Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the end, Anya needed not to subject herself to the terror of entering the yawning maw of the cockpit hallway, knowing who was behind that final door. As soon as the Utility Room door shut behind her with a suctioning woosh, the Tulpar’s resident copilot sharply turned the corner, nearly springing a head on collision. 

“Ugh! Watch where you’re going!” He brushed his front as though to swipe away the very thought of Anya’s essence clinging to him. 

“Sorry,” She winced, rubbing her shoulder as she had to buck into the wall to avoid crashing into him. Taking a breath, she steeled herself for this interaction. Without it being obvious, Jimmy wasn’t over what happened at the party. The man could hold a grudge till his death and had no issue with leaking his ire everywhere. If he decided to harass her, Swansea was only a slab of metal away. “I was actually looking for you.”

Jimmy, who’d already begun taking off, stopped in his tracks. “Oh really?” He said, turning around and showing half of his face: a study in skepticism and amusement.

“I found this key on the floor,” She cut to the chase, fishing it out of her pocket and showing it to him palm upward. “Swansea said it was the ship’s autopilot key and to return it to the cockpit as soon as possible. Said it was dangerous for it to be out of its locker.”

Upon the sight of the key in her hand, Jimmy turned around fully, coming towards her with a speed that would’ve made her back away had it not been for the sheer surprise outlined on the man’s face. Slightly widened eyes, slightly lowered jaw, it was clear that Jimmy had no idea that the key was missing. Swansea was right. Of course Jimmy would be clumsy with an object that meant the difference between life and death. Why and how Curly got Jimmy this job, she hadn’t the faintest clue. But it's been 5 years since he joined and there’d never be another one. No point in questioning it now. At least once this shipment was done, she’d never have to see his ugly mug again.

Wordlessly, Jimmy took the keys from her fingers, twirled it between his own for a moment then shoved it in his pocket. Surprise had melted away into something typically neutral. Typically concealing and betraying little to none of what swirled around in his mind. “Is Curly awake yet? There’s some navigation stuff he’s been slacking behind on. ‘s gonna get dicey in a couple days and he needs to get his crap out of the way.” 

“I’m going to check on him now,” Anya answered. “Depending on how he’s doing I’ll send him your way or to bed. I might just send him to rest either way.”

Jimmy’s left eye twitched. “Again? People have to earn their titles, you know. If Curly can’t pick himself up after a day and a half then he really shouldn’t be in the captain’s seat. Leaving me to do all of his work, as always. Tch. Assaulting me, slacking off in his room then publicly breaking down, how unbecoming.”

“You made him break down,” She pointed a finger. “You could’ve left the letter in the fax machine and let him see it in his own time, or gave it to him when he went in earlier. Not to mention he smashed his head into a table , he won’t be able to focus for a while.”

“Not my problem. You should be earning your own title, Nurse Anya. Go get him up,” He skirted around acknowledging the truth of his actions and spun around to march away to who knew where, leaving her behind. 

Frustration coursed through Anya as she stomped her way down the hall. However, it was fleeting as her fists were already unclenched, bottom lip released from the grip of her teeth and breath evened out by the time she stood in front of the lounge door. There was no point in getting worked up. What was she going to do? Punch him? Not only was getting a hit on Jimmy a pipe dream if she ever saw one, but Curly would be upset. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about crewmates fist fighting one another. An image of Swansea performing a flying elbow drop straight into Jimmy’s stomach unexpectedly popped in her mind. She let out a laugh through her nose, shaking her head slightly and opened the door. 

Light, panicked huffing was the first sound that greeted Anya’s ears. 

Rushing over to the conversation pit, the first thing Anya noticed besides an awakened, distressed Curly were drops of blood soaking into the couch. Silver metal glinted and given the way the blankets were flung far off as opposed to gently folded aside, Anya had a pretty good idea as to what kind of accident might have occurred. Daisuke was nowhere to be found, sketchbook and colored pencils abandoned on the coffee table.

“Gghk… off, need….off…fff hnngggh,” Curly’s breathing was hitched and shallow. Eyes wide and unblinking as his fingers scrambled desperately around his head, face and neck in search of something. Kneeling upright on the couch, Curly swayed slightly, his clothes askew on his pale, slick with sweat frame. His standard yellow Pony express shirt, one that was clearly a size or so too big for him, had slid down one shoulder, revealing to Anya a long healed stab wound. It was jagged, big enough to indicate a fight or some kind of freak accident and made Anya shudder thinking about how it would have looked fresh. 

“Curly,” He jumped, her soft steady voice a thundering boom in the otherwise heavy silence of the lounge room. “Curly, I need you to breathe. Can you hear me? I need you to breathe. You are safe now, okay? No one is going to hurt you. I am here. Can you breathe for me? You’re safe.” 

Anya breathed in and out deeply to coax Curly into the motions. It took a few seconds for him to even notice she was there and a few seconds more to breathe in tandem with her.

“…A-anya?” He rasped. His eyes, reddened with the desperation still lingering within, struggled to focus. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. “When did—how did I—?”

“You had a panic attack and lunged into a table leg,” Anya answered. “You’ve been out of it for a while. How are you feeling?” 

Curly lowered his head, eyes flitting back and forth in self assessment. He opened his mouth and closed it, gaping like a fish. Trembling fingers curled and uncurled aimlessly as Curly tried to think, tried to dredge up the words to answer her. He looked frightened and utterly exhausted, still swaying and groaning as having lived a million agonizing lifetimes in a singular moment. 

“P-pain,” He settled, the words falling off his tongue heavily. “Ev-everywhere. Burning.” He shuddered, let out an exhale and suddenly lurched forward as the control he had over his body vanished. Anya shot out to catch him, but he jerked back in time, clinging to the couch for stability. His knuckles whitened in a deathly grip. “Don’t—” His face was squeezed shut in terrified anticipation, breaths hitching once more. 

“Don’t touch you, I understand,” Anya said, keeping her hands to herself and sitting on the coffee table as Curly relaxed. She didn’t miss the slight pinch in his face every time she spoke, like the words were bullets to the back of his skull. “Curly, is this your first time having a panic attack? Do you think you might know what caused it?” 

“Ngh. M-my head feels…fff–I need them off. Th-the badnages–b-bangna—bandages,” He avoided answering the question, or maybe did not realize she asked it. Curly’s fingers were back up, running along the edge of gauze wrapped around his skull, picking and pulling and looking for a way to free himself. He wouldn’t be able to, not with the way his nails were bitten down to practically nothing. 

“I’m sorry, Curly. I can’t take them off. You have a nasty head wound. They need to stay on for your protection,” Anya answered apologetically. Her heart wrenched as Curly’s eyes became wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take it off.”

