FIC: Take Me Out to the Black | BBT Big Bang (1/2)
Title: Take Me Out to the Black
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: ~17k
Disclaimer: BBT isn’t mine, etc. (And neither are Firefly or Star Trek, which this draws from.)
Warning: Some language, makeouts, terrible terrible no good fake science & handwaving.
Summary: Space!AU. Sheldon just solved the equation for faster than light travel. Unfortunately, he works for the xenophobic, fairly terrible Government, that’s hell-bent on wiping out all alien cultures and silencing those damn hippies that want equal rights, representation, and inclusion in the Government for all species. On the bright side, there’s already a rebellion underway, and Sheldon’s about to be dragged kicking and screaming right into the center of it, whether he likes it or not…
Pairings: Gen, slash, het - let’s just say pretty much everyone/everyone to varying degrees. (If you're concerned, just ask.)
A/N: I dropped the ball often and badly during this bbbb. Luckily, the mods were generous, ishie was both an amazing beta and unbelievably patient with my hemming and hawing and refusing to hand it over, allthingsholy made gorgeous art in spite of my less than stellar timing + a mix that is absolute perfection, and everyone on twitter bore with me as, for the most part, my entire bbbb writing process was one giant disaster zone. Basically, if people weren't as kind and patient and generally fantastic as they are, this would most definitely not exist. So thank you muchly, I love y'all.
& MIX + ART (both of which are lovely and gorgeous and beyond perfection) by allthingsholy ♥
MEDIAFIRE
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“Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end."
- Spock
(Sheldon)
Sheldon’s footsteps echo rather eerily on the Flandorian tiles. Were he a superstitious sort, the ominous sound, coupled with his ongoing breakthrough research and the recent rebellions in the Adarian sector, would have him worried. As it stands, though, Dr. Sheldon Cooper is instead considering the prospects of the coming paintball tournament this weekend, where his team will stand to recoup their previous losses against his arch-nemesis, one Leslie Winkle.
Leslie Winkle works in his department. Not with him, of course, but in his department nonetheless. Unfortunately, given the security measures imposed by the Government, Sheldon is rarely allowed to see anyone outside his department, which often makes it difficult to escape people like Leslie Winkle. Given that his department also does not have a name, it makes it difficult to receive and send mail, and really to have any contact with the world outside this complex that has not already been read and heavily redacted by Government officials.
Still, it’s the paintball tournament that preys upon his mind. Leslie is a surprisingly good shot, wielding her gun easily, her reflexes guiding her as if her life really were at stake. Years ago, Sheldon had practiced with real weapons with his sister and his father, and, while it is rare that he thinks of those years, Leslie brings out the desire to have spent a few more than his eight with them before being pulled away to attend the Government ordered Academy. He does not, after all, take losing well.
Sheldon pauses in place as one of the frequent mobile Scanners drops down in front of him and scans his face, ensuring he belongs in the complex. If only he were not surrounded by utter failures at paintball, he’d have a chance, he thinks. Unfortunately, Leonard’s hold on a gun can be described, if one were in a fortunate and forgiving mood, as unstable as a radioactive isotope’s grip on its beta particles. If one were not in a forgiving mood, and Sheldon rarely is when it comes to paintball, he’d describe it as completely and painfully ineffective unless his goal is to cause himself bodily injury. Howard usually seems more focused on trying to impress the other players, which, as he’s been in the complex for over five years, is hardly possible at this point. Raj, at least, who is fairly new to the complex, having arrived here only one year ago, is decent, if easily unnerved. The rest are not worth the breath it would take mentioning them.
Unfortunately, Leslie has Kripke on her team, and they both tend to take special malicious pleasure in attacking Sheldon. That alone has led to his team’s downfall countless times. (Due to Government protocol, as the department must stay unnamed, everything within the department must stay unnamed. This is especially frustrating when it comes to project names, leading to long, oft confusing conversations and awkward descriptions. On an oddly personal note, Sheldon would rather have liked to name his team.)
It is likely that Kripke and Leslie team up against Sheldon out of sheer jealousy. After all, it’s Sheldon, not they, who’s on the brink of uncovering faster than light space travel. (He calls it Warp in his head, as the project itself is unnamed. He tells himself it’s merely out of a need to distinguish projects, and not at all for sentimental reasons. He and Leonard had, after all, wasted many of their free hours at the Academy watching the Trek vids.)
Perhaps Kripke and Leslie think mere losses at paintball can shake him from his focus, but they’re wrong. He’s so close to unraveling the secrets he can practically taste it-taste it like the memory of his mother’s fresh pies before he was relegated to processed and flavorless Government Mealpacks. With a better team, he’d have solved it already, but instead he’s spent countless sleepless nights poring over equations to be where he is now: on the brink of one of the most important scientific discoveries ever made. If winning a mere paintball game assuages Leslie and Kripke’s egos slightly, so be it.
But he does not want to lose.
As the Scanner flits back up towards the ceiling, Sheldon continues to his lab. There’s a nagging thought in the back of his head, and his hand stretches for a marker and a whiteboard-both of which he’d had to force the Government officials to give him, as they had had the audacity to tell him to use VisiPads. As if scientific progress could be made like that. Fools and simpletons the lot of them, and even if saying such things aloud would result in immediate death, Sheldon has often been tempted.
Inside his unnamed project’s office, Raj, Leonard, and Howard are clustered together, speaking urgently. For now he ignores them and their most likely gossiping, and, moving to his whiteboard, begins to write.
The morning of the paintball tournament is the same temperature as every morning, given that this is a Government controlled complex, and the sun does not rise in any auspicious manner, given that they’re on a space station orbiting Canus and, given the rotation and controlled gravity, there’s no real sunrise. Or windows or even viewscreens in the complex, for that manner. Still, the air, at least, feels somewhat heavy with foreboding. If there were wind, it would be an ill one that’d be blowing through the corridors.
Sheldon wakes up at the exact same time he wakes up every morning. He stares at the white ceiling for forty-five seconds, and then slides out from underneath his white sheets and steps onto the white tile. He gets dressed slowly, with some consideration. There is still a nagging feeling in the back of his head, similar to how fragments of songs would get stuck in his head when he was younger and his sister would sing songs purely to annoy him. It’s odd, how sometimes he thinks of her in flashes-his twin, so unlike him in every way, and yet-
No matter.
By the time he reaches the paintball course, he’s snapped at everyone that’s come near him, and a headache is beginning to make its presence known behind his eyes. Still, he’s not about to lose this game, not when Leslie’s smile curls into a taunt and Kripke’s hands tighten around his gun as soon as he enters the course. Raj, Leonard, and Howard are already there as well; evidently, for once, it’s he who’s running late. The thought sours him even further, and he enters the locker room with far more force than purely necessary. The door slams against the wall before the pressure sensors can catch it, and the low beep of reprove is enough to top off an already irritating morning-
No matter.
He changes swiftly, and reenters the main course, determined to lead his team to victory, despite everything. Raj and Leslie are talking quietly in the corner, but break apart as soon as they see him, scattering to their proper sides as if he’s unable to notice them. He’d have Raj’s head if he wasn’t certain of Raj’s loyalty to him, despite Raj’s oft-protestations that it’s just a game. Still, it rankles-
No matter.
When the automated, virtual gun sounds the beginning of the game, both sides, now on opposite halves of the course, and hidden by faux-trees and faux-rocks, begin to move forward.
Things proceed to go rapidly downhill.
There’s a point, when Sheldon is kneeling next to a faux-rosebush, thorns scratches up his wrists welling with blood, and the sounds of Leonard and Howard begging for help from the opposite side of the course, pleading for help as the paintballs pierce the air, that he wonders how things had gone so very wrong, so very quickly.
And then, as Raj half falls down next to him, breathing heavily, eyes dilated, shirt somehow half-ripped, time…slows.
Sheldon pulls in a ragged breath, the sound of paintballs loud around him. His fingers flex in the air, searching, and then he turns, finding wet paint scattered on the ground next to him from a previous close call. He dabs his finger in it and turns to the rock, because-
Maybe we aren’t moving.
Maybe space is moving.
Maybe-
A jumble of letters and numbers lie thick on his tongue, but before he can even begin to think to untangle them his finger is moving almost of its own volition, carving out the equation that maybe has always lain dormant inside of him, waiting to be found, waiting for its own moment to escape; the sound of Howard and Leonard have dimmed, now, their cries lost to the sharpening focus of his mind. Even Raj’s questioning voice seems to call from far away, but he hasn’t time to follow it, hasn’t time to-
No matter.
He’s found it, and nothing else matters now, because this, this, this is what he’s been searching for all along, singing through his body like his sister’s melodies all those years ago, because life moves and the world moves and finding your way through it takes more than the bullet leaving the gun, it takes the preparation and the aiming and knowing how to steady your wrist and how to eye your target, and how to stand steady in your certainty, and Sheldon is standing steady in his.
Long minutes pass before he finishes, the paint drying on the faux-rock, the both of them mostly hidden by the overhanging branches of the tree above. When he finally pulls back, fingers tacky with paint, he realizes that the others have made their way over. Leonard and Howard, liberally splattered with paint, are standing to his left. Leslie and Kripke are on his right, still free of paint and therefore still in the game. The others are still out there-he can hear shouts and gunfire, and they don’t seem to realize that, in this little pocket of the course, gameplay has been suspended.
“He’s figured it out, hasn’t he?” Leslie asks, her voice pitching up higher as she looks at the faces around her. Leonard is shaking his head, eyes wide.
“You can’t have,” he says. “It’s impossible. You can’t just have-”
“Leonard, please,” Sheldon says, voice dry. “I can and I did. Just because my level of intellect so far exceeds yours as to make the very notion of my accomplishment hard to imagine, does not mean that it isn’t something that I can’t figure out while playing a simple game of Paintball. Speaking of which, what’s going on?”
Leslie shoots the equation, with very little to no regard for avoiding either Sheldon or Raj. Sheldon lets out a half murderous shout at first, but forces it back down, lip curling as he looks between her and Kripke. Both of them look desperate and almost terrified, but he takes it almost as his due, given what he just solved, given what he just managed to do for the world, and maybe it’s arrogant and ridiculous and whatnot and all of the above, but this is his due, isn’t it? This is what he’s been working for his entire life, isn’t it? The fact that fresh paint has completely obscured his work is no matter, because it’s inscribed in his mind. His memory is, after all, practically perfect. He’s not about to forget a mere collection of letters and numbers and symbols, isn’t about to forget something as perfect as what he just finished.
