Chapter Text
one.
When VAL first tells him she’s located the Commander, Niles is sure it’s nothing more than her latest attempt to keep him moving. Bit advanced and technically beyond her programming, but less impossible than the alternative.
“Nice try, VAL,” he says, from his bunk but she’s insistent. Bypasses the security controls he’s set up and plugs herself into the Incognito’s comm system to broadcast the signal ship-wide to all devices. It’s faint, out in a dead zone by the edge of the system.
Commander Kharakhov, his tablet screen says. STATUS: Unknown.
“It’s a fluke,” he says, trying to breath around the tossball-sized lump in his throat. “It’s gotta be a fluke. There’s no way he – there’s no way – ”
He’d looked – soon as he was able, he’d looked. Scoured the area around the rift, the hunks of twisted metal and space junk that used to be Horizon Point; Protectorate prison records, clandestine military sites and Mental Refreshment centres. Anywhere a survivor of the disaster might have been taken –
He’d looked.
“Maybe it’s a trap,” he tries. Augustine trying to bait him, the Consul finally deciding he’d rather do away with the sole Earth Directorate agent clinging on in his system.
VAL tilts her head. “Unlikely. Earth Directorate agent tracking technology is highly complex and has several [REDACTED] systems designed to prevent replication.”
And yeah, he knows. Tried to hack into it a year in just to see –
But it can’t be. It just can’t.
“Engaging movement incentivisation procedures commencing with non-invasive prodding,” VAL whirs cheerily.
“Stop,” Niles pre-empts. “I’m getting up, okay? I’m getting up.”
---
It takes a few tries to snag the pod – the Incognito’s loading arm wasn’t exactly designed for things that size and shape – but they manage it, draw it into the airlock and Niles watches as the space is repressurised, decontaminated.
He’s still half-convinced this isn’t happening – that he’s cracked, finally. That the pod’ll hiss open and he’ll find DeVries in there, smirking and holding a grenade meant to take them both out; that it’ll be empty because VAL’s set this whole thing up like a scavenger hunt or some other hair-brained scheme to jump-start health neurochemical patterns or whatever the fuck.
And there’s this big, heavy thing in his gut that pulls like a magnet. Wants to drag him back to his bunk where he can curl up with a nice bottle of Spectrum and pretend this isn’t happening. Shoot the pod back out into the void and pretend he never found the Law-damned thing and not have to think about how he could’ve looked harder. He could have looked longer.
How he should have.
How long did he give it before he gave up? A year, maybe two? Pathetic. And when Augustine reappeared, did he start up again? No. No he fucking did not. He sat in his fucking bunk and cogitated on his shitty circumstances and all the while a fellow agent – his Commander – was out there. And sure, Commander Kharakhov might not have been exactly what he was expecting way back when but Law, he’d made up for it.
“Decontamination completed,” VAL says as the light goes green. “Please note that extended use of hibernation pods without ongoing specialist supervision is not recommended and may have adverse effects on the structural integrity of subjects.”
Which is a nice way of saying there’s a good chance the Commander will be naught but a mess of flesh and bones and frost.
“Yeah, I know, VAL,” he tells her. Takes a breath before he hits the door release and steps into the room.
The pod’s big, bulkier than the ones he’s used to. Can’t fault Protectorate engineering though, doubts one of theirs would have lasted this long. He’ll have to take it apart after this – see what he can learn, what he can steal. Might be good for reinforcing the Incognito’s hull without adding too much weight –
Stop stalling, he tells himself. Can’t put this off forever.
His hands are shaking as he scrapes the worst of the ice off of the viewing panel. He’s holding his breath. Tries to steel himself for the likely outcome – the disappointment –
Can’t help but think back to that last day at the Academy; the first time he met his assigned crew.
He’d never heard of the Incognito – never heard of Commander Kharakhov and his little crew of oddballs – wouldn’t be very incognant – incognitant – incog – fuck. What I mean is, we couldn’t be the crew of the Incognito if you’d heard of us, right? The Commander had said, later, full of whiskey and gin and Helen at his side had smirked, ruffled his hair, told Niles that they were actually very professional in the field, promise and Niles had kept his jaw clamped shut and tried to smile and –
Anyway.
He hadn’t heard of them, didn’t know who or how to ask so instead he’d hacked into the Directorate’s personnel files. Found a bunch of heavily redacted mission reports and crew profiles. Read about the Commander’s gambling addition and extensive list of medical ailments; Helen’s propensity to act rashly; Eric’s borderline pathological belief in the Directorate’s cause, his lack of empathy.