“But it hurts,” Curly’s voice was laden with the force it took to hold back a sob.

“I know, but I have to put my foot down,” Anya said. “This happened because I ignored the warning signs. It’ll be okay. I made sure they weren’t tight. Curly—no, don’t make that face—Curly, you have a wound that took eight stitches to seal, eight. You haven’t eaten in hours and if you go on like this, you’ll surely faint.”

“B-but–it’s my–”

“No, don’t protest. This is for your own good,” She said and leaned forward. Still not touching, she gently coaxed Curly to sit flat on the couch, planting his feet on the floor. There, she saw the red line dripping from his mid calf to ankle, the beads slipping between silky, long blonde strands and taking its residency in the band of his right sock. 

“...My legs…” He said, running his hands along them and talking to himself more than at her. More tears began to well in his eyes, a steady wall that had not yet been broken by a blink.

“Don’t be embarrassed, I don’t shave my legs either unless I’m going on vacation. Which in this case means my legs are highly reminiscent of a boar right now,” Anya jested while looking around for something nearby to soak up the blood and examine how long or deep the spring cut him. Curly chuckled, but it was hollow. He was still looking at his legs. Maybe he wasn’t laughing with her.

“Just use my sock. It’s already ruined,” 

“Are you sure?” Anya asked. Curly made a motion to nod his head but aborted the action, electing instead to give a grunt. “May I?” She gestured to his leg. Curly grunted again, a lighter sound this time.

Perpetually cool fingers gently lifted feverish skin into her lap, resulting in Curly letting out a shuddering breath through his nose. She slipped his sock from his foot and dabbed up the blood, careful not to put any more pressure on his sensitive body. Anya let out a sound of relief. It was simply a minor scratch, one requiring nothing more than a little hydrogen peroxide. Looked worse than it was. Stifled warbling sounds came from Curly, and Anya looked up to find Curly biting his knuckles as tears freely fell from his face. His gaze was casted off to the side, microexpressions telling a tale of the captain grappling with some sort of intense, internal battle. Upon eye contact with her, whatever thin resolution he had shattered and he began sobbing.

“I’m—I’m sorry you have to take care of me, Anya,” He cried. Shoulders shuddering, lips quivering, fingers twitching as he covered his face. “You’re always taking care of me. I don’t deserve it.”

“What? That’s not true. Why would you think that?” Anya was genuinely taken aback, jaw dropped slightly in shock. Leg forgotten, she scooched the coffee table forward (mindful of the items still atop it) to take his hands into hers. He didn’t resist, his thicker fingers curling into her slender ones in search of, yet rejecting comfort. 

“I ruined everything. I knew you were looking forward to it, you wanted to celebrate but in the end I made you work. I should’ve tried harder to—” Anya pressed a finger against her own lips, a sign for Curly to quiet.

“No, no. Stop right there, Curly. Sorry, but what nonsense are you spouting? This isn’t your fault at all. If it was anyone’s it would be mine and Jimmy’s. Me for watching you push yourself and doing nothing to intervene and Jimmy’s for well…y’know.” 

“It’s just you’re such a good person, and I’m not. You don’t deserve having to deal with me,” Curly’s eyes drifted to the side again as though looking into Anya’s own eyes brought him physical pain.   

“I’m not ‘dealing with you’, Curly. I–what’s–what’s brought this on?” 

“...I don’t know,” Curly looked ashamed, further avoiding eye contact with her by turning his whole head to the side. “I don’t know. I–just…you deserve the world, Anya, and I’m sorry I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry I can’t even look you in the eye right now. You’re always giving to me, but I never—I never have anything in return. Nothing good, at least.”

“I’m your medic, Curly. I don’t do this with the expectation of receiving anything in return. All I ask is that you be a good captain, and you are,” She interlocked their fingers in a comforting gesture. She squeezed lightly, but he didn’t squeeze back.

“No, no I’m not. You’re mistaken,” Curly broke out into a mirthless laugh that bordered on another sob, his head minutely shaking. He sucked in his lips then let out a shaky breath. His eyes glistened again, rolling up as Curly tried to hold onto his fraying composure. “Far from it,” He sniffed, voice wet and withdrawing his hands from Anya to wrap them around himself. “I’m not—I just…I’m not good.” He buried his head in his knees. He seemed so small and tiny, like a wounded puppy. 

Anya shook her head, trying to figure out the source of this self deprecation. Curly had always been confident, self assured. And he played his role well. Not perfectly, but who did?  She scrambled for words to say to convince him otherwise and came up with nothing. “If you think you’re not good—which is a load of slag if you ask me—then why don’t you try being good now? That’s a start, yes?” Anya had figured that now wasn’t the best time to argue against whatever was swirling around in the man’s injured head, but instead lead him through his dilemma with feasible solutions.

“I’m the captain. I shouldn’t ‘try’, I should already be ...you know what? Forget about it,” He mumbled. “I don’t know what I was thinking saying all of that. Forget I said anything at all.”

“Curly—”

“No, stop. I don’t want to talk anymore, please. My head hurts,” He sunk into himself, the weight of Curly’s leg on her thigh becoming heavier as he let go of the strength that had been slipping from him this entire time.

“Very well,” She sighed, dropping the topic even though she really didn’t want to. “But I won’t forget.” 

Curly didn’t respond.

Anya moved from the coffee table, careful to rest Curly’s leg back on the floor before standing up. “Here,” She said, pulling the table a little closer to Curly’s knees. “Daisuke made you some soup, and I have some medicine and water for the headache. If you can, please try to eat first. I don’t want you taking pills on an empty stomach.”

“I’m not hungry,” Curly said, voice hardly coming out as a whisper. His stomach betrayed him with a very audible, very painful sounding 5 second gurgle. Curly shifted uncomfortably. “And I especially don’t want any pills.” 

“I don’t want to beg or use force, Curly,” She gently warned. Still, Curly refused any of her attempts to get him to eat, take the medicine or even drink the water.

“ Please , Curly. You’re not taking very good care of yourself right now. ‘When I take care of myself, I take care of you. Can’t lead you through space if I’m dead on my feet, can I?’ You said those words to me once, long ago. Do you remember that? Jimmy’s already complained to me, don’t prove him right. None of us will ever hear the end of it.” 

At that, Curly finally stirred, sitting up with reluctance. “Your memory will be the end of me,”

“Oof, I hope not. A memory like that wouldn’t serve a doctor well would it?” The corner of his lips twitched upwards. She’d take that. 