He won’t. He can’t.
Leonard starts to say something, words jumbling in his mouth as he starts to speak, but Sheldon stands up, his full height bringing him taller than everyone else there, his fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as he looks around at them, something like bitterness and triumph mixed together in his eyes.
“Don’t,” he says, leveling his voice over Leonard’s stuttering, over the play of gunfire and shouting further away, over everything he has ever given up for this one moment.
Sheldon, mouth turning down at the corners, shakes his head at them. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, frank disdain dripping off of his voice. “It’s all in my head,” he says. “Your petty jealously, your attempt to ruin-” He breaks off, words stuttering on his lips as his cheeks grow flushed with fury. “Do you not understand what I’ve just done? What I’ve figured out while you were all occupied with-with trivialities?” He turns on his heel and starts down the hallway. Raj spares a moment to shoot a warning glare at the others and then follows him.
Halfway between Sheldon’s unnamed project office and the paintball course, Raj grabs Sheldon’s arm and yanks him into an empty room. The door is, naturally, unmarked, but they’ve become rather used to its location and are rather sure of the fact that’s unoccupied. Sheldon turns to face Raj, looking rather irritated.
“Not now,” he says, “Did you not just-”
Raj leans in and kisses him. Sheldon tries to protest for a moment, but then sighs against Raj’s neck and slides his hands against the small of his back.
“Is this due to my display of genius?” he asks, smirking a little. Raj backs himself up until the desk is behind him, and then slides on it, pulling Sheldon between his legs. When he leans back, though, his eyes are wide and urgent.
“I need you to listen carefully,” Raj whispers, mouthing softly against Sheldon’s neck. Sheldon’s hands tighten slightly against Raj’s hips, and Raj arches up a little, bringing himself closer to Sheldon’s ear. “And quietly, I’m sure they’re listening. The Government will use your equation to decimate other civilizations. You know how xenophobic they are. You know how dangerous they are.” His fingers slide under the back of Sheldon’s shirt, his fingertips gliding along his skin. “I know that you’re a good man. And there are other good men. Part of a rebellion. We can get you out. We’ve spent longer than you can imagine planning on getting you out, and we’re getting you out today. But you can’t finish that equation. You can’t write out the formula. You can’t give them what they want.”
Sheldon’s breathing unsteadily, his hands curling around Raj’s hips as if they’re all that’s grounding him.
“You’re with this rebellion?” he asks, his voice uncertain, bending and creasing around the edges as he leans into Raj’s warmth.
“Please,” Raj says, “Please. Trust me.”
Rajesh Koothrapalli has only been at the complex for 370 Solar Earth days. Sheldon knows procedure and protocol, has had it drilled into him since he was eight years and still crying himself to sleep at night wanting his mother and Missy and everything that that life meant; Sheldon should turn Raj in. All he needs to do is yell out the Command phrase-just a small collection of words that would leave Raj bleeding and helpless at the hands of the Government. He’s seen the training vids and the propaganda vids and hacked into too many top-level files out of sheer curiosity to pretend not to know how turning Raj in would turn out. There’d be a full cleansing of the complex, their ranks decimated by hearsay and misworded comments. They’d turn each other in on the off chance it would clear their own names from a crime few if any have committed. Treason.
And Sheldon can’t think of a rebellion in the big sweeping terms which is its due, of men and women fighting for their freedom against a Government they don’t believe in. He’s lived the last eighteen years first at the Academy and then here, at the complex. Maybe, though, he can think of Raj, how very much he does not want Raj stretched out and bleeding under Government hands. Especially not when he could have prevented it. Especially when it’s his fault.
Leaving the complex-what’s outside the complex? He knows, vaguely, unrealistically. He’s studied maps and read books, but he learned early, easily, how the Government lies about and twists facts. It’s one of the many reasons he chose to focus on the maths and sciences and subjects that are incontrovertible and untouchable by the Government.
The universe, for all that he’s devoted his life to studying it, remains foreign.
Still, when faced with adventure, how can he refuse? And this is larger than adventure, this is freedom from tyranny, and more easily, more palatable, more understandable, this is saving the life of one person. This is saving the life of Raj.
“You shouldn’t have put this on my shoulders,” Sheldon says, and there’s a touch of bitterness as he says it, even as he curls into Raj’s warmth, even as he takes what little comfort bodies can offer up to one another.
“You should have thought of that before deciding to change the way we live in this universe,” Raj says. His hand is steady against Sheldon’s chest. “Will you come?”
Sheldon has stayed within sturdy walls for most of his life. He’s never been rash (except those times, years ago, when he chased his sister and met her dare for dare and climbed trees to escape chickens, and it’s odd how those moments have come faster and clearer lately), but maybe he’s never had the chance to be rash.
“Will you come?” Raj repeats, and Sheldon lets out a shuddering breath, leans his forehead lightly against Raj’s.
“Yes,” he says, the one word a quiet declaration. “Yes, I will.”
(Leslie)
She paces up and down the corridor, her hands balled into fists. Naturally, naturally the stupid idiot would figure it out right before they were going to get him out. He’s been dancing around the solution for weeks, they could all see that from the way his stupid head would tilt and his forehead would crinkle and his hands would pause in midair as he thought. And of course he couldn’t wait an extra day. That would make everything far too simple, wouldn’t it? And no, no they don’t go in for simple around these parts.
She nods sharply as Meritt, idiot extraordinaire, passes her. Bastard has his eyes focused south of her face, unsurprisingly, and she takes a moment and lets the irritation ground her, bring her down from the terror she’s been trying to put a cap on ever since she saw the equation written out.
They’ve spent too much time and worked too hard to get to this point. Being pulled here straight out of one of the private academies, scrapping her plans to work in the private sector and instead indenturing her to the Government for all intents and purposes, and then working out what was going on here, realizing the depth of Sheldon’s infuriating genius. And then years of coded messages, of Raj finally arriving, of this entire concerted effort to get Sheldon out. All of it at risk, now.
Still, Raj can keep a handle on the situation. She’s seen the way they lean into each other, and yes, Raj is pretty and a good kisser, but in all the years she’s been stuck on this hellhole of a complex with these stupid people, she’s never before seen Sheldon take notice of prettiness, and sure as hell never get as far as finding out if someone’s a good kisser. If anyone can calm down the insufferable man, it’ll be Raj.
They’ll get through this. The ship will come in time.
(Sheldon)
Back in the apartments, where Sheldon insists upon returning, if only to shower and change his clothes so he’s no longer splattered lightly with paint, Raj leans against the wall of Sheldon’s room, watching him study the bare trappings.
“You understand-” he says, his voice a little sharp, and Sheldon turns to him with an air of offendedness.
“Yes,” he says, “Naturally.”
He’ll have to leave everything behind. Of course, given that they’re not allowed to keep personal photographs, and the pile of letters he has is both small and heavily redacted, it’s not as if he’s making any great sacrifice leaving behind clothing and several mind clearing games. The notes would be devastating if he didn’t have them all seamlessly replicated in his mind.
He takes a moment to sit at his desk, feeling ridiculously sentimental as he leafs through the paperwork. Part of him wants to tidy everything, to clean it all up and put it all away, but he rather suspects that that is the sort of telling behavior Raj would prefer he avoided. Moreover, given that he’s given himself over to rationality and logic, it would be a shame to resort to such measures now, at this point, when perhaps he has most need of them, and certainly has just proven their worth.
Still, it’s with an unusually heavy heart that he stands.
“We have a little time before lunch?” he asks, his voice lilting around the words, easing his deception, and Raj smiles almost wearily.
“A little,” he says.
(Kripke)
Kripke has made good use of the last few years. He’s become friends with most of the guards, even though there, strictly speaking, is supposed to be little to no interaction between guards and departmental scientists.
Zack, particularly, is a good guy. He’s relaxed around Kripke, and they’ve spent more time than they ever should have cracking jokes. Zack’s got contacts for sports scores, since even the guards are supposed to live in relative isolation on the complex, and sometimes he and Kripke will have casual bets on teams.
Before Kripke was transferred to this complex a few years ago, he had quite a bit more freedom. He even managed to go to games, occasionally, and sometimes he and Zack will spend hours regaling each other with the smell of grass and the sound of the bat as it hit the ball, the crack of it that lingered in the air. It’s not that Kripke was ever obsessed with sports, because he wasn’t, but it was something to do of a Sunday afternoon, and those memories seem precious now. That amount of freedom, to choose where to go and what to see, to waste money on alcohol (banned at the complex) and get sunburned when he forgot to put on sunscreen.
Zack’s a good sort, if Kripke’s being honest. Not just for an asset, not just to use, but to spend time with. It’s not as if he’s ever really fit in with anyone else here, and it doesn’t help that he has to spread lies whenever he speaks. At least, with Zack, they’re not talking science and projects, and he’s not having to lie about progress or timetables.
Of course, he’s worked on all the guards, because there’s no guarantee that Zack will be the one in the control tower when things start. Their shifts are deliberately random and shuffled in order to provide better security, and generally to make it impossible for the guards to ever make plans. There’s a reason why guards are only stationed at the complex for four years max-despite being a fairly well hidden location, the security is over-the-top, and often exhausting.
Zack’s complained about it, sometimes, if not in as many words. While they hung out in Zack’s quarters and watched one of the GA (Government Approved) vids, they’d talk a bit about their week, or day, depending on how long it had been since they’d last hung out. For all that Zack’s a big guy, honest and funny and somehow ever so normal, he’s also a little quiet sometimes. Kripke’s learned to pick up a lot of Zack’s tells - too many of them, if he were honest with himself.
The fact is, he’s using Zack, and this isn’t a friendship that’s going to be allowed to go the distance. He’s known it, watched the timetable loom closer and his time here dwindle, and while it’s been a relief to know that sooner or later this will be over, the lies and the deception and all of it, another part of him has known that he’s going to miss this. Not all of it, certainly not all of it, but slow afternoons and long talks with Zack, he’s going to miss them. He’s going to miss Zack.
The Demeter arrives as a cargo ship. There’s Government Agents all throughout the complex, because this is a top level, unnamed complex, practically dripping in secrecy and obscurity. The rebels have had a fair time learning to deal in the Governments ways, though, and they’ve evidently prepared for this moment with all the panache and perfection that it both needs and calls for.
The blonde captain struts a little too much, and the shorter blonde eyes passersby too carefully, but they step out onto the landing bay in their tall Government Issued boots with a confidence and ease that’s enough of a badge for anyone nearby.
