Chapter Text
Beep… Beep… Beep…
The sound of a steady monitored heartbeat. The whirring of electric bright white lights overhead. The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol and a cleanly flowery fragrance. None of this is has any resemblance to the iron lung, a sick bastards claim as a submarine. And yet, it's all right in front of him. So that means… No. It can't be real.
His head hurts like hell, pounding pain in his forehead and temples amplified by his pulse flushing blood to heal his wounds. Shit, who is he kidding, everything hurts like hell. He blinks as his eyelids try to shield him from the blinding light while trying to catch a glimpse of what the hell is going on.
He's in a hospital bed, in a small ward that looks like nothing out of the ordinary, but there is some wear to the tiled walls and floor. The imperfection stands out to him and spikes his heart rate. No afterlife would have imperfections. Even if it's not something he truthfully believes in, it's the only conclusion that grounds him to reality… He isn't dead. He didn't die in that piece of shit submarine.
Agony shoots through his body to his left arm as he writhes and he grits his teeth as he uncontrollably shakes. A strangled pained shout escapes his throat but panic sets into his veins when he hears an loud unfamiliar beep, eyes seeing only red and a giant eyeball staring back at him… He gasps and pants like his lungs are desperate to suck in any air they can, like on the verge of some kind of episode, he guesses, as images of a low oxygen light and navigating that hunk of junk through a moons blood ocean flood through his mind… You're not there anymore, you made it out. And maybe, you're free. He breathes deeply, in and out, to steady his heart rate.
He lets out another pained sound as he attempts to move his head to see what ridiculous thing nearly gave him a panic attack, although, he can't move much without causing himself more pain. His eyes strain trying to view what made the sound, seeing a small dot of a blurry green light before his vision focusses on the IV drip to the side of his bed.
The label isn't something his brain recognises in this half numb half deaths door agony state but he can tell it's some serious painkiller. But whatever painkiller it is, isn't strong enough, he thinks… But. He's not dead. Not yet anyway. How?
His tired gazes drops from the machine and grunts as he reaches his hand to investigate the tube sitting in his arm but when he does… He realises his left arm is missing, completely gone from shoulder down…
His gut churns and a quiet and pained horrified sound escapes him as he stares at the bloodied bandage wrapped stump. And his vision floods with more visions of red and the memory plays of whatever clinging creature that lurked in the blood filling the sub, tightening in blackened vein like vines around his arm that wouldn't give under any of his desperate pulling or yanking effort. And eventually in his struggle… It's obvious what happened.
He yells out in horrible agony, even as his vision completely returns to the reality, to his stump, the feeling doesn't leave him and heavy tears, snot, and bubbling saliva drip down from his face as he painfully mourns…
"Fuck! No… No…! I… What the fuck…"
As he sobs, it's only then that he realises he's not alone... A pained sympathetic noise echos from his left and his dripping eyes track the sound.
It's the welder that but him in that godforsaken death trap, his death sentence, laying in a similarly sterile bed across from him. But his face and body is covered in painful blusters and wrapped in bandages, clearly from potent radiation exposure… Heavy unatoned guilt raises in him. They're both in this ward because of each other… How poetic. And yet, he's so distraught and inconsolable that he can't even bring himself to be angry with him…
"S-sorry… Did I wake you?" Simon awkwardly and shakily asks in sniffles.
"Yeah but… 'S alright." The welder quietly states, air in the room feeling not only awkward but heavy in a way that's suffocating, "I… I'm really sorry. Seriously. I don't even… know what else to say… But… 'You got enough morphine or whatever in that drip of yours?"
He tries to joke to ease and cope with the tension but Simon's in too much pain to laugh, even though it amuses him.
"No. I'd need enough to kill me twice for me to feel okay..." He breaths a joke in response but hanging with truth all the same, and with his heart pounding in his chest, he holds a thoughtful pause. "…I wasn't the only one you welded in that death trap, right?"
The room is quiet again and they know by now the feeling hanging in every inch of the space won't be dispelled by any word spoken.
