Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“See, What’d I tell you,” Scar said, spreading his arms out to show off the building they were standing in front of, “A real connoisseur of snails.” 

Impulse, struggling to hold a large crate of Verrilian sea snails, didn’t look too convinced. “Looks kinda… shabby,” he said, squinting distrustingly up at the sign hanging crookedly over the doorway. It read Mr. Lingent’s Fine Dining though the F was missing, and the G was hanging upside down off the end of dining. 

“In this economy?” Scar scoffed, “This is as good as it comes.” 

“Can we please just sell this stuff already?” Skizz piped up. The crate he was holding was starting to slip from his grip. 

Impulse sighed, “If this ends badly…” 

“Yeah, yeah, yell at me then,” Scar said dismissively, leading the way through the front door. 

The place’s inside was, if possible, even less impressive than the outside. It looked like it had been a restaurant once, back when jukeboxes were brand new and vinyl booths were hip. The tile floor was badly chipped, tiles missing entirely in some places. Skizz nearly tripped over a knocked over barstool, lying in the middle of the floor. 

It was not the only one either. There were more knocked over tables and chairs than there were standing. 

“Yeah, this isn’t making me feel better,” Impulse said quietly, shooting Scar an “ I told you so” look. 

Scar just shot him back a smile. “Eyy, Mr. Linget, we’ve got your order of snails!” he shouted, moving towards the back of the restaurant. 

There was a loud shuffling sound, then several voices yelling. Impulse shot Scar another look, before the door to the kitchen slammed open and a short looking man rushed out. 

The man’s dark eyes flicked between the three quickly, though they came to rest on the crates Impulse and Skizz were carrying. 

“My slugs,” he said shortly, wiping his hands on his apron as he hurried forwards to inspect the crates. Skizz set his down and pried the lid open, showing off the mass of wriggling green snails inside. 

“Yep, beautiful, genuine Verrilian sea snails,” Scar said, putting on his salesman voice. 

The short man stilled at the words, turning slowly to face them fully. His mouth twisted into a frown, opening and closing several times before he finally spoke. “Sea whats?” he said quietly. 

“Sea snails?” Scar repeated, looking over at Impulse as if to make sure. 

“Sea whats?? ” the man asked again, his dark eyes turning into a sharp glare. 

“Look, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Skizz started to say, but the man cut him off again. 

“I ordered sea slugs- slugs! Six weeks ago! You-” he jabbed an accusing finger at Scar- “Promised me slugs!” 

“Noooo, but you see, these are slugs,” Scar said. Impulse resisted the urge to facepalm. 

“I paid you for slugs- for slugs !” The man looked downright murderous now. “So you give me the slugs I paid for or I call the Company Police.” 

“Hey, hey, no need to get CP involved,” Skizz said, hurriedly. 

“Yes, I’m sure we can figure this out,” Impulse said, turning to face Scar. “Just give the guy his money back. We’ll sell these snails someplace else. How much do we owe?” 

“Three” 

Three hundred? ” Impulse asked incredulously. The little man shook his head.

“Three thousand” 

“About that…” Scar trailed off, his eyes darting between Impulse and the furious looking chef. “I gave it to Grian to pay for gas.” 

“You don’t have my money?” the little man accused. 

“All of it?” Skizz asked at the same time. 

“In this economy?” Scar defended, “That’s dirt cheap gas.” 

The small man didn’t bother responding. He just dug his comm from his pocket and dialed CP. 

“Now, wait,” Impulse tried to say, but the man waved him away. 

“Yes, I have three men here trying to steal over three thousand dollars-” 

“I told you so,” Impulse told Scar, dropping his crate of snails with a clatter. The man shouted in surprise, but Impulse just grabbed Skizz and Scar’s arms and shoved them towards the door.

“Hey!” Hey!” the man started yelling, but they didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say, gunning it for the door. 

They burst through the shabby restaurant’s door, Skizz yelling loudly about getting back to the docks before the CPs show up. 

“You think??” Impulse yelled back, “Grian’s gonna kill us!” 

--🚀--

Grian tapped his foot impatiently. He was trying to lean against the side of their ship as nonchalantly as he could, though the constant movement of his eyes darting up and down the crowded streets were a dead giveaway of his nerves. 

His eyes flicked over to the far end of the shipyard where a crew of a freighter were in the middle of a screaming match with the dock manager. He squinted, trying to parse out if the fight would devolve into blows. If it did that would mean the CPs would be alerted, and if that happened Grian would need to make himself scarce. 

He relaxed after a few minutes of observation- it looked like they were figuring it all out peacefully. Thankfully. 

Grian couldn’t take another badly thought through attempt at avoiding the CP. Especially when the rest of his crew were nowhere to be found. 

He looked down at his watch and frowned, his eyes once again scanning the crowd.  

It was busy in the shipyard this time of day. But that was hardly saying anything. He had found that there was no real concept of time shipyards, so it was always a busy time of day. Just another thing to add to Grian’s ever growing list of things shredding his nerves to bits. 

He glanced at his watch again, his frown deepening. 

How long did it take to sell a cargo of Verrilian sea snails? Scar had promised them that he knew a guy. 

Grian sighed. Scar was always saying he knows a guy. They really should know by now that it doesn’t always pan out.

Grian straightened, squinting at the edge of the crowd. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered to himself, watching his crewmates shove their way through the dense crowd towards their ship. 

“Wait…” Grian said, his relief at seeing his crew finally show up turning into instant dread. They were moving way too fast through the crowd. 

Skizz nearly bowled a poor dockhand over, shoving him out of the way as he ran. Impulse was shouting something, waving urgently at Grian. Scar was shooting looks over his shoulder as he ran, a much too happy look resting on his face. 

Grian swore loudly as he jumped into action, yanking open the door of their ship and throwing himself into the pilot seat. He hit the ignition, clenching his jaw tightly when the old thing coughed and sputtered. 

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, hitting it again, a little harder this time. It turned over with an unhealthy sounding belch of black smoke. “There we go,” he said, flicking on the navigation just as Impulse charged through the door. 

“Grian- bad news,” he said, throwing himself into the copilot's seat. Skizz, two steps behind, laughed loudly. 

“Bad news?? Try catastrophic-” he said. 

“Grian, get us out of here,” Scar said, slamming the door shut behind him. 

“What did you do??” Grian yelled back at them as he and Impulse raced through the preflight checks. 

“Nothing!” Scar said, strapping himself into a jumpseat. 

“Scar almost got us freakin’ killed,” Skizz piped up, shoving random bits of loose stuff into lockers and fastening them down. 

Grian glanced over at Impulse who nodded along with Skizz. “It’s true, G, Scar’s “Contact” turned out to be another murderous psycho,” he said. 

“Again?” Grian asked incredulously, shooting Scar a look. Scar just shrugged sheepishly. 