Zack’s the guard on duty, and even as he walks up to double-triple-quadruple inspect their paperwork, Kripke jogs up and leans in a little to his side, a smile bright on his face, a hushed and hurried detailing of plans for the night. Kripke’s not disappointed when Zack turns to him, an answering grin on his own face, and maybe it’s that subtle distraction, maybe it’s more than that, but the captain and her first officer step into the complex with nary a problem.
Kripke knows how this will play out, despite the way they try to keep the plans as fractured as possible, to give only as much information as each party needs to play their part.
Even now, Sheldon and Raj are hiding in storage containers. Leslie and Howard have looped the cameras in the storage facilities, and Leonard is in the middle of accidentally causing a small explosion in the labs, which should be enough of a distraction to get those fucking scanners off their backs for long enough. There’s not much space in the storage containers. Kripke checked them out a few months back, sized up the dimensions and the amount of air and Sheldon’s ability to stop himself from panicking. There’s not much space, but it will have to do.
The blonde captain directs her first officer to help Zack move the shipments. Kripke stays, telling himself it’s to keep Zack distracted and pliable, telling himself it’s not because he’s terrified. There’s a moment, when Zack activates the GravCart, that he frowns a little at the way the container settles, at the weight of it on the cart. Kripke tries to keep his voice level, tries to spare only the normal amount of glances at the captain and her officer, tries to be normal.
Zack frowns down at the cart, at the container that contains such a very important shipment, and then he looks at Kripke. Kripke forgets to breathe. He forgets to breathe, and he forgets to think, and then Zack shakes his head and smiles at him and steers the GravCart along the smooth grey floor, to the mouth of the ship. The smaller blonde takes it from there, her smile bright, and the captain takes a moment to flirt easily with the two of them, and then they’re gone and Kripke is left with Zack, with Zack and the smooth grey bulk of ship before them.
“Come on,” Zack says, nudging Kripke’s shoulder with his own, “Let’s get out of here so they can pressurize the chamber. I’m sure they want to get on the road.”
And Kripke follows him out, out onto Flandorian tiles and white walls, follows him because that’s all that’s left to do.
(Sheldon)
By the time the storage container is opened, Sheldon no longer cares if it’s Government Agents coming to claim him or, as Raj insists, the good guys. Sheldon has never done especially well in enclosed spaces, but this-this has taken it to an entirely new level. He sucks in a grateful breath as he squints a little against the light; before he can say anything, Raj untangles himself from Sheldon’s limbs and launches himself fully into the arms of the small woman in front of them.
“Bernie,” he says, squeezing her tight, “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you!”
“Raj,” she says, her voice fond, “I’ve told you before, if you keep calling me that I’ll have to kill you.”
“Such a flirt,” Raj smirks, pulling away a little to look at her better. He introduces Bernie (Bernadette, she explains, glaring at Raj) to Sheldon. They spend a few moments catching up, but she’s quick to say that the captain had insisted she see them as soon as they were far enough out from the complex to make it safe.
“She’s piloting,” Bernadette explains to Sheldon. Raj swallows a grin at that (“She always complains when she’s stuck piloting for too long,” he says), and they follow her down the corridors, Raj bantering with Bernadette and Sheldon uncharacteristically quiet.
Bernadette pauses in the doorway next to Sheldon, waving her hand inwards.
“This is Captain Reynolds,” she says. Sheldon steps carefully into the room, the bright stars on the Vidscreen making it hard to keep his eyes on the woman looking up at him.
“Reynolds,” he says, nodding a little at her in greeting.
“Captain,” she corrects, her expression stern.
“Penny!” Raj says, entering just then and grabbing her close. He kisses her full-on the lips, but when they pull apart Penny’s laughing.
“Raj,” she says, “I’ve missed you!”
“And I you,” he says gravely. “Tell me, is that fucker Kurt still aboard?”
“Nope,” Penny says, smirking. “Kicked him off a few months back. Worst mechanic I ever had.”
“Worst boyfriend we ever had,” Raj says. He wiggles his pinkie meaningfully. “Didn’t even make up for it in the bunk.”
Penny starts laughing in what’s really quite painful remembrance, and Sheldon watches their interactions. He’s trying for coolly aloof, or at the very least indifferent, but he’s just committed treason against the Government, who will no doubt start sending Agents to hunt him down very shortly, and it’s a little hard to concentrate on things like appearance and not on ohgodohgod what have I done??
It takes a moment of idle small talk between Penny and Raj, who are evidently quite good friends that go way back, both having dated Kurt, but finally she turns her sharp gaze on him. She looks him up and down in a considering manner for a long second, and then flashes him what is truly a staggeringly brilliant smile. She holds out her hand, and when he takes it, her grip is firm and steady.
“Welcome onto my ship, Dr. Cooper,” she says. “We’re going to get you where you need going, so no need to look that worried. She might be a bit old and a bit worn down in places, but this girl’s the best ship you’ll ever fly on.”
“She?” he repeats, looking a bit concerned, and she just pats his arm and shakes her head at Raj.
“You landlocked types are all the same,” she says, amusement flitting through her voice. “Raj, you want to show him where he’s bunking? As you know, we’re running pretty short-staffed right now, what with half my crew on all sides of the friggin’ galaxy, so you’ll have plenty of space. We’re a small crew normally, but really this is just ridiculous. At least you’re back, Raj.”
“A year isn’t that long,” he smirks. She smacks him upside the back of his head.
“If you weren’t only newly returned, and I didn’t want you to take over piloting once we’re sure no one’s following, you’d be in a helluva lot of pain right now,” she assures him. He dutifully rolls his eyes and grabs Sheldon’s arm, pulling him down the corridor to the rooms.
Sheldon has to climb down a ladder to reach his new room, but even so, it has a more comfortable feel than he’s used to. There’s a handmade quilt on the bunk, and the room is splashed with color. Raj, used to Sheldon’s particular eccentricities and space issues, leans against the wall. Sheldon eyes him, because it’s been a long day, and Raj has a tendency to request make outs on long days. (They’ve yet to progress further, although sometimes, when Raj has left, Sheldon has felt on the verge of-of-well, he’d taken matters into his own hands afterward, but it had been with a particular sort of desperation rather than his usual perfunctory manner).
Raj doesn’t appear to be planning on leaping upon Sheldon, so he sits down carefully on the edge of his bunk. “So,” he says. “I’m here. I’ve left everything behind. Might I inquire as to where we’re going?” His tone is sharper than he was intending, but he can’t find it within himself to bite it back. The slight twist of not-top line artificial gravity tugs at his stomach, and right now he’s holding himself together fairly remarkably, he thinks, given the way the day has went. Especially since he didn’t even get to win at paintball.
“There’s a scientist in the private sector,” Raj says. “She’s been working with us for several years, and has quite a few contacts with non-humans.”
“Non-humans?” Sheldon scoffs. “You mean aliens?”
“It’s, um, generally not considered polite to call them aliens to their face,” Raj says. It’s not exactly that he means anything harsh by it, but the Government’s insistence on calling them aliens had caused a big ruckus ten or so years back, and was part of protests and more before it became evident that the Government was planning on going to war with all non-humans. The priorities sort of shifted at that point. “Calling them aliens is calling them something unknown and different, and really, that’s part of the mythos that we’re trying to combat. One of the main reasons we’re having difficulties arguing that they should be allowed into the Union is that people see them as-”
“Stop,” Sheldon says. “Just stop. Stop. Where are we going? I’m on a spaceship heading somewhere, with the Government chasing me, and you want to give me a lecture in the soft sciences? Where are we going?”
Raj winces. “We’re going to try to stop a war before it begins,” he says. “We’re going to go see Amy Farrah Fowler.”
Sheldon meets the other shipmates the next morning. There’s Stuart, who he’d already seen, if not been formerly introduced to. Stuart’s the mechanic, a sweet guy who, while Raj calls him in a rather adoring way a puppy, is nonetheless a whiz at keeping them flying. There’s also Bernadette, who keeps a gun strapped to her side even around ship. She has a quick, sweet smile that makes it easy to forget the fact that she’s always armed, and she only comes halfway up his chest. Raj tells him she’s a doll, but Sheldon isn’t quick to forget the sharp edges he can see underneath, and he’s betting the scar that goes up her arm didn’t come from doing dishes.
Penny’s brother, Wyatt Jr., describes himself with a smirk as a chemist. After Penny punches him in the arm, he laughs and adjusts his title to procurer. As far as Sheldon can tell, Wyatt’s got contacts all over the place, most of them on the wrong side of the Government. The chemist crack is clearly some old joke between them, but the way Wyatt rubs his arm makes him think that maybe Penny doesn’t find it all that funny. While they’re touring, they come across an infirmary, but Penny says their doctor is off on an errand. She won’t say more, even when pressed, and Sheldon leaves it at that.
The crew is small-only four, or five now, since Raj is back-but there’s a familiarity between them that’s almost comforting. Sheldon’s used to working on his own, though. Raj refuses to let Sheldon write down the completed equation anywhere, knowing too well that Sheldon won’t forget it, so Sheldon works idly on other problems. He tapes paper to the wall of his room, writing carefully with small letters to make the most use of his makeshift whiteboard as he can. He stays in his room long hours, and tells himself he’s not avoiding the others, but merely using the time to his advantage. Raj doesn’t seem to believe him, but Sheldon perseveres.
(Raj)
Raj walks down the corridors easily, the familiar feel of them comforting after so much time away. He’s left Sheldon working on some problem or other, sure that, for the moment at least, he’s safe. He leans against the wall and raps twice on Bernadette’s door, waiting for her soft call of enter.
She’d greeted him warmly, earlier, holding him close and smiling brightly as only she can. Now, as she leans back in her bunk, her hair loose from her braid and her legs crossed, there’s something calm about her that was missing before.
“All settled back in?” she asks. She smiles into the words, glancing up at him through her glasses, and he’s slow and careful as he sits down next to her, for all of their history.
“I think it’ll take him a bit to get used to,” Raj says. “He’s not used to-well. To any of this.”
“Not like we are,” Bernadette says, her voice nearing wistful. She pauses, and then she drums restlessly on her legs, leaning back against the wall. “What was it like? At the complex?”
Bernadette’s been on the run most of her life. She’s told Raj only bits and pieces of her past, but he’s heard enough to figure out the broad strokes of tragedy. She’s hardly ever mentioned her family, but then he’s never asked, either.