Doesn’t think anyone would judge him for being a mite disappointed but Law, they’d proved him wrong. Proved him wrong several times over and it’d all been lost in the space of an hour because Augustine fucking DeVries.
The viewing panel’s as clear as it’s gonna get. He lets his hands fall back to his side; curls his fingers into his palm to ward off frostbite. Takes another breath.
“Ready, VAL?”
“This unit is ready, Agent Abara,” she confirms.
He leans down and looks inside.
There’s blood and soot all over his face; glass in his hair and frost on his eyelashes. He’s stiller than Niles thinks he’s ever seen but it’s him. It’s the Commander.
Niles sits back on his heels. His ears are ringing, his vision is starting to go spotty; that thing in his gut has grown, has a vice-like grip on his chest.
He should probably feel relieved but all he feels is nauseous.
VAL whirs, “Readying transfer to medical bay.”
---
The Commander’s a long time waking up.
With how long he’s been out there, it’s a Law-damn miracle he’s waking up at all. VAL’s at his side, monitoring his vitals and brainwaves and checking for signs of explosive cell death so Niles doesn’t really need to be here but he’s found himself welded in place. Leant forwards in the chair he’s dragged into the medbay, eyes darting between the Commander’s still face and the various monitors he’s hooked up to like he’s watching a fucking tossball game.
His mind flits around just as fast, won’t settle on anyone thing. There’s snatches of their short time before – when Niles was just a kid, green and desperate and hanging on the Commander’s every word like a damn lap-canid. Law, he’d spent so long puzzling out ways to make him smile; to impress him and then there’s Horizon Point.
There’s the bit where he missed how sketchy Augustine was being, where he reassured the Commander and Helen that it was probably just nerves. Just the strain of being undercover in a totalitarian society so long.
There’s the bit where he missed the explosives – charged in like an enraged rapt, got Helen killed –
And there’s the afterwards. All the time he wasted, the shit he did with Zeb when he could have been looking. When he should have been looking.
The Commander starts to shift, his eyelids flutter.
Niles suddenly finds himself standing. What in the void is he supposed to say? How is he supposed to apologies for all those years the Commander’s lost? For all those years Arcadia was slowly rotting away under the Sovereign’s harsh reigns.
“I can’t do this,” he says, the words rushed and garbled. “I can’t face him like this.”
Focuses on finishing up his modifications of the astrolabe, rehearses apologies and excuses and explanations that all come up at once and get tangled in his throat when the Commander wanders in smiling and looking slightly green. Says he’s glad Niles survived; grateful Niles saved him. Looks confused when Niles tries to apologise, sets a hand on Niles’ shoulder and grips it gently, hand all warm through Niles’ shirt –
And – Architect – he can’t actually remember the last time someone touched him; hardly recalls the last time he spoke to someone other than VAL so his brain is short-circuiting, severed cables and mis-thrown switches sparking all over –
“Abara, I don’t think I’ve stuck with any one thing for longer than like, a year, ever,” he says. “Trust me, if our positions were reversed, I woulda done the same thing. And likely wouldn’t still be around to be affecting this daring rescue, so.”
That’s not true, Niles thinks, wants to say but he can’t. Can’t get the words formed right in his mouth, push them past his clenched jaw. That’s not true. I should have found you sooner. I should have looked longer, harder.
“Now, I hope you keep the galley stocked because I am starving,” he’s saying. “VAL gave me the summary, but maybe you can fill in the blanks some while I eat?”
Niles manages to make himself nod, trails after the Commander towards the galley. Suddenly gets hit by this memory of Wade showing him around the ship for the first time; how he’d stopped by the fridge, reeled off this long list of the Commander’s allergies. How the Commander had interrupted, assured Niles he wasn’t expected to remember them for him – he knew his own issues well enough, after all – while Wade rolled his eyes, asked how many reactions he’d had in the last month because he wasn’t thinking.
“Shit, I – uh – I’m pretty sure there’s stuff you can eat but if not, then – ” he starts, trying to remember the nearest settlement.
The Commander waves him off. “I’ll find something,” he assures. Ends up with a box of Purpleberry Krunch – he’s only mildly allergic, apparently. Pulls a face at his first spoonful and, lamented the loss of Rizzo’s that came with Auntie’s takeover but he’s on his second bowl. Can’t be that dissuaded by the inferior taste.
“You sure you should be eating that fast?”
“You sound like VAL. This isn’t fast,” the Commander says, like it’s a challenge.
