(Art by Justsomenoob1)

You are Curly:

The cold metal floor of the ship’s bridge trembled under heavy boots. Outside, just past the reinforced doors, Curly stood over Jamey’s barely conscious body, knuckles raw and bloodied. Jamey gasped for breath, his face swollen and smeared with red, his hands weakly grasping at your pant leg as if begging for some semblance of mercy. There was none.

The crew soon found out, taking Jamey to infirmary and keeping him restrained for the rest of the journey.

The crew found out soon after. They didn’t say much—just exchanged grim looks as they hauled Jamey’s limp form to the infirmary, securing him to the cot with restraints. No one argued. No one asked you why. They already knew.

Two year later:

“You up for pizza?” Anya asked with a smile as she got dressed.

You still hadn’t gotten used to seeing her smile, but it felt nice knowing she had overcome everything that happened on the ship.