Pony Express Exclusive Signature Beef Soup with Vegetables Extravaganza ™ sloshed uninvitingly in the plastic bowl. No porcelain or metal for a miffed crewmate to crack against another’s skull. Truly, Pony Express knew where to lay on the bubble wrap. Brown liquid with lumps no more indistinguishable than dirt covered rocks sitting sideways in a mud filled pothole stared up to face Curly who rightfully wrinkled his nose at it. Red rimmed sky blue eyes looked up to Anya in silent pleading.

“You’re right. I think the chicken would be more appetizing, but it’s already been made. We can’t waste anything. Please, eat up,” Curly’s hands slowly wrapped around the bowl, Anya didn’t take her hands away, wanting to ensure he had a firm grip on it. His hands seemed rather shaky. Fatigue? Apprehension at the delectable meal? Nausea?—He was looking a little green around the gills. All variables seemed likely.

“You’ve got a good grip?” Anya asked. Curly hesitated for a moment, then made a noise of confirmation and Anya released her hands. Near immediately the bowl titled. Had it not been for Anya’s quick reflexes, half of it would’ve spilled onto Curly’s lap. Warm, D grade soup dribbled down their fingers, creating a slimy mess that could’ve been a lot worse. Despite how little damage there was, Curly reacted like he scorched all their fingers off.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Anya! I thought I had it!”

“It’s okay, accidents happen,” Anya said evenly, not wanting to further stir Curly’s panic. She wiped her hands on the leg of her coveralls. It was due for a wash anyway. Curly’s hands were visibly trembling now and if Anya had put her ears to his chest, the roar of his quickening heartbeat would punch her eardrums out. “Let’s try that again shall we.”

“I’ll–I’ll drop it and make a mess,”

“I’ll hold onto it this time,” She adjusted so that she was sitting beside him rather than standing in front of him. The spoon slid around the rim of the bowl with the movement. 

Curly took the silver spoon with a shaky hand and used his other, equally shaky, one to hold his wrist steady, but it hadn’t even made it past the rim before the contents spilled from the edges, falling like rain into the ocean. Curly let out a grunt, the silverware slipping from his fingers and dropping back in the bowl. It splashed lightly, rippling in sync with the waves of Curly’s growing frustration.

“Forget the spoon, just sip,” 

Anya guided the bowl up to Curly’s chin, but it was up to him to tilt it into his mouth. It hovered for a few seconds as Curly deliberated within his mind. Lips touched the rim of the bowl, then teeth bit it, grinding down as Curly psyched himself to eat. With a deep breath, Curly sipped but he didn’t swallow, eyes pinched shut as the liquid sat in his cheeks. Did Curly have a sore throat? Anya didn’t consider that Curly might’ve found it difficult to swallow after vomiting so violently and screaming so harshly. Curly spit the soup back in the bowl, letting out a gasp as though he’d been released from a chokehold. Anya gave him time to try again. Curly tilted the bowl back into his mouth and this time, released the bowl to slap his hands over his mouth. 

In and out and in and out Curly breathed, then swallowed hard. He coughed and massaged his throat. “I kn-know you won’t release me after one bite, but I can’t handle a full bowl of this—this liquidized dog food right now.” 

“Fair. Can you manage half of it and maybe some of the meat? I’d like you to have something solid in your system,” The veggies had somehow completely disintegrated, fusing into the broth to become some sort of lumpy amalgamate.  

“I’ll try,” Curly said. “With the broth. Not the meat. I–I’m going to throw up if I eat it. That’s not resistance, that’s a warning.”  Anya heeded, not wanting to push Curly further than he was already pushing himself.

She continued holding up the bowl as Curly tilted it towards himself. His sips were not as grand as the first, smaller but more frequent and requiring less of a hype up. Slowly but surely, Curly drained the contents of the bowl. He ate exactly half. 

“You did great, Curly. Thank you.” Anya smiled, feeling accomplished.

“For?”

“Listening to me and letting me take care of you. It’s–it’s a silly thing to be thankful for but I have had to treat crewmates in the past who refused to listen to what I suggested. When they inevitably became worse, they blamed it on me and said I was terrible at my job. Thinking about it now, it's so funny how they resisted my care for obvious reasons. Subjecting yourself to further suffering proves no point other than you’re too prideful for your own good but…at the moment I felt extremely dejected. Denied by medical schools and ignored by my coworkers, how could I be a doctor—a surgeon with such low merit?” She placed the half empty, now cold bowl of slop on the coffee table.

“But, I will give credit where credit is due. Neither you nor Swansea have given me as much of a cold shoulder as other people have in the past. Swansea’s an—in his own words—‘old geezer’, so he’s allergic to being openly nice. And you well, you take care of yourself well enough to not need me often. And when you do, you heed me as you did now. Like I said before, I just wish that you would open up to me a little bit more on the psych evaluations,” 

Daisuke treated her words as gospel, following her instructions to the letter. Was it his desire to please or did he genuinely believe in her capabilities? Anya didn’t know quite yet. Daisuke could talk about nothing and everything and that made it difficult to parse filler from fact but either way, she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Jimmy on the far end of the spectrum would most likely—no definitely rather let lemmings lead him off a cliff than listen to a single syllable that came from her mouth. It was a good thing for him that idiots couldn’t catch colds. 

Curly didn’t say anything. He’d contorted sideways to rest his head on the pillow and groan into it, one arm across his stomach and the next arm on his head…Oh right! The medicine. She nearly forgot that she had him eat in preparation for it. His head must absolutely be killing him now.

“Sorry, Curly. I need you to sit up for me one last time. I have some pain medication for you,” Immediate release oxycodone for getting right back into the heart of your shift because god forbid Pony Express let you do a silly thing such as recuperate.

“Do I have to take it?” There was a certain… look that trickled into Curly’s eyes when he said it. Something akin to fear maybe? Anya’s mind didn’t provide her with any memories that suggested Curly was adverse to oral tablets.  

“You don’t have to do anything but…I really can’t stand to see you in pain like this. And after the hell you’ve been through recently, you deserve some relief. I honestly hope these make you feel better,”

It seemed those were the magic words. Curly sat upward staring intensely at the medicine. Like it burned him and like it was a lifeline. “Feel better,” He chucked. It was a bitter laugh. “Right, right  I said I didn’t want them, but I was wrong. Somehow, I forgot that medicine makes pain go away . Strange.”

“You...are in pain, right?” She handed the pill over. Anya didn’t think that in half an hour, the pain from such a gash could completely disappear.  

Curly didn’t answer. Instead he ran his index finger along the rim of the cup, tapped his finger on it then ran it along the rim again. His eyes, unblinking, flashed both with fear and anticipation. A strange grin grimace fusion crossed his face.

