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For Christmas, there'd been a raffle run amongst those members of the crew whose Earth-side family had been read into the program, the four stone spots highly sought after. Everett had of course recused himself, so ran the raffle in Camile's stead, who didn't feel comfortable running the competition while also entering herself. Telford thought if it had been duty and a desire to keep up appearances that had been the reason for Everett's withdrawal, he would have been proud. As it was, he was well aware it was the martyrdom complex the man was carrying around on his shoulders, a prized weight that seemed to become heavier each day.
Telford had paid as little attention to the whole spectacle as possible. If the complex was fed, it would grow exponentially. Better to pretend it didn't exist until Everett emerged from his latest depressive episode and became too embarrassed to continue the farce.
Until the next time.
The party held on Destiny for those who'd lost the raffle or hadn't entered in the first place - either due to a misguided sense of pride and sacrifice, or due to having no family read into the program - was held in the mess, a rudimentary surround-sound system and spare sheets cut into ribbons hanging from the ceiling a fair effort to make the place feel more homely.
Telford supposed.
The four people who were being paid time-and-a-half to stone-swap onto Destiny were manning the bridge, everyone else packed into the mess taking advantage of a break which - in their minds - was well earned. Telford didn't like leaving the ship in hands that were both untested by him personally and owned by those who had no stake in the ship's survival. The irony, given his past behaviour in that area, was not lost on him.
Most of the tables had been moved to neighbouring storage rooms, the few that remained pushed up against the walls to clear enough space so the entire crew was able to fit. It was still too cramped for Telford's taste, though it would have given the wrong impression if he was found to be the only one absent from the festivities.
He had to be seen to belong.
He drank one cup of Brody's 'Christmas Liquor': a mixture of liquid with a lower alcohol content than his usual offering - at least Everett had a basic modicum of sense, Telford brooded, as he watched his fellow crewmates imbibe the stuff at great speed - and a plant they'd come across a few planets back. Park had procured some for the hydroponics bay - though only after Telford had confirmed there was excess space they didn't have any food seeds to fill with - and it had grown like wildfire. They'd been able to use it as a spice in their food and drink - even Telford could admit that protein paste got old real fast - and Park and Volker had dried out a batch of leaves and smoked them - this time without any sort of permission - and reported that "sadly" they'd experienced no effects.
If they'd been on Earth, Telford would have instantly benched both of them, pending official review. As it was, they got away with barely a stern word from Everett which all but amounted to 'In future do this sort of thing in the infirmary for safety reasons. But good initiative.'
Not even Johansen had been particularly concerned, citing that as the plant had been tested for digestion it hadn't been all that dangerous to use it in other ways. Telford was pissed he seemed to be the only one to give a rat's ass about protocol, stewing further because not only did he know he didn't have the influence to do a damn thing about it, but even if he did there was no meaningful punishment he could dish out that wouldn't lower productivity at best and put the ship in danger at worst.
A glum air radiating from him, Telford observed his options for further interaction with his crewmates. A lot of them were dancing - he would rather suffer through root canal surgery without anaesthetic than join them - and the rest were gathered around two of the wall-adjacent tables - one hosting an arm wrestling competition and the other a game of cards. He frowned. Last week the military contingent had cleared out one of the larger storage rooms and built a rudimentary boxing ring. That had been a good time, an excellent outlet for the daily stressors caused by living your life trapped in a metal box.
Unfortunately the majority of the civilians on board weren't the fighting type, though he'd overheard Dunning and Atienza joking about baiting Rush into the ring next time round. Telford couldn't lie to himself: he, like a lot of the people Rush came into contact with, would very much like to see the mathematician get knocked on his ass.
"Penny for 'em?" came from behind him.
He turned to see Lieutenant James. She was holding two fresh drinks, the hopeful expression on her face uncomfortably familiar.
"Absolutely not," he informed her bluntly, about-facing and moving to the opposite side of the room without waiting to see what her response to such an outright rejection would be. The sheer gall of propositioning a superior officer! Young's bad example was spreading.
As if summoned by the mere thought of his name, Everett came into view, sidling around the edge of the room to lean against the wall at Telford's side. "Hey."
His friend didn't sound happy. Seeing as how everyone under his command was currently having a great time and Telford knew Everett measured far too much belief of his own ability against such things, it wasn't the tone of voice Telford had been expecting. Casting his gaze over the room in search of clues, he - annoyingly - settled on Johansen. She was dancing with Varro.
Sometimes Telford hated how predictable Everett was.
At least he wasn't marching across the room to rudely insert himself into matters, as he'd once done to an ex-girlfriend who'd had the unfortunate experience of running into a drunk and possessive Everett on a night that had supposed to be about Telford getting Young blind drunk and/or finding him an easy pick-up so he'd get over her.
The situation had seemed liable to devolve into a fistfight until the man whose first date they'd interrupted threatened to call the MPs and every airman in the place - who up to this point had been disinterestedly half-watching - had instantly come to the defense of their brothers versus a threat coming from a civilian's mouth, half the bar rising to their feet in a show of solidarity that had made the would-be-suitor shrink away in a manner even Telford had been forced to admit was satisfying.
No doubt if Everett were to intercede here against Varro, the result would be unfortunately similar, with the entire military contingent bringing arms to bear on behalf of their commander, whether they actually agreed with him or not.
Then Johansen would murder Everett in his sleep.
However undeniably amusing that series of events would be in the moment, they wouldn't offer anything of actual value in the long run, and would in fact negatively affect crew morale. So Telford, as he'd done a great many times during their acquaintance, saved Everett from himself.