"Yeah… There were others… 'Wasn't what I signed up for…" His voice trails off, so obviously ashamed for abiding to the team's commands and repentant just like him…
Simon winces at him, even when his bandaged eyes can't see him. And he lays back down in his hospital bed with a grunt, growing tired, completely exhausted in a way he hasn't felt in years...
"I know that feeling…" He mournfully whispers out into the air before dosing off.
A few hours later, he grumbles and wakes again to find two figures dressed in protective anti-radiation gear and scrubs, a doctor prodding him and Ava standing by with stern face under a respiratory mask and arms crossed.
"Good morning, Simon." She announces through the muffling mask, "'Sleep well?"
"Oh, fuck you." He scoffs and belts, shaking his head but gritting teeth and groaning again when a headache returns to him.
"Hey, quiet down. Jack is still asleep." She scolds but ironically not much quieter than his own distain.
"Not anymore, I'm not." He tiredly announces and groans from the other side did the room.
She waves a dismissal hand at him and Simon mumbles a quiet "sorry". The doctor finishes wrapping his bandages around his stump, wraps looking clean but not making him feel any better about needing them for his fucking amputated arm… He sighs and the doctor walks to the opposite side of the bed and they prick his other arm with a needle and draw blood brown him, a dark crimson filling the surringe, and they hold it up to the light and squint to see if there are any irregularities by sight alone.
"How's my blood looking?"
"We need to run tests." The doctor mumbles.
"More tests, huh? 'You guys still not done with me yet?" He snides, lying further back in the bed with a resentful snarl.
"Just a few. Your physiology—"
Ava clears her throat harshly and Simon's quick to realise they're hiding something from him. And looking down at his arm being wiped of blood, he spies another plaster next to the one being placed at the new puncture point. They've already done a test, haven't they?
"Just a few more tests." The doctor nods, reiterating it to appease Ava rather than comfort him, he thinks.
"Right…" Simon scoffs, shaking his head in anger and at everyone's audacity to keep him trapped, especially when he feels like he's just an inch away from his freedom…
"I'll have someone come to check back in on you two soon. And bring rations if you can manage to stomach it." Ava states plainly.
"Lucky me…" He scoffs once more.
He closes his eyes to hide from everything and if he's really lucky, fall into a deep and quiet sleep. But as they shuffle out the door, his mind fills with static and visions of blackened veins growing all over him and constricting his chest, making him unable to breath. He gasps and rasps for air that barely soothes his lungs with his only hand patting at his chest trying to rip away vines that don't exist.
"'You alright there, lad?" The welder asks with what sounds like genuine concern.
"Can't… breathe…" He pants and coughs, hoping for an relief to reach his lungs.
"You're not dying, okay? You're up here with me, you're not down there. You're gonna be okay."
"It hurts…" His voice rasps.
"I know… But you'll be alright. The feeling won't kill you, trust me. Just keep breathing."
And Simon does just that. After a few minutes, his breathing calms, even with the images plastered with blood still plaguing his mind. He takes a deep breath in and sighs as he turns towards Jack, lying back in bed looking at him with thick brown brows taut in concern. His face is free from wrapped bandages, now replaced with a few bits of gauze over bleeding wounds, and his deep blue eyes look intriguing and partly clouded as they meet his own.
It's only now that he gets a good look at his face. The man is pale with long brown hair that looks unkept and almost straw dry with greying roots, and covering his defined chin is a dark beard seared in a few spots from wild welding sparks or radiation burns… And his slightly aged skin is clear of blemishes besides the obvious peeling from radiation exposure… Simon feels like shit about what he did all over again. He seems like he was a handsome man before he ruined his face…
"You alright?"
Simon comes back to reality, shaking his head to himself for probably staring for longer than socially acceptable...
"Yeah… Sorry."
"'S alright. Probably best if you don't die on me though. If I'm stuck in here, it'd be nice to have someone to chat to." He jokes with something genuine in his words.
Simon quietly laughs, stunned that he shares his exact thought.
"I'll try not to but… No promises."
The welder quietly chuckles but they're interrupted by someone bringing them rations, freeze dried food and rehydrated food layed out unappealing on top of small plates on grey trays. And Simon laughs to himself as he hears the welder celebrate with a small unenthusiastic "yay".