“They do. They do make me feel better and it’s my choice this time,” Curly said, clearly in response to whatever thought process he was having and backed the pill. Immediately it came up, but that didn’t deter Curly as he backed it again and again until it finally stayed down. 

Anya wrinkled her face; the choking sounds were awful.

“Where are my clothes?” Curly suddenly asked, suddenly aware. Anya couldn’t blame him for not fully noticing though, there were other things to focus on. 

“Soiled,” She answered. 

Curly simply hummed, sliding a hand into the left pocket of his black gym shorts, the white logo long since peeled off and leaving behind a gray outline. He froze. “Where is it?”  

Anya didn’t even get a chance to ask what was Curly talking about before the man shot from the couch, his right knee colliding with the edge of the coffee table hard enough for the sound of a wicked CRACK! to pierce Anya’s eardrums. 

Did Curly just…did Curly just break his knee? 

“Curly!” Anya called out, but he didn’t react to the sound of her voice. Nor did he react to breaking his knee as he spun on it to rip the couch apart. Anya dove to the side as pillows and couch cushions went flying. 

“Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit!” The demand repeated on Curly’s tongue, said as madly as the wild, frantic look in his eyes. From the original patch outward Curly shredded the fabric apart with his bare hands, revealing rusted frames and springs. Diving to the floor, Curly shot his hand under the destroyed furniture, arm sweeping back and forth as he crawled to cover every square inch shrouded beneath the seat. He shot up again when he realized it wasn’t there, head swiveling around in search of this missing object. He paced back and forth, prematurely cutting his strides to turn to another direction before cutting himself off again, like he was being pulled by multiple invisible strings and couldn’t decide which direction to commit to. 

Anya was almost afraid to ask what he lost. What could Curly possibly be looking for to trigger such an instant switch from the calm he was settling into seconds prior to this desperate rummager. The key word here was almost. “CURLY! What are you looking for?”

“My k–thinggggg g that is very, very important ,” 

“The autopilot key,” Anya said and Curly froze for a second time. He trained on her and Anya suddenly felt like she stepped on a crispy branch in a deathly silent forest. Whoever lived there was watching her now. 

“Why are you looking for it? And why did you try to lie to me?”

Curly was silent, staring at her with those red rimmed eyes. At that moment though, Anya thought that wasn’t Curly. That was someone else. Someone who was haunted. 

“You know you’re not supposed to have it. Why Curly, are you looking for it and so, so desperately?”

“Do you know where it went?”

“What?” 

“Where is it?”

“I’ll tell you if you calm down,”

“I’ll calm down if you tell me,”

“...”

“...”

“...I gave it to Jim—”

Curly blitzed away like a bat out of hell, skipping every step out of the conversation pit and passing through the lounge doors before Anya could fully register that he was gone. Once she did, she chased after him, heartbeat beating in her eardrums and his pants echoing through the metallic halls. For a man with a broken knee, Curly should not be that fast even if opioids were running through his system. The Tulpar wasn’t a huge ship by any stretch of the imagination, but Curly’s strides made Anya feel as though they were worlds apart. Anya called out Curly’s name, but he didn’t respond, locked in whatever instruction his brain was ordering the rest of his body to do. Pleading, begging, Anya urged for Curly to slow down, listen to reason and talk to her. Golden curls turned the corner, disappeared from her line of sight and— 

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Silence.

Anya’s heart plummeted through her stomach. No…

No no no no no.

Curly lay crumpled at the bottom of the grated staircase. There was a lot of blood and not a single sound came from him. Was he…was he dead? Anya couldn’t get her muscles to move. She was paralyzed—pinned in that one spot. Moving, going down there to check on Curly was only sealing his fate, right? If she didn’t move then nothing would change. Time couldn’t proceed forward and confirm the worst. Anya couldn’t go down there and pronounce him dead. She couldn’t. They’d just been talking. She’d just been taking care of him. He couldn’t be—

“Hnnnngh!” 

Horrified, dark brown eyes focused to see Curly completely ignoring his nearly lethal fall and pushing himself from the ground with extreme effort. Relief flooded Anya’s entire being. As Anya made her way carefully down the stairs (the traction in her worn sandals was practically non-existent), Curly hobbled forward like a zombie in a consistent, steady pace despite gaining a significant limp. Either his knee worsened or something else was broken. He clutched his left arm tightly to his body with the forearm of his right arm. Something was definitely broken on each limb. Already his skin was mottling with dark purple splotches. Each shaky footfall was punctuated by the labored breaths of a man on his deathbed.  

Saving grace that he was, Daisuke appeared. However, he noticed Curly before he noticed Anya. 

“Oh my—!” He dropped his basket of laundry with a look of pure shock on his face, the sound a gunshot splitting the terrified silence.

“Get me to the cockpit no questions asked and I’ll give you all the sweetener you want,” Curly rasped, blood and spit running from his mouth like a faucet. Daisuke was strong, he’d helped her lift several of the heavier boxes into the Tulpar when they were first boarding with ease.. He’d be able to take some weight off the captain's leg to help him move faster. Anya hoped Daisuke would make the correct decision here. 

“Hmmmm, I dunno,” Daisuke said casually, trying not to freak out and then stalling for time when he noticed Anya from the corner of his eye. “It’s a pretty sweet deal, but you really look like shit, Captain. There’s a lot of blood on your face. Did you fall down the stairs? You need to go to Anya before you go to work. You don’t even have shoes on. Oh, look! There she is!”

Looking behind him toward her, Curly mouthed a curse (his face looked terrible : bruised and swelling right eye, broken nose, split lip, scrapes and abrasions) and shoulder checked Daisuke before continuing his march forward. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Anya exclaimed, swiveling from his back to his front, effectively blocking his path. His remaining eye looked like that of a panicked, tortured soul. It was downright unnerving, but Anya’s resolve was strengthened, fueled partially in fear for Curly and just how unrecognizable he was. “You are coming to the medbay with me this instant or so help me!”

“Woah,” Daisuke said unhelpfully, backing off as he put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“ You don’t understand. Just …” Curly coughed nastily, blood spurting from his mouth as he stumbled and held himself up against the wall. His breaths were ragged. “Let me check, please. I need to check. I’ll–I’ll do whatever you want Anya, I just— I need to see it. I just need to know where it is please ….” Curly pleaded. His busted face was colored in desperation and despair and settling blood. 

Anya’s heart panged. Should she humor this? Her eyes flicked to Daisuke, who simply gave a shrug. “I mean he did pretty much fling himself down the stairs for whatever it is he’s asking to see. I wouldn’t want my dance with death to be in vain.”