"Let's get out of here," he urged quietly. "We've shown our faces enough." He paused for effect. "And we can't drink properly if we stay. It wouldn't look good."
As predicted, this drew Everett in hook, line and sinker. Telford knew his friend enjoyed spending time with the crew, but the separation of commander-to-subordinate was inescapable and Everett felt it to a severe degree. He might technically be Telford's CO, but they'd known each other for far too long to be anything other than equals.
A new song started blaring from the speaker system Eli had spent - in Telford's opinion - far too much of his precious time setting up, a faster tune that had people whooping and linking arms with their neighbours. The sudden burst of raucous behaviour allowed the two Colonels to slip from the room unnoticed, tiptoeing down the corridor despite the ample cover the excessive noise provided.
"I wish we had some better music," Everett admitted as they retreated to his room, his trustworthy flask of one of Brody's stronger batches eagerly waiting to welcome them.
Telford agreed - there was only so much pop he could listen to before he wanted to claw his brains out.
They worked their way steadily through the available alcohol, their conversation devolving rapidly into expressing their various frustrations with the crew. Telford complained about the science team spending their spare time on frivolous side projects and Everett bitched about Camile and her latest diplomatic forays into bridging the gap between the military and civilian populations.
"That ship's sailed," Telford announced. "We just have to make do."
That moved them naturally to begin talking about Rush, the instigator of all of the universe's problems. They ragged on him for a long time, Telford well aware of how important this method of venting was to Everett. Better he snarl out his insults and hatred to Telford than allow it to fester inside himself and wait for the inevitable explosion.
"Y'wanna have sex?" Everett asked, making a leap from point A to point B that Telford wasn't sure he wanted to be able to follow.
Telford put down his cup. That was enough drinking for one night.
"What d'you want?" he responded instead of answering the question.
He wasn't attracted to Everett. He wasn't even interested in sex as a general rule. The act was involved and messy and intrusive. There were always demands being made of him in some capacity, both starting and ending in too many bodily fluids that weren't his own touching him. He could jerk off just fine all by himself; he'd never gotten what all the fuss was about when it came to attempting it with another person.
As usual, Everett made things difficult. "What y'up for?"
Telford sighed, tipping his head back to rest against the couch. He was tired. Not simply physically but also mentally. He just wanted to rest.
His response must have taken too long, because a hand appeared on his shoulder. "You okay?" Everett asked, his tone turning gentle.
Telford couldn't decide whether the approach pissed him off or not. It was difficult these days, to sort through reactions that were his own and those that belonged to the other David. Kiva had tried to sleep with him, but it must have been after she'd brainwashed him, whatever chemical concoction she'd pumped his body full of killing his libido stone dead. He hadn't even felt the urge to masturbate during his time under, and it was likely he wouldn't have been able to if he'd tried, if the lack of reaction from his cock when she'd tried it on was any indication.
He'd placed that titbit of information in his debriefing report, the prospect of another 'test' they could put their people through overriding any embarrassment the doctors might have felt at being provided the intimate knowledge without having to ask for it. Everyone had been desperate to figure out how exactly he'd slipped past the modified Za'tarc machine, the first threads of paranoia well on their way to driving the higher-ups to make more bad decisions.
Thank god he was here and not there, Telford thought vehemently. They'd most likely permanently strap him to a laboratory table in their pursuit of answers if they had physical access to him.
As it was, their machines didn't work on people whose consciousness wasn't a match to their body. A lucky escape if Telford had ever seen one.
"We could just cuddle?" came Everett's tentative voice, reminding Telford he really should say something instead of sitting there in stewed silence.
"Sure," seemed like the easiest option available. They'd done it before - first when they were young and blackout drunk, embarrassment dogging them the mornings after until it had happened enough times for them to realise the world wasn't about to come collapsing down around their ears due to taking advantage of such a basic creature comfort; then as they'd gotten older it simply became something they did from time to time, whether they'd been drinking or not.
The first sober time had been after a bad break-up - on Young's part obviously - and he'd been angry, the kind of angry that Telford had fantasised about while jerking off more than once. He wasn't involved in the scenarios his mind presented him with - he never was - but it was arousing to imagine his friend engaged in various positions with a third party.
That first time it had taken a wrestling match where Everett hadn't pulled his punches and elbows as he normally would have before things settled down, ending in them sprawled out on the floor of Telford's apartment, sweaty and exhausted. Everett had barely wanted to let go of him long enough for Telford to get them up and into bed. Telford knew it wasn't arousal tugging at his guts whenever he was faced with Everett's neediness, the way his friend clung to him making him feel something akin to... powerful, he supposed. The way it felt to have someone lying fully on top of you and knowing you were strong enough to bear their weight alongside your own.
It was a shame that particular scenario was so often predated or followed by sex.
It was a little awkward transferring to the bed this time, with the offer of taking things further hanging heavy over Telford's head. There'd be a guillotine metaphor teasing at him if he wasn't well aware of how overly dramatic that would make him. Even if Everett got handsy, there wasn't about to be any actual fucking in their future. A handjob was a handjob, Telford told himself firmly; don't be weird about it. Don't let him see how uncomfortable it makes you.
He reclined on his back, wrapping an arm around Young's shoulders as the man came to rest with his head pillowed on Telford's chest, his own arm slung loosely over Telford's waist. The tension in Young's frame began to lessen immediately, as it always did. It was something Telford couldn't quite understand: how absurdly touch starved his friend was, even when he had a girlfriend who he hadn't pissed off enough yet that she was still providing him with regular sex.
Their breathing synced, years of practice making the process effortlessly natural. Telford felt his own pulse slow, the surety of Everett's arms a sensation programmed directly into his hindbrain: weight, warmth, safety.