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Being confined in the observation deck had put Alexander Hilbert in places he didn’t want to be, in memories he’d rather forget. Having an active mind, a lot of time and nothing to do would do that to you.
Most of the time, Hilbert found himself thinking about his crew mates and what his fate might turn out to be in their hands. Other times, he was concocting ways of overpowering the women and the idiot and calling for help from Command. Sometimes he would catch himself simply wondering about all the progress he’d made scientifically and how he could push forward with them, what he could have done differently, what more he could do, how else he could have done some things. He was rarely in the same mindset he’d been in whenever he was alone before—safe and comfortable—in his laboratory, when he had had the leisure of remembering old jokes and pondering if they, no, if he was truly alone.
Recently, Hilbert’s mind kept coming back to his old life. To his sister. To his years of education. To a woman with whom he momentarily thought he’d share the rest of his life with. To the moment he dedicated his life to medicinal research. To his training for his first mission in outer space.
Those things changed Hilbert—turned him into someone he’s sure was long dead. Made him once again vulnerable to emotions.
The first night he found himself crying, he felt irrational rage surge through him. He internally shouted himself down, mentally beat himself up. Alexander Hilbert was a man of science. A man who listened to his brain and not his heart. Alexander Hilbert was logical, not emotional. So he slapped himself and wiped the tears off before he got lost in them.
A few days later, he lost himself in the memories of Dmitri Volodin. Again. For a man with all the time in the world to stew or meditate or simply scheme, he instead forcibly went to sleep in order to avoid the tide of frustration and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him once more.
It was a mistake, as he’d not only dreamt of a long gone, faceless family, but had woken up trembling, anguished and afraid. If Hera had felt any pleasure in seeing his panicked gasping, he was sure she would’ve cared little to inform anyone of his discomfort. In her artificial mind, he deserves it.
In the excruciating silence of the observation deck, Hilbert can almost believe and accept that too.
In the subsequent nights, Hilbert’s nightmares grew worse. To the point where he would wake up screaming. Every time, when he awoke, he would put his face in his hands and mutter angrily at himself. He would berate himself for losing control, for letting the memories come back in the first place, for remembering Olga’s last words, sometimes for even thinking about his first few years as a medical student. Those years were closely tied to a family he could never clearly remember having, save for one agonizingly fragile face.
Those moments filled with sharp words made for himself were when Hilbert was most thankful for his isolation.
Until he woke up from the nightmares and he wasn’t alone.
Eiffel was floating there by the door with Hilbert’s dinner, eyes wide and mouth slack. It would’ve been a comical sight if painful flashes of his old life hadn’t been etched into his mind’s eye.
Hilbert straightened up and cleared his throat, heart heavy with dread. Eiffel had heard his mutterings, had most likely observed his self-reproach and may have even witnessed his ridiculous screaming and thrashing. Hilbert wouldn’t be surprised if the idiot American started making fun of him and spread word of the incident to Minkowski and Lovelace as well. Then all four of them can start laughing at him and cruelly teasing him for it.
It would change nothing for Hilbert. Eiffel would still have the Decima virus in his system. Lambert, Hui, Fourier and the rest of that crew would still be dead. Hera would never be the same. And Minkowski would still have to keep him alive for his scientific and medical expertise. All that they can really do to is to mention this episode to spite him, but Hilbert can tune them out as easily as he could put on a mask of indifference.
So imagine his surprise when Eiffel floated towards him, set his provisions aside, and reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. Instead of a jab, the younger man, with an alarming amount of concern and sincerity in his tone, asked, “Hilbert? Are you okay?”
The addressed looked up and saw that Eiffel’s expression matched his voice—one could almost think he’d forgotten that the man he was speaking to wasn’t accountable for making him a guinea pig for a lethal virus.
The weight in his chest hadn’t been enough then because it started to twist in painful knots as well. How long has it been since he’d heard anyone genuinely ask him that? His brain offered a few couple of times and calculated the days-months-years, but he cut that off quickly. He didn’t want to know. But thoughts didn’t work that way, so Hilbert decidedly ignored the answers that came to him anyway.
“Um… Doc? You in?” Eiffel inquired as he moved to sit-float in front of Hilbert. He leaned closer, dipped his chin and met Hilbert’s eyes with a worried gaze.
The Russian shifted and moved out of his makeshift bed. He drifted towards the glass that displayed the red dwarf star Wolf 359 and pointedly kept his gaze on it. He didn’t know what else to do. “I’m fine,” he answered curtly.
“Really? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure that wasn’t—”
“Officer Eiffel,” Hilbert cut him off before a single pop culture reference could be uttered. Even forced isolation wouldn’t make him miss that. Not admittedly anyway. “What have you come here for?”
“Thought I’d bring you some food,” Eiffel said in such a casual manner that Hilbert could picture this conversation happening in an entirely different, entirely normal context and not one said between a captive and a captor. A doctor and his unwilling test subject. Or, as Eiffel had put it, evil scientist and guinea pig.
Hilbert looked at the tray of measly rations and scoffed. “How… thoughtful of you,” he mumbled before turning to stare outside the window again.
“I know it isn’t much. Part of the package or something. But if you want, I can do you a favor and sneak some of that seaweed-based food in. Better than the food here that’s practically MRE rations. Word is, the guy who made them ’s a one-of-a-kind culinary genius this part of the universe has ever seen. Not that I totally agree, but hey, I can’t really compete. What do you say?”
Hilbert stayed quiet. Eiffel did not care for him like this usually. Eiffel did not care for him, period. Should not. So it must be one thing that was blabbering this time. “Officer Eiffel,” Hilbert stated, turning to glare at the man. “Is one thing for you to hate me and that I understand, but to pity me? I can live without that. Can survive without it. I do not need your pity.”
Then came that look. That kicked-puppy look that Eiffel used a lot with Minkowski. Hilbert didn’t know how it could look well on a man in his thirties, but Eiffel seemed to know how well it worked and used it a lot of the times to get what he wanted. This time, Hilbert couldn’t figure out what reason he had to wear it. He hasn’t asked for anything yet and Hilbert doubted there was anything he could give Eiffel from his position.
“Your job is done here, is it not? You’ve delivered my rations. Now go away.” With that, Hilbert turned away from him.
A few glorious seconds of silence, and then, “Hilbert, I’m… I get nightmares too. I get that some of them never leave you even after you wake up. And it’s okay to cry if it makes forgetting about them faster. It’s not something to be embarrassed about—”
“As I said earlier, I do not need your pity. I do not need your help or any consolation you are trying to give. Never asked for it,” Hilbert barked, wanting to hear nothing more from the man who rightfully should be mocking him rather than offering comfort. He gritted out the next words with individual emphasis. “Now, leave me alone!”
And without much thought, he quietly added, “please.”
Eiffel had probably opened his mouth to say something, had probably raised his hand to reach out. Or maybe he hadn’t and had simply left Hilbert as he asked. Either way, the scientist was glad that the communications officer stopped trying to communicate and finally left him to his own devices.