“...Fine, but I’m coming with you,” Anya slung Curly’s less broken arm across her shoulder and helped him along forward. Silence stretched between them as infinite as the stars they were blasting through. 

Curly slipped his own arm from Anya’s shoulder as they stood in front of the cockpit door. He leaned heavily against it—Anya should’ve predicted where this was about to go—the weight of his entire body pushing downward on the handle and he fell through.

“Finally. It’s about damn time that you—what the shit?” Jimmy looked surprised for the second time that day as he looked up from the numerous maps and star charts littered across the floor to see the bruised, bloody and battered form of his captain crawling on elbow and knee towards the Utility Locker.  

“What did you do, Anya? Why does he look like he escaped a cage match with a baboon?” 

“Captain threw himself down the stairs,” Daisuke provided. “Anya was trying to stop him.”

Curly didn’t say anything as he stared into the locker. Anya was sure that relief would’ve flooded the man’s features had he not looked like his life force was sucked out of him with a bendy straw. Jimmy caught onto Curly’s purpose for being there instantly. 

“Of course the key’s in there, dumbass. No thanks to you,” Jimmy’s look had dropped from surprised to irritated. “Stealing company property? Seriously, Curly? Are you trying to speed run tanking your reputation? What, you want Pony to fire you too? Make you part of the team ? Wanna finally interact with the rest of us undesirables?”

“Shut up, Jimmy,” Anya found herself saying. She had a pounding headache. Maybe she needed a pill for herself. “Alright, Curly. I kept my word, you need to come with me now.”

“Absolutely not!” Jimmy sprung up, crossing the distance in three strides and roughly hoisting the captain up by the less broken arm. He went rigid and silent in Jimmy’s grip, uneven breaths volume lowering to nothing as the copilot all but threw him into the captain’s chair.

“I told you to wake him up so he can come back to work. Instead, he’s spiraling into insanity and flinging himself down staircases. Clearly you can’t be trusted to monitor him. Go get what you need to patch him up and bring it here. This time, I’ll watch him,” Jimmy sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “It’s unreal I have to pick up both your slacks within a day of each other.”

“Jim—” Anya started.

“WHY IS THERE BLOOD EVERYWHERE?!” Swansea bellowed. “IS THAT A TRAIL? WHOSE IS THIS?!”

“Chop chop Anya,” He said and she spun on her heel. Anya didn’t move because Jimmy told her to, but because Curly needed her. She didn’t like how still he was when Jimmy’s hands were on his shoulder.

Bandage Curly 

Inform Swansea

Clean Curly’s Blood

Anya dropped heavily in her office chair (chest across the seat and arms flopping on the floor), exhaustion sinking into her very marrow. Her heartbeat finally slowed yet the echoes of the thumping still beat in her ears as all she could think about was Curly unmoving at the bottom of the staircase and his terrified screams as she tried to wrap him up.  

They became particularly bad when she tried to wrap his face. To the point that Anya genuinely thought Curly was going to shred apart his vocal cords. He kept jerking and writhing, trying with every fiber of his being to push out of the seat, but he got nowhere—like he forgot how to move his limbs. Jimmy tried to preemptively pin Curly against the chair incase he unlocked his limbs and started thrashing, but it only made him the victim of Curly’s ‘Super Duper Gross Stress Vomiting’ as Daisuke put it—who watched in morbid fascination and general horror as the remnants of low rate soup spilled all over Curly and Jimmy’s front. 

After the horror story was over, everyone dispersed and plunged themselves into their duties, unable to navigate with each other where to go from there. They didn’t want to think about what happened. The atmosphere was too warped to break into and honestly, Anya couldn’t blame them. It was surreal. At the very least Daisuke asked her if she was okay since she was the primary witness of the madness from beginning to end and Swansea got her some water.

Her eyes flickered to the screen view cot. Curly should be laying there or in his bed getting some rest, she thought. Instead, he was laid out on the cockpit floor. Staring into nothing, silent as a brick wall, still as a plank of wood. The oxycodone she’d given him earlier had kicked in. Right on time too. Curly had been completely and utterly hysterical. Garbled nothing sounds spilled from his mouth betwixt the screams. Failed attempts at communication as Curly seemingly lost his ability to form words in his hysteria. Not once throughout the entire ordeal did Curly blink either …    

…No one was able to convince Jimmy to let Curly out of his sight. He thoroughly believed that Curly’s current state of being was somehow all Anya’s fault. From the moment he left Curly in the medbay with Anya he hadn’t been acting right, Jimmy said. Gosh, had it really only been yesterday since Curly collapsed? It felt like forever. Given how increasingly irate he became the longer the negotiations ran, Daisuke, Anya and Swansea mutually decided to concede. On top of feeling useless, she felt bad for Curly. She couldn’t imagine breaking out of a haze just to realize you’re being held hostage. Curly really should be in bed. Anya herself wished she could be in bed right now, but duty (money) called and whatnot.  

Hours passed slowly, a dehydrated man crawling along his stomach in the wilderness, bright hot sun burning his back as every pore opened up to release precious fluids. At the turn of each hour, for however many hours it had been now (it was well into sunset), Anya couldn’t help but stalk the cockpit, peering through tinted glass to catch a silhouette of Curly. He hadn’t moved from his position in the middle of the floor. Most likely due to his broken limbs. Jimmy never slid Curly to the side for some privacy. Whatever privacy he had from the tints, Anya was currently violating…no that was stupid. As the nurse aboard the Tulpar, she had the right to check on the status of her patient. Hell! She had the right to barge in at this very moment and demand Curly be taken to medbay! But they’d lost that battle and Anya wasn’t about to spark it again by her lonesome.

At the turn of another hour, Anya stood in front of the cockpit again to stalk the blonde captain when the door slid open. Jimmy stood in the threshold, having since changed clothes, holding a very displeased expression on his face. Brown eyes, sunken in with lack of sleep looked down on her in every meaning of the word as he handed her—

“Your new schedule. Give the rest of these to the others,” He said, shoving the papers at her chest and slamming the cockpit door shut again and locking it. 

Anya blinked dumbly for a second then looked down. It took no time at all for her to realize that it was arranged in such a manner that she and Curly spent the least amount of hours working alongside Jimmy. Within reason of course. Long shifts meant inescapable overlaps, but the difference was clear to Anya. The note at the top stated the change was effective immediately the next day. It was signed and stamped by Curly, officiating it and rendering it a document the crew of the Tulpar were contractually obligated to uphold. 

