softer tone, one so un-captain-like that they have to wait before it sinks in. "Like—It makes sense! Those cameras… hah, they were shit," they admit, shrugging once. "This ship really does have bad equipment. Even Lime said so."
Lime. "This whole ship sucks," Purple mutters darkly. If there were a rock, they would kick it.
"MIRA sucks."
Two hours ago, that would have been a not-Red standing here, facing Purple with that exhausted look, hatred in the name they uttered. But no, loath they ever admit it, this is a changed Red, not taking those words back even when Purple stares in shock.
"That's what I said, yeah!" Red says, pacifying Purple's bewildered stare. "MIRA sucks! This whole trip sucked!" And then they're puffing their chest, lifting their head up in the air to yell. "MIRA SUCKS!"
The words reverberate through the air, carrying them in echoes. MIRA, MIRA, MIRA. Sucks, sucks, sucks.
Purple beams. "Scream it louder."
But that seems to be it for Red. Looking up at the ceiling, rapidly losing their vigor. The silence crawls back to fill the space, watching along with Purple when they heave a sigh.
Red's head comes back down to look out the window, Purple following their gaze. Lights refract off their visor, the constellation tracing itself in the glass. Glossing over like a wall of emotion hit them.
"We worked for MIRA—I worked for MIRA." Purple doesn't miss the past tense, doesn't miss the crack in Red's voice. "And now I'm going to get fired."
Purple turns, a twist in their chest. Red's looking soullessly at the shooting stars, a tremble there. Hand going over to their hat, bringing it down to their chest.
"This job was kind of the only thing I had," they say.
Purple purses their mouth, whatever would be appropriate a response dying in their throat. Silence is easy, silence means they don't have to say a word—and aren't obligated to—watching their… coworker mourn something clearly glued to their own identity. Feelings. Feelings are scary, bad, never the same after they did what they did. It can't come easy. It can't work.
Their hand reaches out for them, shrinking back in an instant.
But underneath Captain Red—who's practically dead now, after everything that happened—is still Red, the version of them Purple's learnt to accept still exists, hurting and feeling and still desiring for change.
The one that, so reminiscent of the quiet, patient version of Red that only exists in those repressed, happier memories of before, that so willingly accepted being just coworkers just to be normal again.
That's someone they can stand to aid again.
Purple reaches out, hand coming over to the one of top of their hat.
"MIRA's kind of been the only thing puppeteering our lives even when we are not in it," Purple says, still looking at the stars; voice steady. "You losing your job doesn't make you any less—capable."
Red looks back at them, surprise in their glaze.
"Point being," Purple says, suddenly bashful, "you will be okay, alright? At this point," they sigh, "things are only going to go up from here."
Red looks at them, tension rapidly easing. Grips Purple's hand over his own before they can let go, hat still under.
"We will be okay," they say, a warm smile that looks like it could brighten a dark room. "We're kind of in the same boat now."
"Yeah, yeah." Purple looks off to the side. "I've lost my job before. Could probably stand to lose it again if this is what it looks like."
Red whistles. "Unemployment buddies."
"Yeah."
The stars shine in the distance, swirling with the slow movement of the jet. Nothing is going to be nearly as steady as the ship is now. Everything on them; all the words left unsaid. Opening that can of worms again, seeing where it leads this time. Hoping it leads somewhere.
"Question," Red pipes up, "would be still be "coworkers" after we're booted off the job?"
Purple sighs, but their rolled eye is only a wall, and not one that keeps them away.
"Come on, Redsie," Purple says. There may or may be a tease in there. "Can't be asking too many questions."
Purple hears Red follow, a warm chuckle underneath their breath. And hearing that sound is like a key, they think, one that gently unlocks something in their chest. Something they haven't felt in so many years.
It flutters, and it takes flight.