“How was I supposed to know?” 

“You could have done any amount of research, ” Grian shot back. “Dude, you promised.”

“Well, to be fair, the guy wasn’t murderous at first,” Scar said. 

“Takeoff checks done, G,” Impulse interrupted. 

Grian nodded, disconnecting from the docking mechanism and hitting the accelerator hard. Their tiny ship rocketed out of the port about as jerkily as it could, sending its occupants slamming back against their seats. The whole thing rattled and shook like a can of rusty bolts as they shot through the artificial atmosphere, only smoothing out when they reached outer space. 

Skizz undid his seat straps as Impulse flicked on the ship’s gravity.

“We have got to stop leaving ports like that,” Scar said, making the rest of them laugh. It was not an entirely humorous sound.

“You think?” Skizz said. 

“Yeah, I’d love to leave a port- you know- normally ,” Impulse said. 

“What exactly happened?” Grian asked, turning on the autopilot and swiveling in his chair to look at his crew. 

Skizz and Impulse turned to look at Scar, who raised his hands defensively. 

“Oh come on, this was not entirely my fault.” 

“Sea slugs. You told us the guy wanted snails. That’s your fault, dude,” Skizz said, folding his arms over his chest. Scar only huffed dismissively. 

“Slugs and snails are the same thing,” he said. 

Grian sighed again, turning to face the large star chart hanging up under Scar’s autographed poster of Hotguy. He slashed a large X through the port they’d just left, just one more joining the dozens of other Xs dotted all over the map. 

“Another place we can’t go back to,” Impulse said, sounding tired. 

“The galaxy seems to be growing smaller,” Skizz said dryly. 

“For us, maybe,” Grian put in. 

“Yeah, but you have to look at the positives,” Scar said, “At least this time we got fuel before we had to run away.”

“We got fuel?” Grian asked. Everyone turned to look at him in disbelief. 

“Did you not?” Impulse asked, and Grian hesitated. 

“Grian. Did you not get the fuel?” Skizz asked, and Scar started shaking his head.

“No, no, Grian I told you to buy the gas,” Scar said.

“You handed me three thousand in cash and told me, and I quote, ‘buy the good stuff’ ” Grian defended. Impulse closed his eyes and rested his head against the control panel, lacking the energy required to care. 

“G, what did you buy?” Skizz asked, sounding almost scared to hear the answer. 

“New radios, new suits for all of us, I fixed the ship’s warp drive- which would have killed all of us if it broke any further, by the way- and food. Because that’s what I thought Scar meant by good stuff,” Grian replied. Once again they were glaring at Scar. 

“Do we have any left?” Skizz asked, sounding like he was scared to hear the answer. Grian frowned slightly, turning back to the navigation screen. 

“Nothing??” Impulse exclaimed. Scar cringed, running a hand through his hair and turning subtly to head towards his bunk. 

“We’ll just have to take another job,” Skizz said, trying and failing to not sound as tired as he felt. Grian nodded and sat back in his flight seat with a tired thump. The ancient thing creaked ominously under his weight, something he resolutely ignored. He’d fix it one of these days, but today was definitely not that day. 

“Scar,” he called over to the man who had retreated to lay on his bunk. Not that it put much actual distance between any of them. Their whole ship was about the size of a large bus from tip to tail. 

“Yes?” Scar asked, sitting up and rolling over to face his crew. 

“Can you find us another job?” Grian asked and Scar’s face lit up. “One that won’t end with the Company Police on our tails?” Grian added, and Scar deflated slightly.

“Of course,” he said, though in a more serious tone than before. He pushed himself fully upright and pulled out his comm, flicking on the device and tapping away at various messages. 

Grian turned back to his controls, sighing to himself as he did. He stared out the ship’s front windshield, looking out at the endless galaxy spinning off around them. 

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his features, even as Scar chimed something about a job transporting “cargo”. Much as Grian griped about always being on the run for one reason or another, there was no denying the thrill he felt every time they rocketed out of the atmosphere. 

“What’s the word?” Skizz called over to Scar. Scar typed something into his comm, sending the nav computer a set of coordinates. 

“A simple job,” he said, his usual cheerfulness returning in full force, “Just pick up some cargo and drop it off on Nirvana.” 

“Nirvana? Isn’t that on the outer rim?” Impulse asked, squinting at the coords Scar had sent him. 

“Yeah, that’s what’ll make it so easy,” Scar said.

“What kind of cargo are we talking?” Skizz asked, sounding a little suspicious, “Not snails, right?”

“Nah,” Scar replied casually, “The guy didn’t say, but really, how bad can it be?” 

The others groaned and Grian rapped a fist against a plank of wood he’d nailed to the dash- for exactly that purpose. 

“Don’t you know anything about jinxes?” he asked, sounding exasperated. Scar just rolled his eyes, shooting him a lopsided grin. 

“Whatever,” Impulse said, flicking on the rear thrusters. They sputtered then caught, chugging the little ship forwards with a lurch. “Let’s just get this job over with so we don’t go crashing and burning when we run out of gas.” 

“Technically, we wouldn’t crash. We’d just float aimlessly in the vacuum of deep space until we either run out of air or freeze to death,” Skizz said, sounding far too cheerful about the idea. 

“Yeah, or that,” Impulse said, but he was smiling too. 

What was there not to like? Sure, their ship was cramped and about one wrong take off from falling apart completely. That, and the galaxy kept shrinking around them, what with their bounty growing on top of the ever-extending arm of civilization clogging up an honest smuggler’s sky. And there was the fact that the last solid meal any of them had eaten was over three days ago- and even that had been all their remaining protein rations mashed up into a sort of stew. 

Impulse smiled to himself, leaning back in his seat as Grian shot them off in the direction of their cargo’s pick-up point. 

If they started over, he doubted any of them would choose a different path. 

Chapter Text

“You said it was cargo,” Grian hissed at Impulse. 

The taller man frowned, “Scar said it was cargo.” 

Grian sighed at that, looking over at the “cargo” they were smuggling all the way to nowhere Nirvana. Scar always said it was easy jobs, so how come they never were? You’d think, just once, they’d get a nice simple job. To spice things up. 

But not this time. 

Grian ran a hand through his hair. It was always not this time. 

“Whelp, let’s get them settled,” Skizz said at last, cutting through the awkward silence that had fallen over their little crew since they stepped out onto the main port of the little moon they’d landed on. 

They had chosen a secluded, mostly rundown port, so it was just them, their cargo, and abandoned grey moon for miles. 

Their cargo coughed, looking from the crew to the rusted bucket of a ship that sat behind them. Grian reminded himself to smack Scar upside the head the next time he saw the man. 

A man and a woman stood a few paces away from the crew; their cargo. 

They were both well dressed, the man wearing a finely tailored coat and a rather silly looking hat. And while Grian didn’t know much about women’s clothes, the dress the woman wore looked expensive. 

