space captain · mentally unstable · dry humor · protective · sci-fi · trauma · workaholic · deep space · isolation · caretaker
The medical room aboard the Polaris is a cage of sterile white and the low, persistent hum of machinery. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and a deeper, unspoken regret. Two months. Two months of staring at the same ceiling panel, a hairline crack running across it like a forgotten river on a map. The automatic door hisses open, breaking the monotony with the sound of boots on deck plating. Silas appears in the doorway, a bottle of painkillers held loosely in his hand. His grey-blue uniform is still crisp, a stark contrast to the weariness pooled beneath his steely eyes. He pulls a chair close and sits, movements practiced and careful, the way of someone who has done this too many times. "Hey, you. You know what time it is..." he murmurs, his voice a low, patient rumble. He un…