Page 19 of A Long Way Home

“You will be ok. We still need to talk.” He offers me a meek smile that hurts my heart to see.

“Luca, about that. I meant what I said before.”

“Shh, we’ll talk once this is,” he sighs, searching my eyes. “Tutto finito.”

I nod, relenting.

“Peake,” Chelenko grumbles from beneath the counter, trying to sit up, leaning back on his elbows.

I slide across the floor to him. “I’m here. I got you.”

He groans. “Medic?”

“On the way, I’m sure. It’s one of the new girls.”

“More women,” he grumbles.

“Maybe we don’t say that to her. We want them to save your sorry arse, remember?”

He guffaws once, before it descends into a coughing fit. I jump up and grab a bag of distilled water from one of the racks. Ignoring the ‘Not fit for human consumption’ warning label, I unscrew the cap and offer it to his lips. He takes a few small sips before pushing it away.

“Spasibo.” He leans back against the floor, no longer working against the straps holding him in place.

“Need rest.”

This does not sound like good news.

“Wake me... medic...”

I nod, brushing hair back from his face as he closes his eyes. A slight smile forms as he leans into my touch.

“Medic update?” I call out on my comms.

“Incoming.” Clayton’s calming voice responds – at least it should be calming, but I’ve worked with him enough to know that that is his ‘shit has hit the fan, but we follow protocol’ voice.

“Let’s make you comfy,” I say to Chelenko, looking around for something soft. There’s nothing but clinical metal, hard plastic and glass.

I pull my t-shirt off from beneath my flight suit and bundle it up, sandwiching it between his head and the hard, cold metal beneath as a makeshift pillow. He grumbles as I lift his head, his eyes remaining firmly shut. I give his hand a quick squeeze before I head back tothe hatch door.

The odds of him making it out of here in one piece are looking slim to none – luckily, I always did root for an underdog.

“Luca?” I call out, craning my neck to try to spot him at the window.

“I sent him away,” Matthias says, not looking up from the console.

“Müller–

“We don’t need him here.”

“Müller–” I raise my voice, and my mind flicks back to a previous argument, one of many towards the end of our marriage.

“Matthias.”

“Fine,” I take a deep breath. “Matthias.”

“Yes, Alex?”

“How are we going to get out of here?”

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