“Our days were filled from beginning to end, and we were kept on a tight schedule,” he says.
Raj had gone to school in an entirely different sector, had come here only because a job offer had promised the possibility of proving himself to his parents. He rather wishes he’d been more confident back then.
“Kept on a tighter schedule than Penny?” she asks, a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth. It’s an old joke, after all-Penny knows she’s a rather slipshod boss, too easy and too relaxed, but she’s also sure of her crew, and there’s something to be said for trust. They all have her back, after all.
They’re quiet for a moment, lost in each other’s smiles, and then Raj stirs.
“This is a terrible plan,” he says. “You know it’s a terrible plan.”
“Well,” she says, “It’s the only one we have.”
(Sheldon)
Late on the third night of their journey, Sheldon’s been working for hours, caught up in the quiet distraction of almost-normalcy, as if he can pretend he’s still back at his unnamed office instead of here. It’s gotten later then he was expecting, and it takes him a moment to realize that what distracted him was the grumbling and ache in his stomach. He wanders out towards the kitchen area in search of food.
He rummages through the cabinets looking for something familiar. There’s cans of food which he doesn’t know how to prepare, and dried food that he’s unfamiliar with, but finally he comes across crackers and some sort of jam, and he’s a memory of something similar years ago, so he pulls them out and starts spreading it on.
Penny wanders in quietly as he works. She glances at him, and then pauses against the table, the wood solid against her hip. Her fingers drum on the surface for a few minutes, but finally she peters off, and Sheldon pauses in his preparations, eyes skimming up to take her in. She’s watching the black expanse of space sweep past the portholes, her breathing even and steady, her stance almost religious.
“Your ship,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence. “Did you name it? Her?” he stutters as he corrects himself, forces himself to consider metal as life, to consider a ship to have a pulse. There’s beauty in the imagery, and he can imagine why people choose to bequeath life on the inanimate. There’s comfort in believing the shell of a ship is living and protecting you.
Penny turns and looks at him, her eyes sharper than he was expecting. “Yes,” she says. “You’ve heard the old stories?”
Sheldon considers the blonde goddess of old, the corn mother, the goddess of harvests, and staring at her he can remember the dirt underneath his feet, the wind in his hair as he ran, the smell of rain and the feel of sunshine and the way his father walked after a long harvest, and it rolls over him in a great wave, what he lost, what was taken from: home.
“Yes,” he says. His voice is rough and ragged and he turns away, because he has had enough reminders, has heard Missy’s fleeting songs too many times these past few days, and there are far more urgent matters to consider, far more at stake than one lost little boy, crying as the Government Agents pulled him away from his family, reaching for Missy even as she reached back for him. “Yes,” he says. “But that was a long time ago.” Lifetimes ago,he doesn’t say.
As they get closer to civilization, Bernadette spends more time tracing transmissions and trying to hack into official channels to get news. When she finally does, Sheldon almost wishes she hadn’t succeeded.
Penny comes into his room without knocking, sliding down the ladder with an ease he very nearly resents. “Sheldon,” she says, and her voice is pulled tight along syllables, and it’s enough to pause the pen in his hand. He turns to look at her.
“What is it?”
“They locked down your complex,” she says, still with that tightness to her voice.
“We were expecting that, weren’t we?” he asks, careful. Something is wrong here, and he’s not sure he wants to know what.
“They took everyone into custody. Everyone.”
“What?” His voice is sharp and angry and furious and desperate, because they’d left everyone else behind, he’d left everyone else behind, everyone that he’s known, it seems like, and Sheldon’s maybe made a habit of leaving people behind but it doesn’t get any easier with time. Leonard and Howard and even Leslie and Kripke, and he knows what the Government does, especially when they’re trying to make a point. He knows what to expect. “I trusted you people! You said this wouldn’t happen, you said that they’d be safe!”
He pulls away from the wall, and when one of the papers snags on his wrist and his shirt and his pen, he pulls it off and lets it flutter loose to the ground.
“Sheldon-”
“Where’s Raj?” he says, fury arcing underneath his skin, and it’s easy, maybe, easy to feel in full color, but maybe he’d be better off in back in black and white.
“He’s-Sheldon, he’s crying,” she says. Her hand is gentle on his arm, and Sheldon wants to shake it off, wants to-wants to do something. Anything. Everything. “He would have told you himself, but he can’t stop crying,” she says. Her voice is soft, and maybe it’s that that finally breaks him.
His knees buckle, and despite her diminutive stature she manages to pull him towards his bunk, her grip a vise on his arm until finally he sinks onto the bed. His arms and legs feel awkward and unnecessary, and for the first time in his life he’s not sure what to do with them; they hang loosely until he draws them in close to his body.
“What will happen to them?” he asks, his voice almost strangled, and it’s foolish to ask her, ridiculous, he’s seen all the Vidtapes and read the books, he knows what will happen to them, knows that it’s all because of him, and how is one supposed to manage that? How is one supposed to deal with the realization that people are being hurt because of you?
He knows, logically, rationally, that nothing is quite as simple as that, that if anything it’s the Government that’s hurting them, and that they risked their lives to ensure the Government would not be able to use yet another technological advance as weaponry against other cultures, but now, in this moment, it’s hard for Sheldon to pull that realization close, hard to push away the image of Leonard’s face as he pressed Sheldon’s hand between both of his, a goodbye that could not be said aloud. Sheldon had met Leonard at the Academy-two small boys pulled away from home and forced into sterile white rooms and harshly enforced rules and regulations.
Leonard, at least, had had some idea of what to expect, as his parents had both come from Academia and had been forced to attend the Academy. Sheldon, so much more used to sun and air and earth, to the wilds of New Texas and the sound of his sister’s trilling laughter as she fished for Agess, was entirely out of his element. Oh, he’d learned more and learned faster than anyone ever had at his school before, but it was a rural school with too many kids and a schoolteacher that delivered punishment to fit the crime, sometimes allowing for intent or righteous anger to slide through without discussion.
At the Academy, every minor infraction was punished corporally or with loss of privileges. Sheldon did not do well socially the first year, even as he caught up with homeschooled children and then proceeded to excel past them. It was Leonard who started sitting next to him at lunch, and choosing him as partner for classes, and generally adopting him. It was Leonard who made sure he was all right.
Now Leonard is-where? In a Government Holding Facility? Being questioned and probably tortured to find out Sheldon’s whereabouts and plans? Why hadn’t they come with? Why?
Penny’s arm encircles his back, her voice low and soothing, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s sobbing, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his body slowly shuddering against hers.
“It’s all right,” she says. “They’ll be all right, Sheldon. We think they did it as a scare tactic. They can’t think any of you scientists had a hand in this, and we’re still hoping they’ll think you were kidnapped. They’ll be all right, Sheldon, they won’t want to damage valuable assets unless they’re sure they’ll find out where you are, and they can’t be sure, because no one knows where you’re going. Even you only have a name. We’ve done this before, Sheldon, if not with quite such a highly prized target, still with important political figures. It’s going to be all right.”
Sheldon would like to know how she knows that, would like to press her in all the areas that he knows she’s weakest, but it’s hard to turn down unlooked for comfort, hard to push away kindness. Instead, his hands settle on her hips, on her back, pulling her closer, as if that infinitesimal gap can somehow erase what he has just heard, as if it can somehow ease the sharp pain inside, the guilt that coats his lungs. Her hands smooth circles against his back, and he lets himself be lulled by the sound of her voice, the repetition of words that mean this is not your fault.
(Penny)
Penny is quiet around Sheldon for the next few days. Sheldon carries himself closely, pulls himself inward, and she watches from afar his mass collapse in on itself.
There are scattered conversations (“Do something about him, Raj.” “I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”), there are moments when he pauses and looks past metal to something more, there is her, watching him, waiting.
(She is the Captain and this is her ship and these are her crew and she is responsible for each and every one of them, for heartbeats and tears and laughter and frailty. And sometimes being a Captain is the same as being a bartender, it’s waiting and it’s drawing people out and it’s listening. And she’s good at that. She is.)
She met her crew over the years, knows where they’re weakest and where they’re stronger than they realize. She’s known Wyatt all her life, and almost half of that she spent waiting for him to stop throwing his away. He’s shaped up, though-she wouldn’t have him on this ship, brother or not, if he was still the self-destructive mess he’d been back then.
She met Bernadette not long after she moved off of Omaha - a little settlement that, despite the harsh environment, had been home, and homey, and everything except what she was searching for. She met Raj because of her ex, Kurt, and it’s the only good thing the dumbass ever did for her. Stuart she met through Raj, working in a little supply store on some shitty little settlement, and Raj was right, there was more strength under that softness than she saw at first. She sees it now. And her doctor - no. Her doctor, and the rest of them, everyone that risked their lives to get Sheldon and his secrets out, she can’t think of them, not until she knows they’re all right.
It’s because of them that she’ll make sure Sheldon gets through this, though. There’s too much riding on this, too much at stake, and she’ll be damned if it all falls apart because she fails at her job.
“He’ll be all right,” Raj says, but his eyes skim past her as he says it. She doesn’t pursue his lie, though. That’s not what she’s here for.
“And you?”
“Me?” Raj asks, flustered, and she stops herself, narrowly, from gathering him up in her arms.
“They were your friends, too, weren’t they?” she presses. Raj pulls himself in a little, his arms crossing in front of him chest, his still overly long hair-this straight-laced scientist hair that doesn’t suit him, brushing near his eyebrows. She gives in to her impulse and brushes it away, further up his forehead.
“They’ll be all right,” he says, and there’s determination lining his voice, even while she can see the fear in his eyes. He catches her hand in his own and draws it downward, holding it between their bodies.
“They will,” she says, certain to the core, strong in all the ways he needs. “They’ll be all right.”
(Raj)
Raj presses Bernadette against the wall in her bunk as she curls her leg up along his hip, head tipping back against the wall, fingers curling against his skin.
“Raj-” she says, “Raj-”
And he kisses her throat, her cheek, holds her through it, follows her down, until words are unnecessary, until he doesn’t see the faces of the friends he left behind.
“They weren’t like you,” Raj tells Sheldon, his voice low. Sheldon’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Raj struggles to hold his gaze. “They knew what they were getting into,” he says.
The tension in Sheldon’s shoulders doesn’t ease, but his lips curl into something like a smile. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that’s something.”
Raj shrugs. “Sometimes it’s all we’ve got out here.”