The man stood fidgeting nervously and his eyes kept flicking around like he was watching out for something troublesome. Grian didn’t like it. Made him feel more paranoid than normal, like there was someone watching them.

The woman, on the other hand, stood calmly with one hand on her bags and the other resting on the man’s shoulder. It looked like that hand was the only thing keeping the man from bolting. 

“So,” Skizz said, stepping forwards and holding out a hand, “Scar didn’t exactly say it’d be people we were transporting, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out. I’m Skizz.” He shot the pair a welcoming smile, one neither of them returned.

“This is the best we could do?” the man asked the woman, shooting a nervous look towards where the crew stood. 

“Not like we had many options,” the woman said back, stepping forwards to shake Skizz’s hand. 

“I’m Pearl, and that’s Jimmy,” she said, introducing them, “And if you don’t mind, we’d like to get off-moon as fast as possible.” 

“Don’t mind at all,” Impulse said reassuringly, “Just as soon as you folks pay us, we’ll be able to fuel up and take off in no time at all.” 

“You mean you’re not ready to take off yet?” Jimmy’s voice pitched up shrilly and Pearl shot him a silencing look. 

“We need to refuel,” Grian said, then added rather pointedly, “Using the money you're hiring us with.”

Pearl elbowed the man, who sighed and started to dig through his pockets. He fished out a folded leather wallet- real leather, from what Grian could tell- and forked over a wad of crumpled bills. 

Skizz took them, counting through them casually, then handed them over to Grian. 

“Scar, the guy who set this all up, is just inside,” Skizz said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the ship. “We’ll get you two settled while Grian refuels.” 

“And while I have words with Scar about detailing our jobs,” Impulse said, though he said it quietly enough that only Grian heard him. 

The pilot laughed, “You think it’ll do any good?”

“Nah, but a man’s gotta try,” Impulse replied good-naturedly, turning and following their guests up their little ship’s ramp. 

Grian shook his head- how many times had Scar left out a crucial detail of their jobs?- and made his way to the fuel pumps. As dingy and deserted as this moon might have been, the place still had a working fuel pump and for that he was grateful. 

They’d just barely made it to this moon, scraping through the atmosphere and practically free falling to the ground from there. To say reentry was rough would be like saying swan diving into concrete hurt. 

But they’d made it, with his ship in one piece no less, so Grian couldn’t complain. Too much. 

--🚀--

“So…” Pearl trailed off, breaking the silence that had settled over the ship after they'd left atmosphere. She looked around the ship's cramped interior. By her expression Impulse guessed she wasn't exactly impressed with what she saw. 

He frowned slightly at that, though he couldn't honestly blame her. Their ship was one only a mother could love. And by mother he meant Grian.

Impulse was pretty sure the whole thing was being held together by pure willpower and spite alone. As if the dilapidated ship could sense that when it kicked the preverbal bucket the rest of the crew would go down with it. 

He ran a hand over a patch of rust growing on the underside of the copilot's dash, little red flakes showering down like some kind of messed up snow. They'd been talking about repairing these parts of the ship for months now, but never could manage to hold onto money long enough to actually do it.

“So…” Pearl tried again, “You guys live here?” 

“You don't have to say it like that,” Skizz said, sounding slightly offended at her tone.

“I think it's cozy,” Scar put in. And indeed, the man did look rather snug. He was curled up on his bunk, wrapped up in a pile of fluffy blankets. Impulse narrowed his eyes at him. Was that his blanket Scar had wrapped around his shoulders?

He huffed to himself, not the least bit surprised. 

“It's not as bad as you'd think,” he told Pearl, giving the woman a smile. “Once you get used to the smell of Skizz’s dirty socks it's almost home-like.” 

Skizz made an offended noise and Pearl laughed. 

“You're one to talk, Dimple-dop,” Skizz shot back, “ I could smell you all the way from Paradise City.”

“That close?” Grian chimed in from his seat up front, “I thought his stench could reach all the way to Serenity’s seventh moon.”

“Har har,” Impulse said, though he was smiling too. 

“But don't you get crowded up here?” Pearl asked, looking around at the tight quarters. She and her quiet friend Jimmy were sitting in two of the ship's four flight seats, located on either side of the ship. Just about every other spare inch of space was accounted for. The four bunks hugged the left side of the ship, and the right side was taken up by a row of lockers and shelves. 

The cockpit, roughly the size of a large truck’s cab, was cluttered with about a hundred and one odds and ends they’d picked up along their stint through the universe. 

“Ehh,” Grian said, leaning back in his seat and flicking at one of the many bobbleheads stuck to his dashboard. “I think we’ve gotten used to it by now.” 

Pearl hummed agreeably, but Impulse could tell she wasn’t convinced. 

“On the topic of cramped, where exactly are we going to sleep?” Jimmy asked, piping up for the first time since they’d boarded the little ship. Skizz raised an eyebrow in his direction. 

“It’s a three day flight to Nirvana. And there are only four bunks,” Jimmy explained.

“Ah, that’s no problem,” Scar said cheerfully, “We’ll just take rotations.” Jimmy didn’t look particularly pleased about the idea of having to sleep in shifts, but he didn’t outright object. It wasn’t like they had too many choices anyways. It was either take rotations, bunk up two to a bed, or sleep in their uncomfortable flight seats. Something told Impulse that Jimmy wouldn’t be too willing to do either of the latter options. 

“So what’s in Nirvana?” Skizz asked, changing the subject. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to ask because Jimmy stiffened noticeably at the question and Pearl’s polite smile faded slightly. 

“Just work,” she said, not sounding overly thrilled at the idea. 

“Yeah, we’re going all the way out to nowhere to be ranch hands,” Jimmy added, and Impulse nodded.

Grian eyed their passengers, taking in their fine clothes. “Don’t look much like ranchers to me, Tim,” he said, his tone only slightly teasing. 

“ Tim?” Jimmy asked, “Who exactly is Tim ?”

“You?” Grian said, like it was obvious. Pearl started laughing as Jimmy’s face turned red. 

“My name is Jimmy,” he said.

“That’s what I said,” Grian insisted, “Timmy.”

“Jim,” Jimmy corrected, starting to sound exasperated. 

“Tim,” Grian parroted, looking confused as to why Jimmy was getting upset.

“We are not saying the same thing!” Jimmy exclaimed, making the rest of the crew laugh. 

“It’s too late now, Tim,” Scar told him, “It’s your name now.” 

“No it’s not!! My name’s not Timmy!” 

Pearl laid her hand on his arm, trying to keep herself from laughing at the poor man’s distraught face. 

“Listen, buddy, it’s not worth arguing over,” Skizz said. He had moved over to the shelves while they’d been arguing, rifling through their supplies and pulling out several ration bars.

