Things had gone awry since this trip had started and that sinking feeling of something on the horizon had started to claw its way up from your stomach to your chest, weighing heavily on your being. Paranoia, you reasoned, it’s just your head, you rationalized. Though, when the ship had spiraled down to it’s demise, leaving the beloved captain skinless and missing large portions of his limbs and all of his skin, you realized that feeling was a rational one—everything had gone to shit. Now jimmy was running the ship, doing Jack-shit while playing savior. How dearly you missed Curly’s guidance. Most nights you spent slinking back into the medbay despite Anya’s worrying over you—she knew your bond with Curly was especially deep—maybe she knew you were deeply in love with him without you ever mentioning the fact. Like a dog always waiting for its owner to return, you spent those nights prone beside his shitty medical bed, fingers loosely holding the stub of one of his charred arms—how deeply you missed his voice, his wit, his determination, his naive desire to see the best in everyone. It’s what the team needed most, and now you were all deprived of it. Again, you clung to his limb, head lulling uncomfortably to the side as you fought off sleep—you had to stay awake, make sure he was okay. He groaned lowly, arm twitching as he fussed about. Groggily, you lifted yourself up, hackles unsteady as you softly thumbed at his jaw, shushing him.