Questions sprung up in her mind, the multitude of goldfish returning. Namely, why over halfway through the flight, Curly decided to change the schedule? Not that Anya was complaining per say. She was glad to finally have some reprieve from Jimmy’s miasmic presence and it would allow Anya to be the one to look after Curly, but this seemed out of character for him.

Oh wow, Anya. Curly collapsed, slept for 17 straight hours, had a massive panic attack and smashed his head on a table, deprecated himself, dove headlong down a flight of stairs and broke an ankle, a knee, both wrists and an ulna, and screamed his head off all within 48 hours and yet this is what makes you think ‘Hmmm this is out of Curly’s character’?

Anya mentally longed her tongue at the diverging train of thought. She knew what she meant. Curly liked routine, or at the very least preferred it over spontaneity. Anya could confidently say that about 85% of Curly’s decisions operated on some form of logic and this random adjustment didn’t seem very logical to her at all. She couldn’t theorize this decision was spurred by the events of today as the time signature indicated that Curly had officiated this before he even attended the party. Had he even been aware enough to make a call post re injuring himself, it still didn’t make much sense as Curly was not typically hasty with long term decision making. Judging by this new schedule, all of these were questions for tomorrow Anya to ponder over over a cup of coffee. She and Curly were the first to be awake, so that meant an early bedtime. Sigh. Her sleep schedule was going to be so wrecked.…at the very least she and Curly would be able to watch the digital sunrise together. 

Two heavy knocks sounded at Anya’s door. Swansea.

Once a game to test her pattern recognition now a measure of safety, Anya had recognized the knocking conventions of each of her crewmates. Swansea knocked twice and only twice with the entire back of his hand. Heavy and expecting to be heard and answered within 3-7 seconds before he verbally made his presence known. Daisuke’s knocks were lighter, multiple in quick succession and the rings adorning his fingers created a distinct metallic clinking noise against the blast doors. Curly had a classic ‘shave and a haircut knock’, like the corny old man he pretended he wasn’t turning into. It made Anya roll her eyes with an exasperated fondness every time she heard it. Jimmy’s knocks were feigned. On her door, on every door of the ship he faked out, pretending to have decency. No, he wafted through rooms and hallways like a deadly mist, entering every crevice as though the ship belonged to him and not their corporate overlords. 

“Coming,” Anya answered, resting her book down and shuffling out of bed before Swansea’s voice began to boom. 

Swansea, a non believer in pajamas unlike herself and Curly, was decked in a plain white tee and white boxers with red hearts printed on them. Without his work shirt on, Anya could see the wedding ring that hung from a matching golden chain around his neck. Hairy arms folded across his gut and his face was built like a storm. Upon the light within Anya’s room cracking against the mechanic’s face, Swansea released the rain. 

“Daisuke’s been huffing and hissing in my ear for the past half hour. Turns out the idiot hurt himself fooling around with that damned circuit board. What for? To make me suffer. Need you to get some stuff for me from the medbay. I already have him in the bathroom running water over his hand. I know how to treat electrical burns, I can deal with the kid myself so you can get some shut eye. Your new shift starts pretty early.”

Anya sighed at her earlier thoughts coming to fruition. Yet she nodded, wrapping her robe around herself and two layers of pajamas and slipping into matching bedroom slippers. During the nights, the Tulpar somehow got colder than it usually was. She didn’t mind the cold so much but it did make her less willing to use the bathroom during the middle of the night. Her blankets were just so, so warm. Swansea was a jet engine, constantly radiating heat from his frame. On multiple occasions Anya had caught him in the laundry room frustratedly scrubbing out sweat stains from his uniform. He’d probably walk around without a shirt on all the time if it were acceptable. 

Footfalls echoed in the metallic hallways, filling the silence between them. Had Swansea not asked how Anya felt about the new schedules, Anya might’ve heard the sound of a sliding door and extra, nearly imperceptible footfalls behind them.     

“It is rather sudden,” Anya admitted. “but I appreciate him trying to introduce some kind of variety to the Tulpar.” 

Swansea huffed. “What I don’t appreciate is how I’m stuck with Jimmy more. Like it’s Curly's unfunny way of saying ‘you’re Jimmy’s guard dog now, I’m tired of dealin’ with him’. He’s honestly beggin’ me to....”

Swansea’s voice trailed off as he noticed the same peculiar thing Anya did: Curly’s constellation pajama bottoms rumpled on the floor of the hallway entrance to the medbay. Hooked on a corner. Shed like snake skin.  

Swansea and Anya exchanged tense glances. “Get behind me,” Swansea put an arm in front of the nurse. Nodding, Anya followed behind the mechanic at a cautious pace, all casual air between them evaporating. Anya was too wound up for any questions to erupt in her mind. For some reason, she felt she had to be absolutely clear headed for what came next.  

“S-swansea why is…the door open?” Inside the medbay was pitch black. Swansea entered first, made it about seven steps in and several somethings crunched beneath his socked feet. 

Please…no. 

Anya hit the switch then took seven steps in. Virtual moonlight in all its impartial blue splendor shamelessly revealed Curly’s body lying face down on the floor behind Anya's desk, hair strewn in a broken halo around his head. 

Anya stopped thinking and moved on autopilot, bare minimum Pony Express training kicking in. 

“CURLY!” Anya bouldered past Swansea, spilled oxycodone tablets grinding beneath her feet as she kneeled down to flip the man over and assess him. 

Unresponsive when she called his name. Not breathing. Working eye shrunk to pinpricks. Clammy skin. Deep gurgling sounds. 

An overdose. 

Stimulate Curly

Knuckles on his sternum.

Tell Swansea to Find The Naloxone

(Because Pony Would Prefer To Reverse An Overdose Rather Than Prevent One)

“Hurry up!”

Administer Naloxone

Pried off yellow cap. Pried off red cap. Gripped plastic wings and screwed capsule into syringe. Insert left nostril. Spray. Insert right nostril. Spray.  

Rescue Breathe Curly 

Two fingers under the chin, one hand under the forehead. Tilted head gently and opened mouth. Pinched nose, seal with mouths. 2 small breaths and another breath every 5 seconds. 

5 minutes later, still no response.

Administer Naloxone

Pried off yellow cap. Pried off red cap. Gripped plastic wings and screwed capsule into syringe. Insert left nostril. Spray. Insert right nostril. Spray.  

Rescue Breathe Curly

Two fingers under the chin, one hand under the forehead. Tilted head gently and opened mouth. Pinched nose, seal with mouths. 2 small breaths and another breath every 5 seconds every 5 seconds every 5 seconds every 5 seconds every 5  

Curly finally began breathing on his own.