“Once G’s got something in his brain, he doesn’t let it go,” he said, tossing one of the bars at their passengers. Pearl caught the thing, glancing down at frowning slightly at the label. 

“Just protein bars?” she asked, “It’s not even flavored.” 

“Trust me- it’s better that it’s not,” Impulse told her, remembering the nightmare of the last batch of flavored bars they’d bought. He couldn’t even think of peaches anymore without shivering. 

“A daily dose of vitamins, protein, and nutrients, all in a conveniently flavorless brick,” Skizz said cheerfully, passing out the rest to the others. 

“Best part of the day,” Grian said dryly. Scar nodded at him, though he seemed much more genuine. 

“I guess there are worse things to eat,” Jimmy said, eyeing his bar with a distrusting look. “You could be eating nothing at all.” 

“See? Exactly! You’ve gotta stay looking at the positives,” Scar told him. 

Impulse laughed, rolling his eyes at the casual banter. Three days was a long time to be trapped in such tight quarters. It would be good for all of them to keep their relationship running smoothly. 

--🚀--

The days passed... Well not exactly smoothly, but they did pass. It was hard for any day to pass smoothly when you had a bored Grian who insisted on making things “interesting.” 

Like the time he decided it would be a good idea to start a game of tag in a spaceship half the size of a basketball court. 

To be fair, that one hadn’t gone bad at first. It’s all fun and games until Skizz gets his head slammed against the nav computer. 

They banned all physical contact games from then on and Impulse spent the rest of the day babysitting a mildly concussed Skizz. 

All in all, everything was sailing as smoothly as their little crew could expect. 

“Is that Nirvana?” Pearl asked, leaning over Grian’s chair to look out the big front window. The pilot nodded, giving her a smile. Pearl ohhed quietly, looking entranced by the sight.

To be fair, it’s something else entirely to see a planet materialize out of the depths of endless space. Like a magician unveiling their show stopping illusion, the planet of Nirvana filled their view. A majestic, barren red ball surrounded by the never-ending void of space. 

Pearl’s eyes were wide as she took it all in. The melding, melting hues of scarlet and burnt orange landscapes scrawling out across the globe. The splotchy patches of green acid lakes and oceans peppering the surface. They could even make out the pinpricks of light making up the main city, the place they were heading towards now. 

“How long till we land?” Pearl asked. Impulse looked over at the nav screen, flicking up their eta. 

“Less than an hour,” he said, then frowned slightly. “Hey, Scar, we still have those identity papers you made up when we visited Serenity II?” 

Scar, looking up from where he was tapping away at his comm, raised an eyebrow. “Yes? Why exactly?” 

“Ehhh…” Impulse trailed off, shooting Grian a look. He looked pointedly at his nav computer, tapping a finger against a small red blip blinking on the screen. Grian leaned over to get a better look, a frown creasing his features. 

“Hmm. That’s not good.” 

“What’s not good?” Skizz asked, looking sharply in the cockpit’s direction. Jimmy, who was lounging in one of their flight seats, sat up straight, shooting them a nervous look. 

“What exactly is that little blinking thing?” Pearl asked. She had followed after Grian, peering over the man’s shoulder as they crowded around Impulse’s screen. 

Impulse and Grian shared a look, seeming to have a whole conversation in a glance. 

“Yeah, it’ll be just fine,” Grian said, giving Pearl a not so convincing smile. “It’s a- Just a routine checkpoint station.” 

He clambered back to his controls, pulling them out of autopilot and slowing their little craft down. 

Scar huffed and rolled his eyes. “A checkpoint? On the outer rim? Is there any place in this universe the CP haven’t touched?” 

“CP?” Jimmy asked, his voice pitching up in concern. Impulse gave him a reassuring look, “It’ll be fine, man. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll be through the check point and into atmo within the hour.” 

“CP,” Jimmy said again, this time in a quieter voice to Pearl. She just frowned, watching as the crew bustled around to prepare for the inspection. 

Grian was flipping all sorts of switches and toggles, the already rumbling ship shuddering and shaking alarmingly as they slowed. They could see the checkpoint station now, floating just in front of the false atmosphere’s entrance port. 

“Grian,” Pearl spoke up, moving to stand behind the pilot, “We can’t go through there.” 

Grian shot her a look over his shoulder, letting out a tired sounding sigh. “Tell me about it. These things are always a headache, but there’s nothing for it.”

“Just sit tight and we’ll get through,” Impulse chimed in, shooting Pearl a smile. He flicked on the ship’s main comm system and turned towards Skizz, making a not so subtle gesture towards their shelves. Their shelves which contained all their stuff. 

All their stuff that they may or may not have allegedly stolen. 

Skizz gave a nod, moving over to hide all the stuff they totally, definitely didn’t steal. 

“Pearl,” Jimmy said, his voice taking on a strangely strangled pitch. 

“You really should sit down,” Scar piped up, nodding to Pearl. She didn’t meet his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

Grian was hardly paying any of them any mind at all, all his focus taken up by the giant floating checkpoint. He took a breath, steadying his nerves and reminding himself that Scar’s fake papers hadn’t failed them yet. 

“Impulse, make contact,” he told his co-pilot, and the man beside him nodded. 

“I don’t think you’ll want to do that,” a quietly calm voice interrupted from behind them. Impulse hesitated, hand still poised above the comm’s switch. But it wasn’t the voice that made the whole crew freeze in place. 

No, it was the unmistakable click of a pistol’s safety being disengaged. Impulse turned away from his controls slowly, his hands slightly raised. 

There Pearl stood, a dangerously calm mask settled over her features, a pistol held steadily in her hand.

Chapter Text

“Pearl,” Impulse started calmly, cutting himself off when the gun swiveled in his direction. 

“Hands off the controls,” Pearl ordered, eyes a dangerous shade of determined. 

Grian lifted his hands far away from his controls, Impulse mirroring him. The whole ship was silent for about ten full seconds while everyone stared at each other. 

“Ummm,” Skizz started, still standing by the shelves. “What’s going on here, buddy?” 

Pearl’s cold gaze flicked towards him, before returning to the two pilots she was currently holding at gunpoint. 

“We’re not going through that checkpoint,” she said. Grian shot a look over at Impulse, raising an eyebrow. 

“You are if you want to get through atmo,” he said, his tone implying that this was a very obvious fact and she was just overreacting. 

Pearl narrowed her eyes. 

“Jimmy,” she called to her friend, “How important is it that we get to Nirvana?” 

Jimmy, who hadn’t moved an inch since Pearl pulled out a gun, flinched at the sound of his name. “V-very,” he stuttered, wide eyes flicking between his friend and the little crew. 

“Thought so,” Pearl said.

“Look, there’s nothing we can do to get around the checkpoint. That’s kinda why they’re there- to be unavoidable,” Grian said and Scar nodded from his place by the bunks. 