PART ONE + MIX | PART TWO
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: ~17k
Disclaimer: BBT isn’t mine, etc. (And neither are Firefly or Star Trek, which this draws from.)
Warning: Some language, makeouts, terrible terrible no good fake science & handwaving.
Summary: Space!AU. Sheldon just solved the equation for faster than light travel. Unfortunately, he works for the xenophobic, fairly terrible Government, that’s hell-bent on wiping out all alien cultures and silencing those damn hippies that want equal rights, representation, and inclusion in the Government for all species. On the bright side, there’s already a rebellion underway, and Sheldon’s about to be dragged kicking and screaming right into the center of it, whether he likes it or not…
Pairings: Gen, slash, het - let’s just say pretty much everyone/everyone to varying degrees. (If you're concerned, just ask.)
A/N: I dropped the ball often and badly during this bbbb. Luckily, the mods were generous, ishie was both an amazing beta and unbelievably patient with my hemming and hawing and refusing to hand it over, allthingsholy made gorgeous art in spite of my less than stellar timing + a mix that is absolute perfection, and everyone on twitter bore with me as, for the most part, my entire bbbb writing process was one giant disaster zone. Basically, if people weren't as kind and patient and generally fantastic as they are, this would most definitely not exist. So thank you muchly, I love y'all.
& MIX + ART (both of which are lovely and gorgeous and beyond perfection) by allthingsholy ♥
MEDIAFIRE
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“Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end."
- Spock
(Sheldon)
Sheldon’s footsteps echo rather eerily on the Flandorian tiles. Were he a superstitious sort, the ominous sound, coupled with his ongoing breakthrough research and the recent rebellions in the Adarian sector, would have him worried. As it stands, though, Dr. Sheldon Cooper is instead considering the prospects of the coming paintball tournament this weekend, where his team will stand to recoup their previous losses against his arch-nemesis, one Leslie Winkle.
Leslie Winkle works in his department. Not with him, of course, but in his department nonetheless. Unfortunately, given the security measures imposed by the Government, Sheldon is rarely allowed to see anyone outside his department, which often makes it difficult to escape people like Leslie Winkle. Given that his department also does not have a name, it makes it difficult to receive and send mail, and really to have any contact with the world outside this complex that has not already been read and heavily redacted by Government officials.
Still, it’s the paintball tournament that preys upon his mind. Leslie is a surprisingly good shot, wielding her gun easily, her reflexes guiding her as if her life really were at stake. Years ago, Sheldon had practiced with real weapons with his sister and his father, and, while it is rare that he thinks of those years, Leslie brings out the desire to have spent a few more than his eight with them before being pulled away to attend the Government ordered Academy. He does not, after all, take losing well.
Sheldon pauses in place as one of the frequent mobile Scanners drops down in front of him and scans his face, ensuring he belongs in the complex. If only he were not surrounded by utter failures at paintball, he’d have a chance, he thinks. Unfortunately, Leonard’s hold on a gun can be described, if one were in a fortunate and forgiving mood, as unstable as a radioactive isotope’s grip on its beta particles. If one were not in a forgiving mood, and Sheldon rarely is when it comes to paintball, he’d describe it as completely and painfully ineffective unless his goal is to cause himself bodily injury. Howard usually seems more focused on trying to impress the other players, which, as he’s been in the complex for over five years, is hardly possible at this point. Raj, at least, who is fairly new to the complex, having arrived here only one year ago, is decent, if easily unnerved. The rest are not worth the breath it would take mentioning them.
Unfortunately, Leslie has Kripke on her team, and they both tend to take special malicious pleasure in attacking Sheldon. That alone has led to his team’s downfall countless times. (Due to Government protocol, as the department must stay unnamed, everything within the department must stay unnamed. This is especially frustrating when it comes to project names, leading to long, oft confusing conversations and awkward descriptions. On an oddly personal note, Sheldon would rather have liked to name his team.)
It is likely that Kripke and Leslie team up against Sheldon out of sheer jealousy. After all, it’s Sheldon, not they, who’s on the brink of uncovering faster than light space travel. (He calls it Warp in his head, as the project itself is unnamed. He tells himself it’s merely out of a need to distinguish projects, and not at all for sentimental reasons. He and Leonard had, after all, wasted many of their free hours at the Academy watching the Trek vids.)
Perhaps Kripke and Leslie think mere losses at paintball can shake him from his focus, but they’re wrong. He’s so close to unraveling the secrets he can practically taste it-taste it like the memory of his mother’s fresh pies before he was relegated to processed and flavorless Government Mealpacks. With a better team, he’d have solved it already, but instead he’s spent countless sleepless nights poring over equations to be where he is now: on the brink of one of the most important scientific discoveries ever made. If winning a mere paintball game assuages Leslie and Kripke’s egos slightly, so be it.
But he does not want to lose.
As the Scanner flits back up towards the ceiling, Sheldon continues to his lab. There’s a nagging thought in the back of his head, and his hand stretches for a marker and a whiteboard-both of which he’d had to force the Government officials to give him, as they had had the audacity to tell him to use VisiPads. As if scientific progress could be made like that. Fools and simpletons the lot of them, and even if saying such things aloud would result in immediate death, Sheldon has often been tempted.
Inside his unnamed project’s office, Raj, Leonard, and Howard are clustered together, speaking urgently. For now he ignores them and their most likely gossiping, and, moving to his whiteboard, begins to write.
The morning of the paintball tournament is the same temperature as every morning, given that this is a Government controlled complex, and the sun does not rise in any auspicious manner, given that they’re on a space station orbiting Canus and, given the rotation and controlled gravity, there’s no real sunrise. Or windows or even viewscreens in the complex, for that manner. Still, the air, at least, feels somewhat heavy with foreboding. If there were wind, it would be an ill one that’d be blowing through the corridors.
Sheldon wakes up at the exact same time he wakes up every morning. He stares at the white ceiling for forty-five seconds, and then slides out from underneath his white sheets and steps onto the white tile. He gets dressed slowly, with some consideration. There is still a nagging feeling in the back of his head, similar to how fragments of songs would get stuck in his head when he was younger and his sister would sing songs purely to annoy him. It’s odd, how sometimes he thinks of her in flashes-his twin, so unlike him in every way, and yet-
No matter.
By the time he reaches the paintball course, he’s snapped at everyone that’s come near him, and a headache is beginning to make its presence known behind his eyes. Still, he’s not about to lose this game, not when Leslie’s smile curls into a taunt and Kripke’s hands tighten around his gun as soon as he enters the course. Raj, Leonard, and Howard are already there as well; evidently, for once, it’s he who’s running late. The thought sours him even further, and he enters the locker room with far more force than purely necessary. The door slams against the wall before the pressure sensors can catch it, and the low beep of reprove is enough to top off an already irritating morning-
No matter.
He changes swiftly, and reenters the main course, determined to lead his team to victory, despite everything. Raj and Leslie are talking quietly in the corner, but break apart as soon as they see him, scattering to their proper sides as if he’s unable to notice them. He’d have Raj’s head if he wasn’t certain of Raj’s loyalty to him, despite Raj’s oft-protestations that it’s just a game. Still, it rankles-
No matter.
When the automated, virtual gun sounds the beginning of the game, both sides, now on opposite halves of the course, and hidden by faux-trees and faux-rocks, begin to move forward.
Things proceed to go rapidly downhill.
There’s a point, when Sheldon is kneeling next to a faux-rosebush, thorns scratches up his wrists welling with blood, and the sounds of Leonard and Howard begging for help from the opposite side of the course, pleading for help as the paintballs pierce the air, that he wonders how things had gone so very wrong, so very quickly.
And then, as Raj half falls down next to him, breathing heavily, eyes dilated, shirt somehow half-ripped, time…slows.
Sheldon pulls in a ragged breath, the sound of paintballs loud around him. His fingers flex in the air, searching, and then he turns, finding wet paint scattered on the ground next to him from a previous close call. He dabs his finger in it and turns to the rock, because-
Maybe we aren’t moving.
Maybe space is moving.
Maybe-
A jumble of letters and numbers lie thick on his tongue, but before he can even begin to think to untangle them his finger is moving almost of its own volition, carving out the equation that maybe has always lain dormant inside of him, waiting to be found, waiting for its own moment to escape; the sound of Howard and Leonard have dimmed, now, their cries lost to the sharpening focus of his mind. Even Raj’s questioning voice seems to call from far away, but he hasn’t time to follow it, hasn’t time to-
No matter.
He’s found it, and nothing else matters now, because this, this, this is what he’s been searching for all along, singing through his body like his sister’s melodies all those years ago, because life moves and the world moves and finding your way through it takes more than the bullet leaving the gun, it takes the preparation and the aiming and knowing how to steady your wrist and how to eye your target, and how to stand steady in your certainty, and Sheldon is standing steady in his.
Long minutes pass before he finishes, the paint drying on the faux-rock, the both of them mostly hidden by the overhanging branches of the tree above. When he finally pulls back, fingers tacky with paint, he realizes that the others have made their way over. Leonard and Howard, liberally splattered with paint, are standing to his left. Leslie and Kripke are on his right, still free of paint and therefore still in the game. The others are still out there-he can hear shouts and gunfire, and they don’t seem to realize that, in this little pocket of the course, gameplay has been suspended.
“He’s figured it out, hasn’t he?” Leslie asks, her voice pitching up higher as she looks at the faces around her. Leonard is shaking his head, eyes wide.
“You can’t have,” he says. “It’s impossible. You can’t just have-”
“Leonard, please,” Sheldon says, voice dry. “I can and I did. Just because my level of intellect so far exceeds yours as to make the very notion of my accomplishment hard to imagine, does not mean that it isn’t something that I can’t figure out while playing a simple game of Paintball. Speaking of which, what’s going on?”
Leslie shoots the equation, with very little to no regard for avoiding either Sheldon or Raj. Sheldon lets out a half murderous shout at first, but forces it back down, lip curling as he looks between her and Kripke. Both of them look desperate and almost terrified, but he takes it almost as his due, given what he just solved, given what he just managed to do for the world, and maybe it’s arrogant and ridiculous and whatnot and all of the above, but this is his due, isn’t it? This is what he’s been working for his entire life, isn’t it? The fact that fresh paint has completely obscured his work is no matter, because it’s inscribed in his mind. His memory is, after all, practically perfect. He’s not about to forget a mere collection of letters and numbers and symbols, isn’t about to forget something as perfect as what he just finished.