Anya released a heavy gasp. “I–I need to—”

Vomit

Put Curly In Recovery Position

Laid him on his side. Bent his left knee. Turned his face to the side.

Vomit

Tunnel vision widened to encompass the medbay. She turned around, crawled away from Curly, crunching more tablets beneath the palms of her hands. Her jaw unhinged and she released the remnants of her dinner. Hands were on her back and shoulder. She froze, but they were firm yet gentle, warm and calloused with years of honest work. Swansea. 

“You did good, my dear. He’s alive. You did good,”

“S-swansea…” Tears welled in Anya’s eyes, her entire body shaking like she was plunged into an ice bath. She couldn’t break down just yet, couldn’t let the dam of questions and emotions break and flood her just yet. “Swansea. Jimmy was supposed to watch him. He insisted. But we’re here and Jimmy’s not.”

“Jimmy’s not what?”

Anya jumped and whipped her head to the source of the noise. Jimmy was standing there in the threshold of the door, Daisuke shuffling awkwardly behind him, both clad in their personal substitutes for pajamas. Jimmy in a black long sleeved shirt and gray checkered boxers and Daisuke in a fading, pink, beach themed graphic tee and gray joggers. 

“What’s going on here?” He strided into the medbay before looking down at the tablets crunching beneath his bare feet. He turned his head, saw Curly and his eyes flashed slightly at the scene. 

“I see,” He said completely blankly. Shock, Anya thought. Who wouldn’t be?

Daisuke had a more outgoing reaction, one befitting of his personality. “Is that CURLY?” He exclaimed, formality dropped in the face of shock. “Is he dead?! Is he okay ?!”

Swansea rose from his place beside Anya, hand squeezing her shoulder gently. “He’ll be alright thanks to Anya. The question is what are you doing here? I thought I told you to—”

“I know! I know!  But you were taking kind of long so I wanted to see if maybe you…I don’t know, stumbled and tripped in the dark and broke your hip and couldn’t get up cause you are kind of old and—”

Swansea gently cuffed Daisuke on the back of his head. Or as gently as one could cuff a person. “Quiet, kid. I’m not the one who needs to be fretted over.”

Daisuke’s eyes trailed down to Curly. “What happened?”

“He overdosed, ” Jimmy answered, all eyes were on him. He was sitting on the cot, staring ahead with a hand over his mouth while the other gripped the edge. “I can’t believe it. Curly overdosed,” An incredulous laugh escaped him, accompanied by a disbelieving smile. “This is—this is rich. The great Captain Curly: spectacularly losing it and going out the easy way. Wow . What a turn of events.” 

“And whose fault do you think that is!” Swansea snapped, moving over to shove a finger in Jimmy’s chest. “ You’re the one who insisted on watching him, on getting in the way and now look. Because of you, Curly almost crossed to the other side!”

“How is that my fault!” Jimmy shot up, angrily shoving Swansea. “How was I supposed to anticipate a man with broken limbs—who's been still as a board for hours mind you—to snake his way to the medbay in the middle of the night and try to kill himself!”

“Curly didn’t try to kill himself!” Anya defended, shaking her head. “It–It must’ve been an accident! Curly’s not that type of man. He wouldn’t—he’d never do that!” 

“Anya. If he was in pain, then he could’ve crawled his way to any one of us to get him medicine. Instead, he went by himself, left the lights off and obscured himself with your desk. Those were all deliberate choices he decided to make instead of knocking on my door which is right next to his—or on any one of our doors if you wanna take it there.”

“He could’ve just been delirious with the pain, not thinking straight,” Daisuke took Anya’s side and nodded while rubbing the area right above the burn on his hand. “Yyyup ! ‘s happened to me before. Had a real nasty fever once when I was home by myself and thought ‘a bath would cool me down’, but I forgot to take my clothes off and left the water running so I almost drowned.”

“Oh, Daisuke, let me take care of that,” Anya said, rising on wobbly legs. 

“Sit here,” She guided the young man to her seat, stepping over Curly’s body (wincing as she had to do so) and began treating him with the necessary materials from the cabinet behind them. 

“No,” Jimmy shook his head, settling back down on the cot and massaging his forehead. “I don’t believe that. Broken bones don’t cause that much pain… you know, he told me before the party he wasn’t exactly happy with his life. And you remember the words I told you he was muttering when he first fell down?”

“...Yes, I do…” Goodbye and forgive me. They were so strange, Anya didn’t know what to make of it but she didn’t think it had anything to due with feeling suicidal. Maybe Curly really thought he was going to die and said those words in the wake of his sudden passing. 

“People who have others' lives in their hands shouldn’t be saying such things,” Jimmy said gravely. The air tensed around them, simmering with what was said without being said.

“What are you saying?” Anya had a sinking feeling about what Jimmy meant, but she never boded well with uncertainty. Daisuke winced as she accidentally secured the bandage around his hand just a little too tight. ‘Sorry’ she said with her mind, but not her mouth. 

“Curly is no longer fit to be Captain of the Tulpar, ” 

Heavy like a stone, those words hung in the air.  

“You can’t be serious,” Swansea said.

“Think about it, all of you. Collapsing. Panic attacks. Stealing life saving company property and overdosing. All within the span of 2 days. Even if Curly hadn’t managed to somehow shatter all the critical bones in his limbs, would you really feel safe with him in the cockpit? Curly is unstable. What if he decided to make another attempt, and this time decided to take us all out with him so no one could stop him?”

It was an unsettling implication, one that Anya refused to acknowledge. “No, Curly wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do that!”

Do you know for sure, though? Unbidden, a venomous voice in the back of Anya’s mind whispered. He has been lying to you on his psych evals. He claimed he didn’t trust himself. He said he wasn’t a good person. He threw himself down the stairs over a key that he stole. He screamed his head off when you were trying to treat him. He rearranged the work schedules to be awake before everyone else. He’s far from Jimmy now. You’re not strong enough to take action against Curly if he decided to do something drastic. 

“None of you know Curly like I do,” Jimmy continued with his case, putting his hand over his heart. “You don’t know his background, where he came from, the things he’s had to endure for his own sake and for other people. You said it yourself, Anya: ‘You think you’re handling everything just fine, but then one day—’” 

“—’you take a good look in the mirror and realize that nothing is as what you thought it was.’ Yes, I said that. But it wasn’t in reference to trying to commit suicide!”

“It still applies, doesn’t it? Curly’s good at pretending he’s normal, good at keeping himself together,” His eyes flicked downward to the man. “...was good, at least. You think he’s perfect? That he’s all right up in there?” Jimmy pointed to his skull and stood up. “Nobody’s perfect. Not even him. I should know.” 