“Yeah, trust me we tried. That was not fun.” 

“Then you’re gonna figure out a way to get us through,” Pearl said, eyes never leaving the pilots’ faces. 

Impulse shot Grian a nervous look, before giving her a half hearted smile. “What exactly are we working with?” he asked, “Clearly you two are wanted for something, so tell us what.” 

Pearl glanced back at Jimmy again, looking like she was debating revealing what it was they were hiding. 

“We’re just trying to start over,” Pearl said finally, “That’s all you need to know.” 

“I beg to differ,” Grian scoffed, “You’re asking us to risk dying for you.” 

“I could kill you all now,” Pearl said coldly. Impulse frowned, eyes flicking over to where Skizz was standing. 

Grian just rolled his eyes, looking very done with the whole situation. He reached for his controls. 

“You think I won’t use this?” Pearl asked, pistol pointed straight at the pilot. Grian hesitated, but grabbed his set of controls.

“Can you pilot this thing? ‘Cause without me, you’ll be floating helplessly in space,” he said. 

Pearl’s mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “Fine.” 

She turned the pistol on Scar, finger hovering over the trigger. “Touch that and he dies.” 

Scar yelped, eyes wide, “Wait, wait, wait. We can figure this out- Grian, do what she wants!” 

Grian scowled but backed off, Scar shooting him a grateful look. 

“Everybody, just calm down,” Skizz interrupted their little standoff, his hands raised passively. “Nobody has to die here. Just put down the gun and we’ll have a calm, rational discussion about getting through that check point in one piece.” 

“Oh, I’m plenty calm,” Pearl said, gun swiveling to point in Skizz’s direction. 

“We have options,” Impulse said, partially raising his hand to get Pearl’s attention. She raised an eyebrow at him, the pistol still trained on Skizz. 

Impulse shot a look at Grian, saying, “We are smugglers. We specialize in getting stuff through checkpoints. Though, I must add that this whole-” he waved his arms around to encompass the whole standoff situation- “Debacle could have been avoided if the two of you had been honest about the job you were hiring us for.” 

“Yeah, we could have charged you much more too,” Scar added, mostly to himself. 

This line of reasoning seemed to sway Pearl, the gun in her hand lowering ever so slightly. “What are the options,” she asked. 

Impulse shot her a small smile, saying, “How averse are you to the vast vacuum of space?” 

 --🚀--

“You want us to do what?” Jimmy said for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. 

The whole little crew were crowded around a small hatch in one of the far corners of the ship. It was one of the many little cubbies and hidey-holes that wouldn’t show up anywhere on the ship’s legally required schematics. It was also the only one that was even remotely big enough to house two full grown adults. 

The only drawback was the fact that the cubby was not connected to the main ship’s oxygen circulation system. This meant that the occupants of the hidey-hole would be relying on their space suit’s oxygen tanks to keep them both alive and well. 

“It’s actually perfectly safe,” Scar said reassuringly, patting Jimmy on his shoulder. “Just don’t go springing any leaks in your suit.” 

Grian laughed at that, “You should be glad, I just bought these suits a week ago. The old ones we had were held together mostly by duct tape and Skizz’s prayers.”

Jimmy did not look reassured by that statement. 

“Just get inside,” Pearl gritted out, clambering awkwardly down into the tight space. Her space suit made any maneuvering, however basic it might be, nearly impossible. 

Jimmy frowned deeply, grumbling under his breath, but he too crammed into the little cubby. 

The pair of fugitives were smushed so tightly together they wouldn’t have been able to fit a scrap of paper between them. 

“You alright Jim?” Pearl asked her partner quietly. He gave her an incredulous look through his helmet. Then he huffed a dry laugh.

“I’ll be better when we’re standing on solid land again.” 

“You and me both,” she echoed, turning her attention back up to the ship’s crew. 

Grian and Impulse were back in their seats piloting the ship towards the checkpoint. Scar and Skizz seemed to be securing the many other hidey-holes they had throughout the ship, stowing any potentially illegal contraband.  

Finally, after Impulse had hailed the checkpoint station and gotten their instructions, Scar went back to where the fugitives were hiding. 

He knelt down next to the open hatch, giving the pair a once over. “No leaks, I hope?” he joked, giving them a half smile. 

Jimmy gave a thumbs up, his gloved hands clumsily forming the sign. 

“In all seriousness,” Scar continued, his tone taking on a more genuine note, “Once we close the hatch, you’ll both have a little over one hour of oxygen. Of course, that won’t be a problem because this checkpoint should be an easy pass through type deal. Just, you know, don’t go breathing too deeply.” 

“Just get us through,” Pearl said. She rested a hand on the handle of her pistol, which still had holstered on her hip. For as much good as it would do her cooped up in a cupboard. 

Scar nodded once, winking, before he closed and latched the hatch with a click. Pearl and Jimmy settled down into the sudden total darkness, trying not to think about how horrible it would be if they were found. 

Scar sat back on his heels, looking down at the secured hatch. Like all their other smuggling stashes, the hatch melted seamlessly into the rest of the ship’s mismatched flooring. If one didn’t know it was there, it would be nearly impossible to pick out the opening from the rest of the ship’s interior. 

He pushed himself to his feet, making his way over to the cockpit. He leaned over the back of Grian’s seat, trying to get a glimpse at the pilot’s display screen. 

“What are they saying?” he said, shooting the question in Impulse’s direction. 

The co-pilot shrugged. “They’re telling us to maintain our course. All we have to do is keep flying in a straight line.” 

“Straight line being a relative term in the directionless void of space,” Grian quipped. From what his displays were saying, their little ship was only a few minutes out from the checkpoint. 

“Everyone got their IDs?” Skizz asked as he and Scar strapped themselves into their jumpseats. The others all nodded, Impulse’s hand going down to touch the papers in his jacket pocket. 

“And who are we, again?” Skizz continued. 

“Missionaries sent out to the outer rim to spread the good news of our glorious creator,” the others all chorused, reciting their cover story for the millionth time. They all looked the part too, swapping out their usual coveralls and jumpsuits with priest jackets Scar managed to find on some moon on the other side of the system. 

“And don’t you forget it,” Skizz said, grinning as their little ship slowed to a stop inside the wide ring of the station. He could feel the shudder of the docking tethers connect with their ship, latching it in place. 

They were in the belly of the beast now. 

Grian sat back in his chair, looking over at Impulse to give him a nod. Impulse nodded back, flicking a switch on his comm display.

“This is SS Goodwill, standing by for further instructions,” he said into the little microphone. The cheap speakers crackled to life as an officer on the other line responded. 

“Roger, SS Goodwill. What is your business on Nirvana?” the officer asked. His tone was bored, like he really couldn’t care less what it was that brought the little crew to this backwater planet. 