By how sickly he looks, he can only imagine how hungry he must be from likely throwing up his guts while he was knocked out… The person shuffles out of the room quickly after placing each tray in front of them, leaving them alone in the sterile room once more. Simon stares blankly at the slop served to him, not all that different from what he had in prison... He wants to think of anything else than the food right now.
"So uh… You welded me into that thing…" Simon awkwardly tries to start a conversation.
"Yeah." The welder mumbles and chews as he nods, plastic fork scraping the plate with a grading irrating noise. "Like I said, not what I wanted."
"What did you want? Before all of this…" He asks, laying further into the bed and barely bother to nibble at a dry dense slab of bread.
The man pauses and sighs, still staring down at his tray as he speaks.
"I wanted to help people… kids and their families. 'Trained to be a therapist but… Nobody really cares about all that shite anymore... We're all fucked up… Trade was more reliable."
"Sounds nice. The therapist stuff, I mean. You would've helped a lot of people." Simon says genuinely.
The welder shrugs defeatedly with a sad smile as he continues to chew.
"Well… Nothing I can do about it now. But it's not like welding and construction is completely awful. 'Can be peaceful, when I'm by myself."
"So you went from wanting a job working directly with people to a job where you're isolated?"
"It's not that bad to be honest but… Yeah."
There's a long pause as they nibble at their rations and Simon's thankful for the glass of water provided with his meal, only learning how thirsty he was until he's chasing the water down his throat.
"What about you?" The welder asks before holding the thought, "What did you want before…"
Simon gulps down the last drop of the water.
"Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I don't know if I've ever wanted anything… I just wanted everyone to be okay…"
The welder hums mournfully in thought and silence falls over the room again. Simon is sure he's probably hungry but he can't feel it in his body. And the energy to eat is draining at him so with a sigh he places his tray to the side a lies back down. As he closes his eyes, he listens to the subtle sounds of plastic against ceramic which were once a bother but now oddly lull him to sleep. He's just thankful that in this new cell for radiation isolation, he isn't alone.
He feels groggy when wakes up next, unsure of what time it is or where he is. And he becomes more confused as a doctor pushes the blood contents of a syringe into the welders arm rather than drawing it out. A familiar doctor nods at him and hands him a glass of water which he drinks down eagerly. He looks a lot less sickly than the day before and his eyes look less clouded.
"Oh, you've woken up. Hang on, I'll get Ava." The doctor states.
"I'd rather you not…"
The welder cackles and holds his chest in pain and he coughs harshly while the doctor leaves the room.
"What time is it?" Simon asks, stretching his body and groaning when he hears something pop.
"Some time in afternoon, not sure, but you should be asking what day it is. You've been out for like twenty four hours."
"What?? How?"
The welder shrugs seemingly lost for whatever answer he's looking for.
"Guess you just needed it."
"H-have they done anymore tests on me? I wanna know what they're doing to me." Simon mumbles with worry, earning him a sympathetic expression.
"Well… It's been a lot of blood tests. That's it really."
"You'd tell me if it wasn't just that, right?"
"Yeah, man." He promises with a lilted voice, "But hey, it's looking like we could get out soon. Maybe today."
"Wait, really!? You're serious?"
"Yeah, our radiation levels are going down apparently. If we wash off and they check us and say we're good, 'think we're free roaming then."
"Alright, cool." Simon nods blankly as his mind wanders back to what he saw, "Um… Why were they putting blood back into your arm?"
"'Don't know the ins and outs of it to be fair. Some sorta treatment for radiation where they do something with my blood and I guess it's helping. 'Haven't thrown up all day."
"Nice. I'm glad."
An awkward expression pulls over the other man's face and fills him with regret and he can hazard as guess as to why. He scrambles for a better response as he parts with the bed to soothe his numbing legs, walking towards the welder and suddenly standing at the edge of the hospital cot.
"Um… Hey. I-I'm really sorry about um… well, you know… I didn't know that it—"
The welder sighs and shrugs.