“Okay, so you’re saying Captain’s lost his marbles and he’s not fit to be well…captain. What now? What do you even want us to do?” Daisuke spun himself back and forth on the seat, his demeanor calmer ever since he was assuaged by Swansea and had his injury addressed. Every so often, his eyes flicked down to Curly as Anya’s did, keeping watch.   

“Protocol 48. And I’m summarizing for Daisuke here, should the captain of a vessel be deemed unfit for duty, they are to automatically be replaced by the copilot until either the captain has proven themselves capable to their crew or to Pony Express once landed and an internal investigation has been conducted,” Jimmy concluded, his arms folded. 

“For crews without copilots assigned, a vote has to be casted to select the best suited member. Since we have a copilot the voting thing doesn’t count for us ....” Daisuke finished then blinked as he was given silent stares. “...What? Don’t look at me like that! There isn’t a lot to read on this ship, you know and my magazines do get boring after a while.”  

“I’d rather get shot,” Swansea turned his attention from Daisuke to Jimmy. “You can hardly manage your own facial hair, how can we expect you to manage an entire damned ship!”

“Would you rather let Curly wear himself thin and the next time he drops it’s cause he’s dead and not simply collapsed?!” Jimmy shouted, raising his hands in the air. “Even if we entertain the notion he’s not out to end his life, he is in poor health . We need someone focused and actually capable of walking. With Pony Express belly up now there’s no room for emergencies or mistakes. We’re on our own out here.”

Jimmy’s words lingered. They were…correct in a sense, but felt so, so wrong. Like looking at a picture designed to simulate a stroke. You couldn’t quite single anything out.

  “Jimmy, this is…” Anya began, but she had no words to counter him. She looked at Daisuke and Swansea but they both had varying degrees of the same uncertain expression that she had, mixed in with whatever individual emotions they were experiencing.  

“...None of you want to believe me. I get it, I do,” Jimmy sighed, there was a weariness around him now. “Curly’s a good captain. It’s the only thing I ever hear and the truth is, he doesn’t have nearly enough money to pay anyone to mass produce sterling reviews for him, so he really is as good as gold. If you want that captain back, let him rest. Let me take care of it for now. Let me be captain so Curly can put himself together and…so I can get my best friend back.” 

 “I…I don’t know. All of this is just so—”

“Anya,” Jimmy interrupted. “You have no savings. All of this is coming from your paycheck. If Curly keeps hurting himself, you’re going to be out of credits by the time you get back and worse off than you already are. He wouldn’t want you to spend all your money on him. Do yourselves both a favor.”

With the virtual moon casting the room and all occupants in a soft blue, Anya felt like she was trapped on the rim of a snowflake. From the outside the descent was calm and gorgeous, a spectacular sight to behold. On that rim she rocked, holding on to fragile, crystalline structures as she had no choice but to sway with the wind. 

They’d all arrived at a crossroads now, one that would dictate how the rest of the journey would unfold. No turning back from here.  

“I can still sense the hesitance. Tell you what you guys, let’s skew the rules for a bit, yeah? It’s not like Polle’s gonna come down on our heads if we do things a little differently. Let’s vote, but for me, that way you’re making the choice to choose me rather than having no choice but to accept my leadership.” 

Jimmy was compromising now. He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t look anxious, like he was itching to take Curly’s place or anything of the sort. Examining this whole exchange, there was nothing overtly malicious about any of it, but Jimmy hardly compromised on anything. It was either his way or the highway. Anya didn’t know what to make of it. It felt like a trap. 

Maybe he was genuine about this. He and Curly had been friends for every waking moment of their lives. Daisuke might be right in that what happened at the party was just a major lapse in judgement. Thirty years to one day? Anya thought not even Jimmy was capable of throwing away all of his feelings so quickly. Maybe she was letting her personal biases against him get in the way and the fear of what he’d do to her if she openly rejected him. Maybe this is how things were simply destined to play out aboard the Tulpar. 

“...Fine,” Swansea reluctantly agreed. “I’d rather make a decision I regret than watch things go to hell because I had no choice to. At least then, I’d be able to take some responsibility for it.”

“I agree with Boss. And think of it this way, we’re not suddenly ganging up against Captain ‘cause of some old dinky rulebook, we’re all having an honest discussion about doing what’s best for him!” Daisuke chipped in, always able to find the silver lining. 

Anya was alone now, left with a choice that affected not only herself but three other innocent people. Truthfully it didn’t matter what her choice was since she was outweighed by Swansea and Daisuke, but she didn’t get to make a lot of choices for herself nowadays. She wouldn’t pass up this opportunity, even if it was futile in the end. 

“Let’s vote,” She said, a resolved expression on her face even though she felt resigned. 

“Wise choice. All in favor of I, Jimmy, taking the place of Curly as Captain of the Tulpar, say ‘Yay’. All against, say ‘Nay’.”

Yay. Daisuke. “I want Captain to get as much rest as possible. I don’t like seeing him like this…. also I don’t want Anya to be poor. No offense.”

Yay. Anya. “None taken, thank you, Daisuke and likewise, I only wish for Curly’s recovery.”

Yay. Swansea. “Don’t look surprised and don’t get me wrong, I hate this, but I’ll be damned if I let my disdain for Jimbo override the good sense of taking some stress from Curly’s shoulders.” 

3-0. Jimmy was officially the captain now for better or for worse and for however long of an arrangement it might be. With Jimmy in charge, there wasn’t anything that anyone could do against him. But with Curly more or less immobile and quite possibly not of sound mind, the situation wouldn’t be that different if Curly remained captain. And in the end, despite Jimmy’s…less than stellar employee track record, Curly had trusted Jimmy to be his second in command for 5 years. Somewhere in his heart, Curly genuinely believed that Jimmy was capable of taking that step upward if need be. Anya didn’t trust Jimmy, but she did trust Curly and she really, really wanted him to get better. 

It was the right choice (the only choice, really) but why did Anya feel like they’d all stuck their heads in a guillotine? 

Gasps and grunts brought four heads down to the floor. They all found Curly awake, looking at them with tears streaming down his face. A face painted with stark horror. He must’ve heard more than enough, but didn’t have the strength to alert them he was awake until that moment. Anya mentally slapped her forehead. She was so caught up in trying to help Curly that she forgot to help Curly.

“Don’t cry, Curly. I said I would handle it, didn’t I?” Jimmy said softly, moving down to the now former captain. Gently, he brushed away the few curls that his tears stuck to the corner of his eye. “This isn’t a mutiny and no, don't protest. This is for your own good.”