Starfighter: Rejected

When he opens the hatch to the storage unit, he doesn’t really expect to find Cain in here. But he has literally been searching the whole ship and simply doesn’t know any other places to look for him anymore. Still, he is slightly taken aback when he spots the other fighter crouching with his back slumped against the opposite wall of the cramped space, his legs drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on top of his knees.

He can’t see Cain’s face, because the other man keeps it buried into his arms. But for a split-second he’s almost sure that he is crying.

Which, of course, he is not.

Or is he?

Deimos can’t tell for sure, and it makes him feel strangely uncomfortable. No, not really uncomfortable; insecure, rather. He can handle a Cain that is seething with rage, a Cain that is taking it out on Deimos just because it makes him feel better – more in control.

What he can’t deal with is this.

Devastated Cain.

He takes in a silent breath.

The Sleipnir is a vast vessel, but in terms of social interactions it’s but a small village. Rumors have the tendency to spread like wildfire, with not much else around to disturb the daily routine. So the news of Cain’s little navigator walking out on him, having requested a transfer already, was bound to fall on fertile soil.

Deimos frowns. He’s not sure how he feels about this. Shouldn’t he be pleased? He’s always been jealous of the navigator, all bright hair and soft skin. So clearly everything he, Deimos, was not.

So clearly everything Cain wanted.

But instead of being pleased, his feels his stomach twist into a painful knot and he cannot help but feel sorry for Cain. He knows what it’s like to be rejected, unwanted.

Without the slightest sound Deimos crouches down in front of Cain. His hand trembles slightly when he reaches out to the other fighter, gently touching his hair.

“Sacha …?”

Cain startles with a yelp, instinctively grasping for Deimos’ wrists. His eyes are dry, so he hasn’t been crying, but Deimos can see the hurt in his features before he’s able to mask it with feigned anger.

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, batting Deimos’ hand away – with considerably less force than usual, which the smaller fighter finds blatantly evident. “The fuck do you want?”

Remaining silent, he just raises his eyebrows at Cain. He doesn’t really have to say anything. The other fighter understands him anyway.

Cain sighs, raking a hand through his hair, leaving it utterly screwed up. Deimos has to refrain himself from smoothing it out of his eyes. He is fairly sure that the other man wouldn’t want him to. Yet, he settles down next to him, giving him a questioning look.

“Blyat,” Cain mutters under his breath. “Like you don’t know about every fucking little detail already. Guess, everybody knows. Prissy lil shit made me the laughing stock of the whole ship. Should’ve kicked his devious ass long time ago. Shown him who’s the one in charge!”

Deimos’ brows furrow.

“What?” Cain demands.

The smaller fighter doesn’t like to speak, doesn’t like the raspy, repulsive sound of his own voice. Nevertheless, he makes an attempt to clear his throat a bit.

“Why?” It is merely a whisper, but it makes Deimos wince anyway.

Cain doesn’t seem to be affected by its ugliness, though. “You mean why Abel kicked my ass instead,” he asks. Suddenly all false bravado seems to ooze out of him like the air from a deflating balloon. He doesn’t even look angry anymore, just miserable.

When Deimos nods, Cain leans over to him, placing his head on his shoulder. “Told me, he’s fed up with me”, he says very quietly. “That he’s done having me treating him like my possession and that, if I go on to behave like a fucking asshole, I’m going to end up as a lonely, bitter old man.” He swallows hard. “Can you believe he said that to me, myshonok?”

Cain’s head resting heavy on his shoulder, his body heat radiating through him, makes Deimos feel slightly dizzy. He reaches over and takes the other fighter’s hand, interlacing their fingers and resting their intertwined hands on his lap. For once, Cain doesn’t shake him off, instead leans closer into his side.

“Always knew that it would happen someday,” Cain says in a very low voice. His lids are closed, but Deimos can see that his eyes are moving restlessly underneath. “Wasn’t prepared for it to hurt so bad, though.”

The smaller fighter sucks in a shaky breath. “I know it does,” he whispers. His heart is fluttering like a little bird trapped in a cage, desperately trying to escape. “I know.”

He feels Cain straightening up next to him, his intense gaze resting on him for what feels like an eternity. Eventually, he lets himself sink back against the wall, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“Yeah, myshonok,” he says, squeezing Deimos’ hand slightly in an almost affectionate way. “I think you really do.”