"'S alright, man, I know it was an accident. Ava always tells people fuck all about expeditions so… 'Was to be expected. Just wish I'd got out' the way faster." He shrugs and half heartedly chuckles as if he's accepted his doom.
"Yeah… I'm sorry. If I'd known, I would've—"
"Eh, don't worry about it. There's nothing ya can do. Besides, like I said, the treatment they're giving me 's promising! There's probably like only a 20% chance I might die now." He jokingly cheers half heartedly.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry—"
"Alright, if you say sorry one more feckin' time, I'll cave yer head in." He scoffs and grins.
"Pfft, yeah right. I'd like to see you try. Did you see how I empaled that monster? You'd have no chance." Simon playfully preens.
He gets whacked on the arm.
"Ow! Hey! I'm still tender there!"
"And how' you think I feel?"
The word "sorry" almost leaves his lips again but he holds back to avoid the possiblity of getting punched in the face, if Jack is serious that is.
"My bad." He shrugs, getting another laugh that he's proud of.
The doors opens with a creak and Ava steps in with familiar scrubs and gear, already looking them both up and down, and Simon folds his arms and stands solid ground to let her know he's not going to play any more of her games.
"How are you boys doing today?"
"We want out." Simon sternly states.
She take a deep breath and lets out a long extended sigh.
"Look, we all need to get along on this station so let's all try to remain civil."
Simon scoffs and shakes his head, looking to his isolation roomie in disbelief and receiving a equally bewildered smile in return.
"You both need disinfected again and if your radiation levels are normal, then I will let you both out."
The guys quietly celebrate to themselves.
"And then get my freedom." Simon presses.
"Right. However, we do have an arrangement for you."
"What arrangement!?" Simon growls in frustration, entirely over the bullshit.
"I'll just— Wash off, okay? Jack, this is your part."
Ava quickly steps out of the room and he can see through the frosted glass a team in hazmat suits preparing to hose them down. Jack sighs and rubs a hand over his face. So much for making a friend.
"What the hell!" Simon yells in betrayal. "What does she mean arrangement?"
"Well… They've actually assigned me to you to—"
"No fucking way, are you serious?" He continues to grumble.
"'S only for a little bit. Just to make sure you're not, you know, completely fucking insane and a danger to everyone on board. But, I'll show you around. 'Help ya adapt."
"I was promised my freedom. Having someone following me at all times… That's the same shit I had to put up with as a convict. That's not the freedom I was promised!"
"Look, man, you really don't have a say in this unfortunately… And... I'm the only person on this station with psychology experience. I'll try not to be a pain in your ass but… I still have to keep track of you and do periodic psych evaluations."
"This is such bullshit… I can't fucking believe this. I mean, I can but… Goddamn it." He sighs and tries to still the rage shooting through his veins.
A silence fills the room again and Simon sighs in defeat. It's not like the man is his enemy or any of the people poking him with needles. He can't really blame him for the circumstances and consequences of his own bullshit. Plus, the likelihood that there will be anyone else on the station willing to talk to him seems pretty slim. It's better to just accept it and deal with it.
"Sorry. I know you're just assigned to do this… I'm sure you don't wanna put up with my bullshit either..."
"How about this… Let's just pretend that we're… new coworkers getting to know each other. And we just keep bumping into one another. Right? That way, it's like we have a choice… An illusion of one anyway…"
Another silent beat passes as Simon thinks, nodding when he comes to a conclusion.
"Yeah. That's probably better than setting myself on fire in protest."
"Jesus. Are you really that dramatic?"
"Hmm, yeah, you're right. That's stupid. A hunger strike would be more effective."
He rolls his eyes and scoffs, thick eyebrows draw close together.
"You know, that's pretty offensive thing to say to a Irishman."
"Wh— Fuck, sorry—"
"Pfft, I'm just messin' with ya, don't worry. Man, you really say sorry a lot, don't ya?" He chuckles, pleasant wrinkles blooming at the sides of his eyes, "What's your name anyway, convict?"
"Oh, um. I'm Simon." He mumbles, awkwardly steps back and forth on his feet.