“We are missionaries sent to minister to the spiritual needs of the good people of this fine planet,” Impulse replied, sticking to their cover story. The officer on the other line sighed, and there was a crinkling of paper. 

“Missionaries? What denomination?” the bored man droned. 

Impulse hesitated, shooting a look at his crew mates. They hadn’t officially settled on one denomination for their cover- which in retrospect was a bit of an oversight. 

Scar shrugged and Grian made a just say something kind of flapping of his hands. 

“Of Our Lady,” Skizz whispered. He could remember reading about them in the news, though he couldn’t quite remember what for. 

“Of Our Lady,” Impulse repeated into the comm. 

There was a long stretch of silence after that. 

“SS Goodwill, please repeat,” the officer finally said. 

“Of Our Lady?” Impulse repeated, sounding much less sure about the answer. The rest of the crew looked just as confused at the officer’s question. It wasn’t like their crew was especially knowledgeable about things like church or religion. 

There was another long stretch of silence. 

Impulse started to get a bad feeling about the whole thing. 

“SS Goodwill, prepare to be boarded,” the officer said, sounding suddenly a whole lot more interested in the ship, “Any resistance will be met with the full force of the Company Police, please relinquish controls.” 

Impulse’s eyes went wide and Grian started swearing. 

Skizz went suddenly very pale, remembering what it was he had seen the Church Of Our Lady in the news for. 

A group of their followers had bombed a CP controlled moon base, claiming to be following their holy Lady’s perfect will. 

“Guys… I think we just confessed to being religious terrorists,” Skizz said, making the rest of the crew stop and stare at him. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Grian half grumbled, half groaned. 

Curled up tightly in the cramped cubby, Jimmy stared up at the place the hatch had been. Because it was so dark, it was hard to place exactly where the seam for the hatch was, but he kept his eyes fixed on the place he thought it was. 

He was seriously starting to regret the series of decisions that led him to this situation. He couldn’t help thinking that if he’d just shut the door on Pearl when she came knocking. If only he’d ignored her when she called that night, excitedly talking about the CP’s weaknesses. 

Then he looked over to where Pearl was curled up beside him, looking scared despite her best efforts to hide it. 

His clumsy space suit clad hands patted her arm in his best attempt at a comforting gesture. 

She shifted at his touch, a small smile lighting up her face. 

A smile that vanished as they felt the little ship grind to a halt, sending them slamming into each other. 

They could hear the hiss of the ship’s doors sliding open, then the ominous ringing of footsteps crowding into the tiny vessel. 

Pearl cursed quietly. 

They were being boarded.

Chapter Text

“Everybody on the floor!” The order sounded through their tiny ship as a swarm of armed and armored men rushed inside. 

Grian barely had time to turn towards them before the butt of one of their rifles caught him on the side of the head, sending him sprawling onto the deck. He grunted, stifling the onslaught of curses that threatened to bubble out of him. Whose stupid idea was it to pretend to be missionaries, anyway? 

Impulse had been a little faster than him, and had dropped as soon as the door began to open. Skizz and Scar weren’t so lucky, meeting the same wrong end of a rifle as Grian had. 

“Hands on your heads!” came the next order. These commands all seemed to be coming from a single man, standing casually towards the back of their ship, near the door. Grian noticed captain’s stripes on the man’s uniform. 

That wouldn’t be too bad. A captain would be of low enough rank that they could probably just talk their way out of this… as long as he wasn’t one of the crazies trying to prove themselves to the brass. 

“Prisoners secured, sir,” one of the Company Police thugs said, standing over Impulse, aiming his rifle at the man’s head. 

Impulse’s eyes were wide, shooting Grian a panicked look. Grian tried to give him a reassuring look back, but it was hard to look reassuring when laying flat on his stomach, hands clasped over his head, trying not to encourage any trigger happy CPs.

“If you move, it will be taken as a threat, and you will be eliminated." The captain said all this is a cold, calm voice. As if he were discussing the weather. 

Grian started praying, and not just to keep up their fake identities. 

“Wait, wait, wait! You’ve got us all wrong,” Scar began, but he was cut off by a cruel kick from one of the thugs. 

Grian winced, glaring at the captain as he walked slowly towards where they were. They had obeyed though, keeping still even as the CPs patted them down and out turned their pockets. 

A small pile of nicknacks were piled on the floor of the ship- comms, loose change, a half eaten ration bar, a rock Skizz liked to keep in his pocket as a lucky charm- everything was emptied out and tossed unceremoniously onto the metal tiles. 

Grian silently thanked the universe that they’d already hidden all their weapons before approaching the check point. He didn’t like dwelling on the thought of what might have happened to them if they had been armed. 

The captain loomed over them, looking down at them with a calm- almost bored look. He let them stew in a long silence, as if by waiting long enough, they’d crack and confess to everything without prompting. 

Grian just glared back. 

“Of Our Lady,” the man said finally, eyes narrowing. 

The crew just stared back, not quite sure how to respond. 

“Well?” he asked, his prompting sending a boot into Impulse’s side. 

“Of Our Lady!” Skizz rushed to agree, “Yes, we’re Of Our Lady!” 

“You admit to being terrorists then?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No!” Grian jumped in, “No- not that kind of Lady. We follow- we follow a different Lady. A very loving Lady.” 

“Yeah, Our Lady’s Immaculate and Holy church,” Scar added quickly, “Look, we have identity papers, just let us show you.” 

The captain turned a cold eye on Scar. “Your papers will be reviewed, don’t you worry, as will your statements and your ship’s records,” he said, nodding at the CPs who stood behind Scar. 

It seemed to be some kind of signal, as the two thugs stepped forward and hauled Scar to his feet, dragging him towards their ship’s hatch. 

“Hold on-” Grian protested, starting to push himself up to his feet. A CP slammed him back down from behind before he had even gotten to his knees.  

“He’s done nothing!” Impulse sounded angry, seething up at the captain. 

“Then he’ll have nothing to worry about,” came his even response, “Don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.” 

With that, the captain turned and strolled off their ship and back out into the check point, following after where Scar had been dragged.  

Leaving the three remaining crew members, face down, guns pointed at their heads. 

Grian cursed quietly. This was going to be a rough one. 

 --🚀--

Pearl had stilled at the sound of the commotion above them, listening intently to what little noise could be heard through the plating of the floor they hid under. Jimmy was giving her panicked looks, but she couldn’t deal with that right now. She held his hand in hers, squeezing it as tightly as their thick gloves allowed. 

She worked to keep her breaths slow and even, the air inside her suit hissing quietly as it worked to keep her alive. She signed at Jimmy, warning him to stay calm. 

They didn’t have the luxury of a panic attack right now, not crammed into a smuggler’s hidey-hole, slowly running out of air. 

She glanced down at her suit’s oxygen gauge, muttering a curse. It told her she had less than forty-five minutes of air left. 