He won’t. He can’t.
Leonard starts to say something, words jumbling in his mouth as he starts to speak, but Sheldon stands up, his full height bringing him taller than everyone else there, his fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt as he looks around at them, something like bitterness and triumph mixed together in his eyes.
“Don’t,” he says, leveling his voice over Leonard’s stuttering, over the play of gunfire and shouting further away, over everything he has ever given up for this one moment.
Sheldon, mouth turning down at the corners, shakes his head at them. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, frank disdain dripping off of his voice. “It’s all in my head,” he says. “Your petty jealously, your attempt to ruin-” He breaks off, words stuttering on his lips as his cheeks grow flushed with fury. “Do you not understand what I’ve just done? What I’ve figured out while you were all occupied with-with trivialities?” He turns on his heel and starts down the hallway. Raj spares a moment to shoot a warning glare at the others and then follows him.
Halfway between Sheldon’s unnamed project office and the paintball course, Raj grabs Sheldon’s arm and yanks him into an empty room. The door is, naturally, unmarked, but they’ve become rather used to its location and are rather sure of the fact that’s unoccupied. Sheldon turns to face Raj, looking rather irritated.
“Not now,” he says, “Did you not just-”
Raj leans in and kisses him. Sheldon tries to protest for a moment, but then sighs against Raj’s neck and slides his hands against the small of his back.
“Is this due to my display of genius?” he asks, smirking a little. Raj backs himself up until the desk is behind him, and then slides on it, pulling Sheldon between his legs. When he leans back, though, his eyes are wide and urgent.
“I need you to listen carefully,” Raj whispers, mouthing softly against Sheldon’s neck. Sheldon’s hands tighten slightly against Raj’s hips, and Raj arches up a little, bringing himself closer to Sheldon’s ear. “And quietly, I’m sure they’re listening. The Government will use your equation to decimate other civilizations. You know how xenophobic they are. You know how dangerous they are.” His fingers slide under the back of Sheldon’s shirt, his fingertips gliding along his skin. “I know that you’re a good man. And there are other good men. Part of a rebellion. We can get you out. We’ve spent longer than you can imagine planning on getting you out, and we’re getting you out today. But you can’t finish that equation. You can’t write out the formula. You can’t give them what they want.”
Sheldon’s breathing unsteadily, his hands curling around Raj’s hips as if they’re all that’s grounding him.
“You’re with this rebellion?” he asks, his voice uncertain, bending and creasing around the edges as he leans into Raj’s warmth.
“Please,” Raj says, “Please. Trust me.”
Rajesh Koothrapalli has only been at the complex for 370 Solar Earth days. Sheldon knows procedure and protocol, has had it drilled into him since he was eight years and still crying himself to sleep at night wanting his mother and Missy and everything that that life meant; Sheldon should turn Raj in. All he needs to do is yell out the Command phrase-just a small collection of words that would leave Raj bleeding and helpless at the hands of the Government. He’s seen the training vids and the propaganda vids and hacked into too many top-level files out of sheer curiosity to pretend not to know how turning Raj in would turn out. There’d be a full cleansing of the complex, their ranks decimated by hearsay and misworded comments. They’d turn each other in on the off chance it would clear their own names from a crime few if any have committed. Treason.
And Sheldon can’t think of a rebellion in the big sweeping terms which is its due, of men and women fighting for their freedom against a Government they don’t believe in. He’s lived the last eighteen years first at the Academy and then here, at the complex. Maybe, though, he can think of Raj, how very much he does not want Raj stretched out and bleeding under Government hands. Especially not when he could have prevented it. Especially when it’s his fault.
Leaving the complex-what’s outside the complex? He knows, vaguely, unrealistically. He’s studied maps and read books, but he learned early, easily, how the Government lies about and twists facts. It’s one of the many reasons he chose to focus on the maths and sciences and subjects that are incontrovertible and untouchable by the Government.
The universe, for all that he’s devoted his life to studying it, remains foreign.
Still, when faced with adventure, how can he refuse? And this is larger than adventure, this is freedom from tyranny, and more easily, more palatable, more understandable, this is saving the life of one person. This is saving the life of Raj.
“You shouldn’t have put this on my shoulders,” Sheldon says, and there’s a touch of bitterness as he says it, even as he curls into Raj’s warmth, even as he takes what little comfort bodies can offer up to one another.
“You should have thought of that before deciding to change the way we live in this universe,” Raj says. His hand is steady against Sheldon’s chest. “Will you come?”
Sheldon has stayed within sturdy walls for most of his life. He’s never been rash (except those times, years ago, when he chased his sister and met her dare for dare and climbed trees to escape chickens, and it’s odd how those moments have come faster and clearer lately), but maybe he’s never had the chance to be rash.
“Will you come?” Raj repeats, and Sheldon lets out a shuddering breath, leans his forehead lightly against Raj’s.
“Yes,” he says, the one word a quiet declaration. “Yes, I will.”
(Leslie)
She paces up and down the corridor, her hands balled into fists. Naturally, naturally the stupid idiot would figure it out right before they were going to get him out. He’s been dancing around the solution for weeks, they could all see that from the way his stupid head would tilt and his forehead would crinkle and his hands would pause in midair as he thought. And of course he couldn’t wait an extra day. That would make everything far too simple, wouldn’t it? And no, no they don’t go in for simple around these parts.
She nods sharply as Meritt, idiot extraordinaire, passes her. Bastard has his eyes focused south of her face, unsurprisingly, and she takes a moment and lets the irritation ground her, bring her down from the terror she’s been trying to put a cap on ever since she saw the equation written out.
They’ve spent too much time and worked too hard to get to this point. Being pulled here straight out of one of the private academies, scrapping her plans to work in the private sector and instead indenturing her to the Government for all intents and purposes, and then working out what was going on here, realizing the depth of Sheldon’s infuriating genius. And then years of coded messages, of Raj finally arriving, of this entire concerted effort to get Sheldon out. All of it at risk, now.
Still, Raj can keep a handle on the situation. She’s seen the way they lean into each other, and yes, Raj is pretty and a good kisser, but in all the years she’s been stuck on this hellhole of a complex with these stupid people, she’s never before seen Sheldon take notice of prettiness, and sure as hell never get as far as finding out if someone’s a good kisser. If anyone can calm down the insufferable man, it’ll be Raj.
They’ll get through this. The ship will come in time.
(Sheldon)
Back in the apartments, where Sheldon insists upon returning, if only to shower and change his clothes so he’s no longer splattered lightly with paint, Raj leans against the wall of Sheldon’s room, watching him study the bare trappings.
“You understand-” he says, his voice a little sharp, and Sheldon turns to him with an air of offendedness.
“Yes,” he says, “Naturally.”
He’ll have to leave everything behind. Of course, given that they’re not allowed to keep personal photographs, and the pile of letters he has is both small and heavily redacted, it’s not as if he’s making any great sacrifice leaving behind clothing and several mind clearing games. The notes would be devastating if he didn’t have them all seamlessly replicated in his mind.
He takes a moment to sit at his desk, feeling ridiculously sentimental as he leafs through the paperwork. Part of him wants to tidy everything, to clean it all up and put it all away, but he rather suspects that that is the sort of telling behavior Raj would prefer he avoided. Moreover, given that he’s given himself over to rationality and logic, it would be a shame to resort to such measures now, at this point, when perhaps he has most need of them, and certainly has just proven their worth.
Still, it’s with an unusually heavy heart that he stands.
“We have a little time before lunch?” he asks, his voice lilting around the words, easing his deception, and Raj smiles almost wearily.
“A little,” he says.
(Kripke)
Kripke has made good use of the last few years. He’s become friends with most of the guards, even though there, strictly speaking, is supposed to be little to no interaction between guards and departmental scientists.
Zack, particularly, is a good guy. He’s relaxed around Kripke, and they’ve spent more time than they ever should have cracking jokes. Zack’s got contacts for sports scores, since even the guards are supposed to live in relative isolation on the complex, and sometimes he and Kripke will have casual bets on teams.
Before Kripke was transferred to this complex a few years ago, he had quite a bit more freedom. He even managed to go to games, occasionally, and sometimes he and Zack will spend hours regaling each other with the smell of grass and the sound of the bat as it hit the ball, the crack of it that lingered in the air. It’s not that Kripke was ever obsessed with sports, because he wasn’t, but it was something to do of a Sunday afternoon, and those memories seem precious now. That amount of freedom, to choose where to go and what to see, to waste money on alcohol (banned at the complex) and get sunburned when he forgot to put on sunscreen.
Zack’s a good sort, if Kripke’s being honest. Not just for an asset, not just to use, but to spend time with. It’s not as if he’s ever really fit in with anyone else here, and it doesn’t help that he has to spread lies whenever he speaks. At least, with Zack, they’re not talking science and projects, and he’s not having to lie about progress or timetables.
Of course, he’s worked on all the guards, because there’s no guarantee that Zack will be the one in the control tower when things start. Their shifts are deliberately random and shuffled in order to provide better security, and generally to make it impossible for the guards to ever make plans. There’s a reason why guards are only stationed at the complex for four years max-despite being a fairly well hidden location, the security is over-the-top, and often exhausting.
Zack’s complained about it, sometimes, if not in as many words. While they hung out in Zack’s quarters and watched one of the GA (Government Approved) vids, they’d talk a bit about their week, or day, depending on how long it had been since they’d last hung out. For all that Zack’s a big guy, honest and funny and somehow ever so normal, he’s also a little quiet sometimes. Kripke’s learned to pick up a lot of Zack’s tells - too many of them, if he were honest with himself.
The fact is, he’s using Zack, and this isn’t a friendship that’s going to be allowed to go the distance. He’s known it, watched the timetable loom closer and his time here dwindle, and while it’s been a relief to know that sooner or later this will be over, the lies and the deception and all of it, another part of him has known that he’s going to miss this. Not all of it, certainly not all of it, but slow afternoons and long talks with Zack, he’s going to miss them. He’s going to miss Zack.
The Demeter arrives as a cargo ship. There’s Government Agents all throughout the complex, because this is a top level, unnamed complex, practically dripping in secrecy and obscurity. The rebels have had a fair time learning to deal in the Governments ways, though, and they’ve evidently prepared for this moment with all the panache and perfection that it both needs and calls for.
The blonde captain struts a little too much, and the shorter blonde eyes passersby too carefully, but they step out onto the landing bay in their tall Government Issued boots with a confidence and ease that’s enough of a badge for anyone nearby.