He sticks out his remaining hand politely for a handshake and Jack scoffs amused, but nonetheless, he takes his hand and shakes firmly. And he realises, it's the only real physical contact he's had for a while, besides being pushed around by guards, and he almost wants to linger. Almost.
"Jack. Nice to meet ya."
"'Pleasure." He nods.
His responce gets him a polite half smile and it makes him hopeful again that he might, for once, have someone around who isn't openly hostile towards him. Maybe even a friend.
The door opens once more and they're both ushered out of the small ward into a even more sterile room with a few yellow hazmat suited crew members prepared for their decontamination. One of the overseers points to a locker room off to the side and the two men quickly get the idea of what they're supposed to do, awkwardly stripping themselves and putting their clothes in the lockers while trying to not make eye contact with each other.
One at a time, they're hosed down with various methods and Jack volunteers to go first. While waiting, Simon winces when he hears him yelling out in pain in the distance, wounds definitely making the experience all the more shitty. Thankfully for Simon, his stump doesn't hurt unbearably when he's hosed down and he's thankful that he can have a hot shower afterwards, unsure of when the last time he had that privilege was. He shouldn't get used, he thinks, they still want to use him as a lab rat… Maybe he'd be better off dying down in that blood ocean… But despite all odds, he's alive.
The small shower room is already filled with heavy steam when he steps inside for respite from the chaos of everything. But his face burns when he catches Jack bare at one of the few showerheads, washing himself down and carting through his long hair, rubbing suds over the heavy hair covering his arms and chest where most of the burns seemed to have healed with almost elegant motions. And despite previously looking poorly and sick, he appears to be on the muscular side but not excessively defined. He silently watches as his hands caress his skin as he washes away the bubbles cringing to the hair covering his pecs and stomach, water cascading down and—
Simon closes his eyes and winces to himself. Don't blow your only chance at an actual friendship or friendly relationship at all just because you think that this guy's kinda maybe just a little bit attractive. Stop thinking at all… He coughs to announce himself and then both men pause, almost like cogs whir in their heads, and without making eye contact Jack raises a friendly hand in acknowledgment.
Simon scans the room and reluctantly and awkwardly walks up next to Jack to grab the only bottle shower gel left for them to use, sighing while struggling to open it with one hand but he gets a small shock when Jack's worn fingers brush his own. When he looks to Jack's face, he almost appears to be embarrassed with a gentle blush over his cheeks. It's kind of cute in a way… No, definitely not. Shit.
"Ah, s-sorry. I just— I'll open it for ya."
"T-thank you." Simon nods, looking to the tiled wall and holding a hand out for the bottle being placed back into his hand.
"No worries." He nods and in his voice it almost sounds like he has a shy grin on his face.
Simon takes a flustered breath and as some soap is poured into his hand to wash himself clean, trailing and rubbing over his strong neck, shoulders, pecs, and chest, trying not think about the pleasant feeling of the hot water and his hand massaging his skin when Jack is so close to him. If anything, he needs to run out of here immediately from the weird energy they're building between each other, but even with the tense feeling, the closeness is still so appealing to him… Not simply because of the closeness that he's been starved of for far too long but there's something about Jack too that puts him at ease, despite him also making him nervous now too… Jack is…
His ears burn and he hesitates before his eyes shift back to look at Jack with water dripping from his brows and his eyelashes, and he gapes when he finds him staring back at him so intently with those deep blue ocean eyes.
"J-Jack…?" He voice wobbles softly, face washed with a gentle pink.
"S-sorry… I…" He breathes and blushes hard, turning completely away from him to face the wall.
Without much else to say, Jack swiftly walks out of the room while grabbing a towel for his decency on his way out. Simon stands still with the feeling of hot water massaging at his head and shoulders, still oddly relaxing despite feeling short of breath and his heart pounding in his chest. Was Jack actually staring at him? Maybe even checking him out? It's probably ridiculous to assume but then again, way stranger things have happened to him. Should he even try to bring it up? Logic dictates they should forget that any of this happened and move on with their lives but there's a part of Simon that knows he wants to know the truth, badly. Fuck.