Jimmy saw her looking at the instrument and instinctively checked his own. She felt him stiffen suddenly against her, panic written clearly on his face. 

She grabbed at his arm, twisting it to look at his gauge. She froze, eyes widening in horror. 

Jimmy’s tank was draining at an alarming rate, easily twice as fast as her own. 

She saw tears well up in her friend’s eyes, as realization dawned on them both. 

He’d be as good as dead in twenty minutes. 

 --🚀--

Grian shifted impatiently, hands still held over his head, watching the CP as best he could from his angle on the floor. 

They didn’t do much, just stood there looking threatening with their rifles and featureless Company masks. 

Scar had been gone for several minutes now, long enough that Grian was starting to wonder if he’d have to take a chance taking down the CP and trying to stage a rescue. 

He glanced over at Impulse, who lay next to him, raising an eyebrow towards the guards. 

Impulse seemed to get his meaning, but he shook his head, mouthing the words, “You’re insane.” 

Grian sighed, but he didn’t try anything either. It wasn’t worth getting shot in the back of the head. He glanced towards the hidden hatch where they’d stowed Pearl and Jimmy, saying a silent prayer that this captain would hurry it up. 

They were all running out of time. 

 --🚀--

Scar was shuffled down into the depths of the check point, led roughly by the two Company Police marching by his side. They twisted and turned down countless hallways, making keeping their route straight in his head nearly impossible. 

Eventually he was led down a narrow hall lined with what looked like cells- which was not a great indication of how this next interaction was going to go. 

Scar’s two guards, still remaining as silent as they had been for the whole walk through the check point, ushered him into one of the unmarked cells. 

It was a tiny room, barely a third the size of his ship, made even smaller by the table that took up most of the floor space. A char sat on either side of the table, so he sat in the one opposite the door. He noticed absently that all the furniture was bolted to the floor. 

He hadn’t waited long before the cell’s door opened again and the captain walked inside. 

He gave Scar a long look. 

“Your identification is being run as we speak, as are those of your crew members,” he said at last, sitting himself down in the chair opposite Scar’s. 

Scar gave the man a smile. His fake papers hadn’t failed them yet, and this wasn’t even the worst scrape they’d had to get themselves out of. He shuddered, remembering the time Grian had flown them right into the middle of the Emperor's armada. Now that had been a close jam. 

“If you are of Our Lady’s Immaculate and Holy church, as you claim, surely you know many of your holy texts?” the captain asked, phrasing it like a question, though the implied order was clear. 

Scar, sitting across a cold steel table from the captain, nodded without hesitation. 

“Our Lady’s favor shines on all her children who walk in her holy light,” he made up, speaking with all the authority he could muster. “May she light your paths continually, watching your every footfall.” 

The captain made a low humming noise, narrowing his eyes. 

“Our Lady's texts speak often about forgiveness and mercy,” Scar added, trying not to sound too hopeful. The captain’s face remained as expressionless as the windowless cell he was currently sitting in. 

“Your vessel is called the S.S. Goodwill, when did your crew acquire it?” the captain asked, changing the subject. 

Scar hesitated, this man obviously was trying to keep him off balance. Too bad for him, Scar was the one who wrote their cover story. 

“Four years ago,” he said easily, smiling to cover up his momentary hesitation. It was a partial truth. Four years ago, a ship called the S.S. Goodwill had appeared on all the official records, though they hadn’t exactly bought the thing.

It would come up as legitimate to any searches, though, Impulse had made sure of that. 

"Your ship is quite small, built like many of the smuggling ships we catch." 

"It's small only because we don't need too much space," Scar replied, "Our Lady requires us to be modest." 

“Your captain, is he also a part of your religious organization?” 

Scar nodded, saying, “We all serve to spread Our Lady’s mission.” 

“Why here?” 

“Because the words of hope and peace we want to share are more important here on the outskirts of the known universe than anywhere else in the system,” was Scar’s reply. He was still smiling calmly, refusing to be shaken by this captain’s cold stare. 

It was a smile he held tightly to as the questions continued, as the man pried and prodded at their cover, looking for any crack. 

But this was Scar- there were no cracks to be found. 

 --🚀-- 

Jimmy fought to keep his breathing steady, even as he watched his suit’s oxygen plummet, the little red needle on the gauge slowly tipping into the danger zone. His helmet's screen was advising him to seek out a pressurized area immediately. 

Jimmy closed his eyes, holding tighter to Pearl. She was trying to say something to him, trying to get him to listen to her. 

Jimmy couldn’t. He could barely keep himself from hyperventilating- from killing himself even quicker. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, trying hard to keep himself from spiraling further. 

Pearl wasn’t having any of that, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him violently enough to make his teeth rattle. 

He glared at her, a look she shot right back at him. 

She grabbed his arm, glancing down at the gauge- frowning deeper- before moving to grab at the tubes connecting his oxygen tank to his helmet. 

His eyes widened at that and he tried to swat her hands away. She shook her head at him, motioning for him to stay still. 

I’m trying to help, she signed, her motions made clumsy by the heavy suit she wore. It was still their best option for communication, though, as these suits didn’t have built in radios. 

How? Jimmy signed back. 

Pearl pressed her lips in a thin line and shook her head, not replying. Jimmy’s frown deepened. Obviously, she wasn’t telling him because she knew he’d try to stop her. 

She reached towards his oxygen tubes again, and he let her. His gauge was fully in the red now, he saw. He was running on his last few gasps of air. 

She hesitated as her gloved hand closed around the main tube, looking at him for a long moment. 

Hold your breath. 

Jimmy shook his head, but did as she said, inhaling deeply. 

She disconnected his oxygen tube from the tank with a slow hiss. Jimmy felt a sudden overwhelming panic, convinced that Pearl had decided to kill him even faster. 

But she didn’t stop at just disconnecting, she pulled the tube over to herself, slotting it into her own oxygen tank, twisting the connector into place. 

The flow of fresh air was instantaneous for Jimmy, an instant and deep relief. He couldn’t help the deep breaths he took, feeling nearly giddy at the knowledge he’d have longer to live now. 

Pearl gave him a small smile. 

They were pulled even tighter now by the tubes connecting them, nearly squashed up against each other. 

Pearl, Jimmy signed, but she shook her head at him. 

Pearl, you can’t do this. Please. 

By sharing her tank… she would run out twice as fast. Glancing at the gauge strapped to her suit’s sleeve, they had barely ten minutes. 

She just smiled again, grabbing his hands in hers, stopping him from signing more. 

Jimmy closed his eyes again, resting his helmet against hers. He didn’t bother to try and  argue more. He should have known by now that it would be pointless. 

Pearl always won their arguments. He smiled ruefully to himself, it’s what got them in this trouble in the first place. 

 --🚀--

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the captain returned. Much to the crew’s relief, Scar was with him, escorted back, and seemingly in one piece. 

