Work Text:
You're not sure how long you've been down here, huddled in a small supply closet between Utility and the cargo hold. It's about as secluded a place as you can be, amongst the brooms and unused toiletries. You sit there on the floor with your arms wrapped tight around yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and wishing so desperately that you were somewhere else—anywhere but here.
This job was supposed to be easy: a simple custodian job aboard the Tulpar. You wouldn't have even taken it if not for the fact that your girlfriend, Anya, works here. Dating a girl who works on a long-haul intergalactic freighter hasn't been easy when she's gone; the trip that she took after the two of you met stretched on longer than a year, and when she got back, you realized how badly you needed to just be around her, even if it meant taking this job.
That doesn't mean you aren't scared, though. It's new and upsetting to be away from everyone else you know on Earth, and terrifying to get acclimated to the routine of a job stuck in space. The thing is, you don't know if you’re cut out for this job, but you don't even have the pleasure of leaving the building. You'll be living here for the next year. It's so much more frightening now that you’re in it, unable to simply walk out and go home at the end of each day.
Amidst your ruminating, an audible knock against the door startles you.
Your eyes immediately snap to the door, your voice small when you respond. “H– Hello…?”
“Darling, it's me.” Anya's gentle and melodic voice carries through the door. “May I come in…?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, relieved that it's only her, but still a bit terrified of potential judgment being thrown your way. Anya's only been kind to you this whole time, but there's definitely concern that things might change—a fear born of your own anxiety and less about how Anya had treated you.
Anya slides the door open, quietly closing it behind her before stepping into the supply closet with you. She finds you there on the floor, looking nervously up at her. She pouts, brows furrowed, kneeling to your level.
“Malishka… What's the matter?” She tips her head to the side, worry visible in her half-lidded eyes. The Russian term of endearment slides so easily off her tongue. It's a beautiful sound, really—the voice of your beloved. Hearing her voice alone almost makes things feel like they’re going to be okay. Almost.
“I'm sorry you had to find me like this,” you quietly answer. “I just needed somewhere to get away.”
“It's okay. I understand what you mean,” Anya says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Can you tell me about what's going on?”
You reluctantly meet Anya's gaze. The vast darkness of her black eyes captivates you for a moment; being looked at by her soothes you in ways that seem to defy the impossible. All the same, you feel a lump in your throat, and your eventual answer gets croaked out a bit pathetically.
“I don’t like it here,” is all you can get out.
“Oh, dear…” Anya’s brows are knit together in concern as she shifts her position, taking a seat on the cold metal floor with you. Her gentle hand remains on your shoulder, beginning to gently massage your tense muscles through your uniform. “It’s been a difficult adjustment for you, hasn’t it?”
You nod, feeling weak and pathetic as you stammer out a wobbly response. “I’m sorry. I’m so glad I get to be with you here, but— god, I miss my family, and I miss my friends. I miss going outside and breathing fresh air, and I miss seeing the actual sky. I– I miss being with you at home, not in this– this shitty tin can…”
Anya sidles closer to you, taking a seat next to you. Her hand slides from your shoulder down to your back and snakes around your waist. She holds you closer, resting her head on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey… It’s difficult, I know. I never could’ve asked you to take on this job for me. I– I was just so surprised when you actually offered to do it.”
“I thought it’d be fine, because everything would be fine if we had each other, but then there’s all these other people here that I don’t know, and Swansea is always yelling, and Jimmy gives me the creeps, and I don’t even know what to make of Curly—” Your voice is gravelly and miserable, as though you’re trying and failing to hold back the flood gates.
“What about Daisuke?” Anya softly asks. “You two have been getting along, haven’t you? He was a real wreck about getting this job, too, but I think having a friendly face like yours has helped him a lot.”
You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I— yeah, I guess he’s cool. I just don’t do well with all of these strangers. I’m scared, Anya. I’m scared I won’t fit in, and if I don’t end up liking this, I’ll be stuck here for a year and— god, what if it ruins us?”
Anya frowns, wincing. “Oh…” She’s silent for several passing moments. “Why do you think that would ruin… us…?”
Tears flood your vision, and you sniffle audibly, trying hard not to let out the most pathetic whimper. “I’m scared that I’ll get miserable, and you’ll be stuck comforting me when you’re already overwhelmed with work or life, or that you’ll realize that working around me was a mistake, or—”
You can’t finish your sentence as your fears tumble out of your lips. You throw your face into your palms and sob, your entire body shuddering.
Anya gasps at the sound of your wails, wrapping both of her arms around you and holding you tighter. She presses a kiss to your temple, sighing softly against the strands of your hair, the breeze gentle against your scalp. “Oh, Malishka… You’ll always be my love. You know that?”
“What if you realize you’ve made a mistake by being with me at all? What if you end up regretting that I got on this ship?”
Anya shakes her head. “It won’t happen.” For a moment, she’s quiet; the sound of her clear breathing intermingles with your congested sniffing and the clunky sounds of the ship’s machinery. Then, your girlfriend speaks again. “If you can believe it… I’m actually happier on the job than I ever have been. Those other hauls really pale in comparison now that you’re here. You make me feel so safe and loved in ways that nobody else does. Obviously, none of my co-workers ever would bring me the kind of joy you do.”
This is what breaks open the floodgates; one moment, you’re scrunched up in a ball, and the next, you’re throwing your arms around Anya and crying into her woolen turtleneck sweater. It's some time before you're coherent enough to pull away from hugging her, and by the time you do, you're quite fatigued and worn out from the tears. Anya strokes your hair gently as you come down from the waves of anguish, remaining close.
“Are things going to be okay? Are we okay?” you ask, your voice breaking.
“Of course, we're okay, and… yes, everything is going to be okay, I'd imagine. We have a long trip ahead of us to make sure of it.”
Anya smiles; for a moment, you think you might see a hint of sadness behind her eyes, but then it's gone when she stuffs her hand into her jumpsuit pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to you.
“Here,” she says. “I put this through the wash today, so it's clean… Wipe your tears, my love.”
You accept the handkerchief, dabbing at your tear-streaked cheeks. You're ever so charmed by Anya—by how she carries handkerchiefs on the ship for her own tears, and how she speaks to you extra gently when you're sad. You're charmed by her love for the medical field, her interest in polaroid photography, and how she doodles on notes when she's distracted. You’re charmed by her smile, so much so that your heart floods with love every time she grins at you.
She's your whole world. You wonder if Anya even realizes how monumental she's been to you over the course of your relationship. Moments like this really help to reassure you; though you're frightened, you have the privilege of loving her, and there's nobody else you'd rather be with.
As you wipe your teary eyes, Anya offers a compassionate smile in your direction. “My darling… It's okay if you're not ready to come out yet, but would you like to join me in Medical for a nice, hot cup of tea? I brought that chamomile from Earth, if you remember when we were packing… It might soothe your nerves, even if just a little.”
You picture it in your mind's eye: being safe and quiet, in Anya's office, a Pony Express-branded mug of tea in your hands. Your heart feels a little bit lighter at the thought of it, and so you nod, offering a tiny smile. “I'd really like that a lot. Thank you, Anya.”
Anya presses a soft, sweet kiss against your temple before she stands up, holding a hand out to you. “Come with me, my love. I'll take good care of you… I am a nurse, after all. It's my duty.”
She winks at you, and with a smile, you take Anya's hand, letting her help you up to your feet. When Anya walks you back up to Medical, you find yourself feeling a lot better than you did before she found you.
Anya really is something special.