Niles folds his arms, can’t help the stupid grin that plasters itself to his face. “Seems pretty fast to me,” he says and he’s right because the Commander stops mid-chew, goes very pale and just about makes it to the bathroom before he brings pretty much everything back up.
“Alright,” the Commander says, when he’s done, slumping against the wall. “Maybe that was a little fast.”
Niles smirks, holds out a canteen of water. “I did try and warn you, Commander.”
The Commander rolls his eyes as he’s rinsing his mouth out. “Come on, Niles. You know my name, and I haven’t commanded you in over a decade.”
Niles ducks his head, “Yeah, I know. It’s just – it’s gonna take me a minute, alright? It’s a lot to get used to.”
And he knows it shouldn’t be – the Commander thing. Outside of occasional forceful suggestions from Zeb and vague Earth Directorate orders to stay put, he’s not taken any orders since Horizon Point. He’s older now than the Commander was when he got frozen and hell, technically he’s served longer than him by a few months. So, it shouldn’t be hard, but it is.
Or maybe it’s just easy to slip back into that old role. Not the old Niles but someone who isn’t in charge. Doesn’t have to figure out the next step, the right thing to do, how to keep going. What to do about DeVries, the Rift, the Protectorate and Order and Auntie’s Law-damned Choice. Just has to nod and aim his gun where it’s pointed.
“It’s fine,” The Commander says, letting his head fall back against the wall. “It’s definitely been a day for both of us.”
And that it makes it easier too; the Commander’s still the Commander. Warm and kind of awkward and really, really bad at listening to people with his best interest at heart.
“You can say that again,” Niles murmurs. “You wanna try eating somethin’ a little less manufactured?”
The Commander pulls a face. “Might shower first. When I can stand up.”
Niles is stepping forwards before he’s really thought about it, “I can help – ” he starts, but then he realises what he’s saying, what he’s offering and catches himself. “I mean – that is – I can – ” he splutters, probably red head-to-toe because that’s not – he doesn’t want to – and it’s not because –
But the Commander’s smiling at him tiredly, “It’s fine,” he intervenes before Niles can make even more of an idiot of himself. “I know what you mean, Abara.”
“Right, yeah, I – I’m sorry,” Niles says. “I’ll um, I’ll get you a towel. A clean one. If we – no, we definitely have clean towels. I wash them and – ”
He leaves before he can make it any worse, hums affirmatively when the Commander shouts, “Some new clothes would also be appreciated!” after him and retreats to the engine room as soon as he can.
---
It’s an hour or so later before the Commander comes to find him, settles himself down on the little ledge overlooking the engine room and watches him work. He looks a little less pale; still has a towel around his shoulders, hair still slightly damp and falling in thick dark waves instead of the usual frizzy mess and – don’t think about showers, Niles tells himself, as his cheeks start to feel warm again.
“VALERIE’s got us in orbit over Eden,” the Commander says, tapping his heels against the ladder. “Figure we can set out in the morning? See about getting me a better gun, pick up DeVries trail.”
“Sounds good to me,” he says. “As long as you’re up for it, that is.”
The Commander waves him off. “I’ve literally slept for a decade. The last thing I want to do is rest more.” And Niles is about to point out that forced hibernation over an extended period of time isn’t exactly restful sleep but the Commander’s sliding down the ladder, crowding in to Niles’ space and bending to examine the valve he’s been working on.
“Assuming this isn’t, like, vital for the ship to not explode while we’re still in it,” he says, poking at it. And the warmth is suddenly spreading through Niles’ chest instead because the Commander knows a fair amount about engineering – about his ship, specifically – so he’s only doing this for Niles’ benefit. Letting him shift back on to something more comfortable, something he still feels like he has a semblance of control over.
“We’re not in imminent danger of exploding, no,” he assures. “Well, not because of this, anyway. I’m sure VAL could give you a more accurate assessment, if that’s what you’re after.”
“It’s really not,” the Commander says, draws his hand back as he straightens up and smiles at Niles again. “I really am glad you made it out okay, Abara. Who else would have kept my ship running this long? Everyone else would’ve sold her for parts.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Niles starts but the Commander stops him, sets a hand on Niles’ shoulder and leans in close to say, “Take the compliment, Niles.”
And, yep, his cheeks are getting warm all over again. “Okay, alright. Thank you – I mean, you’re welcome, Commander.”
He laughs, shakes his head. “Law, it’s just one step forwards, three steps back with you, huh?”
And then he’s leaving, heading out towards the main deck as Niles sputters.