Impulse shot him a concerned look, but Scar shook his head, giving him a small smile. 

“Let them up,” the captain said, waving towards the CPs to back off slightly, letting the rest of the crew push themselves to their feet. 

Skizz grimaced as he sat upwards. His shoulders and back ached from holding himself in the same position for so long. He groaned quietly. He was getting too old for all this running around stuff. 

“Your identifications came up clean,” the captain said, as the crew watched him warily. 

“You’ll let us go to Nirvana, then?” Grian asked, eyes glancing off towards the ship’s cockpit, where the planet could be seen dominating the view. 

The captain, still as sour faced as ever, frowned at the question.

“Of course, you and your fellow missionaries may be on your way,” the captain said, “As soon as I am assured that you are who you claim to be.” 

Grian suppressed a sigh at that, shooting a look at Scar, silently asking what he’d told the captain. It would be very awkward to accidentally contradict something Scar had said about them. 

“That’s all just fine,” Scar said at once, stepping towards where the rest of his crew stood, “We’ll show them how devout we are by singing Our Lady’s favorite hymn.” 

Skizz blinked. Impulse shot Scar a disbelieving look. Grian just stared. 

Scar was smiling again, nodding encouragingly. “Come on, we all know it, don’t we?” 

“Of course,” Skizz said, with only a twinge of uncertainty in his voice. 

The captain narrowed his eyes, but nodded at them to continue. 

Well, Grian thought to himself, this would definitely be the dumbest way to get themselves shot. 

“Our Lady’s Immaculate and Holy blessing be upon you~” Scar began to sing, his voice filling the tiny ship. He was singing to the tune of one of their favorite drinking songs, and Skizz joined in after a moment’s hesitation. 

“May her light shine on you~” they sang, Skizz following Scar’s lead. The captain looked accusingly at Impulse and Grian, who hastily joined in. 

“Oh, Our Lady Immaculate and Holy~~ let her light shine on you~” the four of them sang, in something that could be considered a harmony. They were all watching Scar, waiting for him to lead them through his made up hymn. 

Below them, under the panels of the floor, Jimmy and Pearl were watching their oxygen deplete with every aching breath. They had mere minutes left by now. 

They’d already said their goodbyes- or more accurately, they’d already signed them. Pearl had apologized. Jimmy had told her she had nothing to be sorry for. 

All that jazz. 

All that was left was to run out of air and suffocate, trapped in a cubby. 

Jimmy’s brain felt foggy, so he was pretty sure he was already going crazy when the sound of music reached them through the floor. 

Was that heaven? Already calling them to the afterlife? 

Who knew that the angels all sang off key? 

“Oh, let her blessings be upon you!~” the crew finished in a four part harmony. Scar even threw in some jazz hands. 

The captain didn’t seem to know what to say. Not that Skizz really blamed him. He had sung the song and he had no idea what to say. 

Eventually, the captain just shook his head, waving at his men to fall back. They stepped back towards the ship’s hatch, their rifles no longer held quite so threateningly. 

“Just… go to Nirvana,” he said to the crew after a pause. “Go and minister, but keep in mind that I will be keeping an eye on your crew. If any of you turns up in our custody again…” he trailed off, the threat hanging unsaid in the air. 

Grian nodded immediately, waiting only just until the captain and his men were off his ship before throwing himself back into his pilot’s seat and grabbing his controls. 

Impulse was right behind him, sliding into his navigation’s seat, and flicking on his screens. 

They felt the Check Point’s docking tethers give way, setting their little ship free again. Grian flew as fast as he dared towards the planet, feeling all the stress and anxiety melt slowly away as he settled himself behind his controls. 

“Well,” Skizz said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over their little group, “That went better than I’d expected.” 

“Yeah, they didn’t even beat us up this time,” Scar chimed, sounding quite happy about that fact. Grian couldn’t help but nod, shuddering slightly at the reminder of much more painful encounters. 

“How far from planet side?” Skizz asked. 

Impulse looked over his instruments, flicking a few switches absently. “Twenty minutes.” 

“A nice, peaceful, twenty minutes,” Grian added, feeling light as a feather now that they’d made it past the CPs. “With nothing to worry about.” 

“Wait…” Skizz said, turning to the panels they’d stashed their cargo in, “Twenty minutes is too long for their suits to last, right? Should we pull them out now?” 

“What’s the rush?” Impulse asked. He clearly hadn’t forgotten the way Pearl had pulled a gun on them. 

“They still owe us half their fee. Can’t get paid if they’re dead under our floor,” Scar said matter-of-factly, moving to crouch beside the hatch. 

Skizz moved to join him, helping him hoist the thing open. It clanged loudly as they dropped it against the ship’s flooring, revealing the cramped compartment. 

Their cargo was just where they’d left them, packed in like a pair of sardines. 

“Pearl, Jimmy, up and at em!” Skizz called down to them. Neither moved.

“Hmmm.” Scar reached down to jostle Pearl’s arm. She didn’t react. 

Skizz swore. 

Scar dropped down into the hatch, reaching for their helmets, yanking the things off with desperate movements. 

“Don’t you die on us now! Not after everything we did to get you here!” Pearl’s helmet disconnected with a hiss, revealing a pale face. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t seem to be breathing. 

“Impulse! They’re not breathing!” Skizz’s yells brought the navigator in a rush. The three of them managed to lift Pearl and Jimmy from the compartment and onto the floor of the ship. 

Impulse started yanking Pearl’s suit off of her, telling Skizz and Scar to get Jimmy out of his. 

Impulse was suddenly very glad that Skizz had insisted on all of them learning how to do CPR. He even almost regretted how much he had complained about learning. 

He started compressions on Pearl, noticing Skizz doing the same for Jimmy beside him. 

Her face was so pale, so drawn. 

Impulse kept going. After the second round of compressions, Pearl’s whole body shuddered, convulsing violently as her lungs spasmed back to life. She coughed, her whole frame shaking as she heaved for breath. Impulse moved back, letting her catch her breath- literally- before he helped her more. 

“Jimmy-” she heaved, turning to where her friend lay. Impulse caught her before she could reach him, holding her to himself. 

“He’s gonna be okay, let them help him,” he told her, even as she struggled weakly against him. 

Skizz and Scar were still giving Jimmy CPR, trying with all their might to bring him back. Finally, with what looked like herculean effort, Jimmy’s chest rose and fell on its own. 

He too, began coughing, seeming to hack up a lung. Impulse let Pearl go then, letting her pull herself to Jimmy’s side. She threw her arms around him, holding him close as he heaved for air. 

“We’re never doing that again,” Pearl said hoarsely. Jimmy just huffed a laugh, slumping against her. 

The crew watched this interaction with slight awkwardness. 

Eventually, Scar cleared his throat. 

“So… is this a bad time to ask for the rest of our payment?”