Zack’s the guard on duty, and even as he walks up to double-triple-quadruple inspect their paperwork, Kripke jogs up and leans in a little to his side, a smile bright on his face, a hushed and hurried detailing of plans for the night. Kripke’s not disappointed when Zack turns to him, an answering grin on his own face, and maybe it’s that subtle distraction, maybe it’s more than that, but the captain and her first officer step into the complex with nary a problem.
Kripke knows how this will play out, despite the way they try to keep the plans as fractured as possible, to give only as much information as each party needs to play their part.
Even now, Sheldon and Raj are hiding in storage containers. Leslie and Howard have looped the cameras in the storage facilities, and Leonard is in the middle of accidentally causing a small explosion in the labs, which should be enough of a distraction to get those fucking scanners off their backs for long enough. There’s not much space in the storage containers. Kripke checked them out a few months back, sized up the dimensions and the amount of air and Sheldon’s ability to stop himself from panicking. There’s not much space, but it will have to do.
The blonde captain directs her first officer to help Zack move the shipments. Kripke stays, telling himself it’s to keep Zack distracted and pliable, telling himself it’s not because he’s terrified. There’s a moment, when Zack activates the GravCart, that he frowns a little at the way the container settles, at the weight of it on the cart. Kripke tries to keep his voice level, tries to spare only the normal amount of glances at the captain and her officer, tries to be normal.
Zack frowns down at the cart, at the container that contains such a very important shipment, and then he looks at Kripke. Kripke forgets to breathe. He forgets to breathe, and he forgets to think, and then Zack shakes his head and smiles at him and steers the GravCart along the smooth grey floor, to the mouth of the ship. The smaller blonde takes it from there, her smile bright, and the captain takes a moment to flirt easily with the two of them, and then they’re gone and Kripke is left with Zack, with Zack and the smooth grey bulk of ship before them.
“Come on,” Zack says, nudging Kripke’s shoulder with his own, “Let’s get out of here so they can pressurize the chamber. I’m sure they want to get on the road.”
And Kripke follows him out, out onto Flandorian tiles and white walls, follows him because that’s all that’s left to do.
(Sheldon)
By the time the storage container is opened, Sheldon no longer cares if it’s Government Agents coming to claim him or, as Raj insists, the good guys. Sheldon has never done especially well in enclosed spaces, but this-this has taken it to an entirely new level. He sucks in a grateful breath as he squints a little against the light; before he can say anything, Raj untangles himself from Sheldon’s limbs and launches himself fully into the arms of the small woman in front of them.
“Bernie,” he says, squeezing her tight, “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you!”
“Raj,” she says, her voice fond, “I’ve told you before, if you keep calling me that I’ll have to kill you.”
“Such a flirt,” Raj smirks, pulling away a little to look at her better. He introduces Bernie (Bernadette, she explains, glaring at Raj) to Sheldon. They spend a few moments catching up, but she’s quick to say that the captain had insisted she see them as soon as they were far enough out from the complex to make it safe.
“She’s piloting,” Bernadette explains to Sheldon. Raj swallows a grin at that (“She always complains when she’s stuck piloting for too long,” he says), and they follow her down the corridors, Raj bantering with Bernadette and Sheldon uncharacteristically quiet.
Bernadette pauses in the doorway next to Sheldon, waving her hand inwards.
“This is Captain Reynolds,” she says. Sheldon steps carefully into the room, the bright stars on the Vidscreen making it hard to keep his eyes on the woman looking up at him.
“Reynolds,” he says, nodding a little at her in greeting.
“Captain,” she corrects, her expression stern.
“Penny!” Raj says, entering just then and grabbing her close. He kisses her full-on the lips, but when they pull apart Penny’s laughing.
“Raj,” she says, “I’ve missed you!”
“And I you,” he says gravely. “Tell me, is that fucker Kurt still aboard?”
“Nope,” Penny says, smirking. “Kicked him off a few months back. Worst mechanic I ever had.”
“Worst boyfriend we ever had,” Raj says. He wiggles his pinkie meaningfully. “Didn’t even make up for it in the bunk.”
Penny starts laughing in what’s really quite painful remembrance, and Sheldon watches their interactions. He’s trying for coolly aloof, or at the very least indifferent, but he’s just committed treason against the Government, who will no doubt start sending Agents to hunt him down very shortly, and it’s a little hard to concentrate on things like appearance and not on ohgodohgod what have I done??
It takes a moment of idle small talk between Penny and Raj, who are evidently quite good friends that go way back, both having dated Kurt, but finally she turns her sharp gaze on him. She looks him up and down in a considering manner for a long second, and then flashes him what is truly a staggeringly brilliant smile. She holds out her hand, and when he takes it, her grip is firm and steady.
“Welcome onto my ship, Dr. Cooper,” she says. “We’re going to get you where you need going, so no need to look that worried. She might be a bit old and a bit worn down in places, but this girl’s the best ship you’ll ever fly on.”
“She?” he repeats, looking a bit concerned, and she just pats his arm and shakes her head at Raj.
“You landlocked types are all the same,” she says, amusement flitting through her voice. “Raj, you want to show him where he’s bunking? As you know, we’re running pretty short-staffed right now, what with half my crew on all sides of the friggin’ galaxy, so you’ll have plenty of space. We’re a small crew normally, but really this is just ridiculous. At least you’re back, Raj.”
“A year isn’t that long,” he smirks. She smacks him upside the back of his head.
“If you weren’t only newly returned, and I didn’t want you to take over piloting once we’re sure no one’s following, you’d be in a helluva lot of pain right now,” she assures him. He dutifully rolls his eyes and grabs Sheldon’s arm, pulling him down the corridor to the rooms.
Sheldon has to climb down a ladder to reach his new room, but even so, it has a more comfortable feel than he’s used to. There’s a handmade quilt on the bunk, and the room is splashed with color. Raj, used to Sheldon’s particular eccentricities and space issues, leans against the wall. Sheldon eyes him, because it’s been a long day, and Raj has a tendency to request make outs on long days. (They’ve yet to progress further, although sometimes, when Raj has left, Sheldon has felt on the verge of-of-well, he’d taken matters into his own hands afterward, but it had been with a particular sort of desperation rather than his usual perfunctory manner).
Raj doesn’t appear to be planning on leaping upon Sheldon, so he sits down carefully on the edge of his bunk. “So,” he says. “I’m here. I’ve left everything behind. Might I inquire as to where we’re going?” His tone is sharper than he was intending, but he can’t find it within himself to bite it back. The slight twist of not-top line artificial gravity tugs at his stomach, and right now he’s holding himself together fairly remarkably, he thinks, given the way the day has went. Especially since he didn’t even get to win at paintball.
“There’s a scientist in the private sector,” Raj says. “She’s been working with us for several years, and has quite a few contacts with non-humans.”
“Non-humans?” Sheldon scoffs. “You mean aliens?”
“It’s, um, generally not considered polite to call them aliens to their face,” Raj says. It’s not exactly that he means anything harsh by it, but the Government’s insistence on calling them aliens had caused a big ruckus ten or so years back, and was part of protests and more before it became evident that the Government was planning on going to war with all non-humans. The priorities sort of shifted at that point. “Calling them aliens is calling them something unknown and different, and really, that’s part of the mythos that we’re trying to combat. One of the main reasons we’re having difficulties arguing that they should be allowed into the Union is that people see them as-”
“Stop,” Sheldon says. “Just stop. Stop. Where are we going? I’m on a spaceship heading somewhere, with the Government chasing me, and you want to give me a lecture in the soft sciences? Where are we going?”
Raj winces. “We’re going to try to stop a war before it begins,” he says. “We’re going to go see Amy Farrah Fowler.”
Sheldon meets the other shipmates the next morning. There’s Stuart, who he’d already seen, if not been formerly introduced to. Stuart’s the mechanic, a sweet guy who, while Raj calls him in a rather adoring way a puppy, is nonetheless a whiz at keeping them flying. There’s also Bernadette, who keeps a gun strapped to her side even around ship. She has a quick, sweet smile that makes it easy to forget the fact that she’s always armed, and she only comes halfway up his chest. Raj tells him she’s a doll, but Sheldon isn’t quick to forget the sharp edges he can see underneath, and he’s betting the scar that goes up her arm didn’t come from doing dishes.
Penny’s brother, Wyatt Jr., describes himself with a smirk as a chemist. After Penny punches him in the arm, he laughs and adjusts his title to procurer. As far as Sheldon can tell, Wyatt’s got contacts all over the place, most of them on the wrong side of the Government. The chemist crack is clearly some old joke between them, but the way Wyatt rubs his arm makes him think that maybe Penny doesn’t find it all that funny. While they’re touring, they come across an infirmary, but Penny says their doctor is off on an errand. She won’t say more, even when pressed, and Sheldon leaves it at that.
The crew is small-only four, or five now, since Raj is back-but there’s a familiarity between them that’s almost comforting. Sheldon’s used to working on his own, though. Raj refuses to let Sheldon write down the completed equation anywhere, knowing too well that Sheldon won’t forget it, so Sheldon works idly on other problems. He tapes paper to the wall of his room, writing carefully with small letters to make the most use of his makeshift whiteboard as he can. He stays in his room long hours, and tells himself he’s not avoiding the others, but merely using the time to his advantage. Raj doesn’t seem to believe him, but Sheldon perseveres.
(Raj)
Raj walks down the corridors easily, the familiar feel of them comforting after so much time away. He’s left Sheldon working on some problem or other, sure that, for the moment at least, he’s safe. He leans against the wall and raps twice on Bernadette’s door, waiting for her soft call of enter.
She’d greeted him warmly, earlier, holding him close and smiling brightly as only she can. Now, as she leans back in her bunk, her hair loose from her braid and her legs crossed, there’s something calm about her that was missing before.
“All settled back in?” she asks. She smiles into the words, glancing up at him through her glasses, and he’s slow and careful as he sits down next to her, for all of their history.
“I think it’ll take him a bit to get used to,” Raj says. “He’s not used to-well. To any of this.”
“Not like we are,” Bernadette says, her voice nearing wistful. She pauses, and then she drums restlessly on her legs, leaning back against the wall. “What was it like? At the complex?”
Bernadette’s been on the run most of her life. She’s told Raj only bits and pieces of her past, but he’s heard enough to figure out the broad strokes of tragedy. She’s hardly ever mentioned her family, but then he’s never asked, either.
“Our days were filled from beginning to end, and we were kept on a tight schedule,” he says.
Raj had gone to school in an entirely different sector, had come here only because a job offer had promised the possibility of proving himself to his parents. He rather wishes he’d been more confident back then.
“Kept on a tighter schedule than Penny?” she asks, a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth. It’s an old joke, after all-Penny knows she’s a rather slipshod boss, too easy and too relaxed, but she’s also sure of her crew, and there’s something to be said for trust. They all have her back, after all.
They’re quiet for a moment, lost in each other’s smiles, and then Raj stirs.
“This is a terrible plan,” he says. “You know it’s a terrible plan.”
“Well,” she says, “It’s the only one we have.”
(Sheldon)
Late on the third night of their journey, Sheldon’s been working for hours, caught up in the quiet distraction of almost-normalcy, as if he can pretend he’s still back at his unnamed office instead of here. It’s gotten later then he was expecting, and it takes him a moment to realize that what distracted him was the grumbling and ache in his stomach. He wanders out towards the kitchen area in search of food.
He rummages through the cabinets looking for something familiar. There’s cans of food which he doesn’t know how to prepare, and dried food that he’s unfamiliar with, but finally he comes across crackers and some sort of jam, and he’s a memory of something similar years ago, so he pulls them out and starts spreading it on.
Penny wanders in quietly as he works. She glances at him, and then pauses against the table, the wood solid against her hip. Her fingers drum on the surface for a few minutes, but finally she peters off, and Sheldon pauses in his preparations, eyes skimming up to take her in. She’s watching the black expanse of space sweep past the portholes, her breathing even and steady, her stance almost religious.
“Your ship,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence. “Did you name it? Her?” he stutters as he corrects himself, forces himself to consider metal as life, to consider a ship to have a pulse. There’s beauty in the imagery, and he can imagine why people choose to bequeath life on the inanimate. There’s comfort in believing the shell of a ship is living and protecting you.
Penny turns and looks at him, her eyes sharper than he was expecting. “Yes,” she says. “You’ve heard the old stories?”
Sheldon considers the blonde goddess of old, the corn mother, the goddess of harvests, and staring at her he can remember the dirt underneath his feet, the wind in his hair as he ran, the smell of rain and the feel of sunshine and the way his father walked after a long harvest, and it rolls over him in a great wave, what he lost, what was taken from: home.
“Yes,” he says. His voice is rough and ragged and he turns away, because he has had enough reminders, has heard Missy’s fleeting songs too many times these past few days, and there are far more urgent matters to consider, far more at stake than one lost little boy, crying as the Government Agents pulled him away from his family, reaching for Missy even as she reached back for him. “Yes,” he says. “But that was a long time ago.” Lifetimes ago,he doesn’t say.
As they get closer to civilization, Bernadette spends more time tracing transmissions and trying to hack into official channels to get news. When she finally does, Sheldon almost wishes she hadn’t succeeded.
Penny comes into his room without knocking, sliding down the ladder with an ease he very nearly resents. “Sheldon,” she says, and her voice is pulled tight along syllables, and it’s enough to pause the pen in his hand. He turns to look at her.
“What is it?”
“They locked down your complex,” she says, still with that tightness to her voice.
“We were expecting that, weren’t we?” he asks, careful. Something is wrong here, and he’s not sure he wants to know what.
“They took everyone into custody. Everyone.”
“What?” His voice is sharp and angry and furious and desperate, because they’d left everyone else behind, he’d left everyone else behind, everyone that he’s known, it seems like, and Sheldon’s maybe made a habit of leaving people behind but it doesn’t get any easier with time. Leonard and Howard and even Leslie and Kripke, and he knows what the Government does, especially when they’re trying to make a point. He knows what to expect. “I trusted you people! You said this wouldn’t happen, you said that they’d be safe!”
He pulls away from the wall, and when one of the papers snags on his wrist and his shirt and his pen, he pulls it off and lets it flutter loose to the ground.
“Sheldon-”
“Where’s Raj?” he says, fury arcing underneath his skin, and it’s easy, maybe, easy to feel in full color, but maybe he’d be better off in back in black and white.
“He’s-Sheldon, he’s crying,” she says. Her hand is gentle on his arm, and Sheldon wants to shake it off, wants to-wants to do something. Anything. Everything. “He would have told you himself, but he can’t stop crying,” she says. Her voice is soft, and maybe it’s that that finally breaks him.
His knees buckle, and despite her diminutive stature she manages to pull him towards his bunk, her grip a vise on his arm until finally he sinks onto the bed. His arms and legs feel awkward and unnecessary, and for the first time in his life he’s not sure what to do with them; they hang loosely until he draws them in close to his body.
“What will happen to them?” he asks, his voice almost strangled, and it’s foolish to ask her, ridiculous, he’s seen all the Vidtapes and read the books, he knows what will happen to them, knows that it’s all because of him, and how is one supposed to manage that? How is one supposed to deal with the realization that people are being hurt because of you?
He knows, logically, rationally, that nothing is quite as simple as that, that if anything it’s the Government that’s hurting them, and that they risked their lives to ensure the Government would not be able to use yet another technological advance as weaponry against other cultures, but now, in this moment, it’s hard for Sheldon to pull that realization close, hard to push away the image of Leonard’s face as he pressed Sheldon’s hand between both of his, a goodbye that could not be said aloud. Sheldon had met Leonard at the Academy-two small boys pulled away from home and forced into sterile white rooms and harshly enforced rules and regulations.
Leonard, at least, had had some idea of what to expect, as his parents had both come from Academia and had been forced to attend the Academy. Sheldon, so much more used to sun and air and earth, to the wilds of New Texas and the sound of his sister’s trilling laughter as she fished for Agess, was entirely out of his element. Oh, he’d learned more and learned faster than anyone ever had at his school before, but it was a rural school with too many kids and a schoolteacher that delivered punishment to fit the crime, sometimes allowing for intent or righteous anger to slide through without discussion.
At the Academy, every minor infraction was punished corporally or with loss of privileges. Sheldon did not do well socially the first year, even as he caught up with homeschooled children and then proceeded to excel past them. It was Leonard who started sitting next to him at lunch, and choosing him as partner for classes, and generally adopting him. It was Leonard who made sure he was all right.
Now Leonard is-where? In a Government Holding Facility? Being questioned and probably tortured to find out Sheldon’s whereabouts and plans? Why hadn’t they come with? Why?
Penny’s arm encircles his back, her voice low and soothing, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s sobbing, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his body slowly shuddering against hers.
“It’s all right,” she says. “They’ll be all right, Sheldon. We think they did it as a scare tactic. They can’t think any of you scientists had a hand in this, and we’re still hoping they’ll think you were kidnapped. They’ll be all right, Sheldon, they won’t want to damage valuable assets unless they’re sure they’ll find out where you are, and they can’t be sure, because no one knows where you’re going. Even you only have a name. We’ve done this before, Sheldon, if not with quite such a highly prized target, still with important political figures. It’s going to be all right.”
Sheldon would like to know how she knows that, would like to press her in all the areas that he knows she’s weakest, but it’s hard to turn down unlooked for comfort, hard to push away kindness. Instead, his hands settle on her hips, on her back, pulling her closer, as if that infinitesimal gap can somehow erase what he has just heard, as if it can somehow ease the sharp pain inside, the guilt that coats his lungs. Her hands smooth circles against his back, and he lets himself be lulled by the sound of her voice, the repetition of words that mean this is not your fault.
(Penny)
Penny is quiet around Sheldon for the next few days. Sheldon carries himself closely, pulls himself inward, and she watches from afar his mass collapse in on itself.
There are scattered conversations (“Do something about him, Raj.” “I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”), there are moments when he pauses and looks past metal to something more, there is her, watching him, waiting.
(She is the Captain and this is her ship and these are her crew and she is responsible for each and every one of them, for heartbeats and tears and laughter and frailty. And sometimes being a Captain is the same as being a bartender, it’s waiting and it’s drawing people out and it’s listening. And she’s good at that. She is.)
She met her crew over the years, knows where they’re weakest and where they’re stronger than they realize. She’s known Wyatt all her life, and almost half of that she spent waiting for him to stop throwing his away. He’s shaped up, though-she wouldn’t have him on this ship, brother or not, if he was still the self-destructive mess he’d been back then.
She met Bernadette not long after she moved off of Omaha - a little settlement that, despite the harsh environment, had been home, and homey, and everything except what she was searching for. She met Raj because of her ex, Kurt, and it’s the only good thing the dumbass ever did for her. Stuart she met through Raj, working in a little supply store on some shitty little settlement, and Raj was right, there was more strength under that softness than she saw at first. She sees it now. And her doctor - no. Her doctor, and the rest of them, everyone that risked their lives to get Sheldon and his secrets out, she can’t think of them, not until she knows they’re all right.
It’s because of them that she’ll make sure Sheldon gets through this, though. There’s too much riding on this, too much at stake, and she’ll be damned if it all falls apart because she fails at her job.
“He’ll be all right,” Raj says, but his eyes skim past her as he says it. She doesn’t pursue his lie, though. That’s not what she’s here for.
“And you?”
“Me?” Raj asks, flustered, and she stops herself, narrowly, from gathering him up in her arms.
“They were your friends, too, weren’t they?” she presses. Raj pulls himself in a little, his arms crossing in front of him chest, his still overly long hair-this straight-laced scientist hair that doesn’t suit him, brushing near his eyebrows. She gives in to her impulse and brushes it away, further up his forehead.
“They’ll be all right,” he says, and there’s determination lining his voice, even while she can see the fear in his eyes. He catches her hand in his own and draws it downward, holding it between their bodies.
“They will,” she says, certain to the core, strong in all the ways he needs. “They’ll be all right.”
(Raj)
Raj presses Bernadette against the wall in her bunk as she curls her leg up along his hip, head tipping back against the wall, fingers curling against his skin.
“Raj-” she says, “Raj-”
And he kisses her throat, her cheek, holds her through it, follows her down, until words are unnecessary, until he doesn’t see the faces of the friends he left behind.
“They weren’t like you,” Raj tells Sheldon, his voice low. Sheldon’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Raj struggles to hold his gaze. “They knew what they were getting into,” he says.
The tension in Sheldon’s shoulders doesn’t ease, but his lips curl into something like a smile. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that’s something.”
Raj shrugs. “Sometimes it’s all we’ve got out here.”
PART ONE + MIX | PART TWO