Break

The galley was one of the few places aboard the Wayfarer that still felt alive. Not operational, not functional.

Alive.

The hum of machinery was softer there. The overhead lights were warmer. The recycled air carried the scent of onions and spices instead of stale sealant and burnt wiring. Even after the collision, people still made time to be there. To eat. To relax. To breathe.

And Valdez was no exception. Even at this ungodly hour, she sat alone at one of the metal tables, warming her fingers on a fresh cup of coffee. Its steam rose in flimsy wisps and tickled her nose, warming her tightened brow which hung barely above the ceramic container.

Suddenly a noise startled her. The soft sound of a dish scrapping across the table. Her head snapped up in an instant.

Beside her stood the cook, Jones. His long arm finishing the last little distance between her and the bowl of beef stew he had just produced. His smile was soft, just like his nod to her as he tossed a rag onto his shoulder.

“Eat up,” his voice was just as soothing as the juicy scent of the stew was on her stomach alone.

She cocked a brow up at him as she slid the bowl closer and picked up the company issued metal spork provided, “Did you just make this now?”

Jones shook his head, the smile never leaving, “Reheated. But you would have known that if you made it to a meal on time for once.” With that he moved toward the serving line behind her.

“Busy,” She shrugged, taking her first bite of the stew. It was delicious. For some reason, that annoyed her just as much as it was worth woofing down.

“We all are,” he answered, returning with a coffee pot and a mug of his own. “All running like chickens with our heads cut off. Just trying to make it through.”

“Yeah, I guess you are right,” she sighed, shoveling another large chunk of beef into her already full mouth.

Jones motioned if he was allowed to join her in the booth at the seat across from her. And just as wordlessly, Valdez motioned back saying it was open for him.

Moments passed in near silence, other than the final scraps of the spork against the bowl as Valdez tried to get every last morsel as quickly as possible. Jones only took quiet sips from his coffee as he watched.

Other than that, the silence was comfortable. The kind earned from unity rather than obligation.

With one final clank, the spork clattered with the bowl as she slammed it down, a content sigh harmonizing with it as she rested a hand on her belly.

“So tell me,” Jones set his coffee down and leaned in just a little closer, “You break something?”

Valdez shot him a crossed glance, sizing up his words before shaking her head, “Don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Did you get electrocuted then?” He continued without missing a beat.

She froze, eyeing him softer, but still cautiously. He in turn only kept his soft smile as she took another sip of coffee.

“No,” she hesitated.

“So you ended up in a fight?” He nodded silently.

“Keep talking and you’ll answer that one yourself,” she picked the spork back up and pointed it at him.

Jones only chuckled and lifted his hands defensively.

Finally, Valdez lowered the cutlery and sighed again. “I swear this ship is messing with me,” she shook her head lower towards the mug again.

“The ship? You mean Jeannie?”

“No!” she shook her head more vigorously, “Just stuff keeps happening, I can’t explain them.”

“This sounds serious,” the cook nodded.

“It’s not,” she slumped her shoulders, “But I found my voltage meter in Section B today.”

“Why would you leave it in Jeannie’s room?” he lifted a brow curiously.

“I wouldn’t!” She slammed a hand down with those words, causing all of the dishes not held down there to clatter again, “I used it in D yesterday. And like always, when I was done, I put it back in the storage room myself.”

“I see,” Jones’s brow tightened in contemplation as he nodded along.

“And now, out of nowhere, it's in B this morning. No one is fessing up to it.”

The older black man only nodded silently, before, “Anything else?”

Valdez immediately regretted opening her mouth. But there was no going back now.

“Couple of days ago I found a service panel open,” she continued, using her hands to explain herself, “Wires exposed and everything.”

“Somebody was working on it?” Jones pressed back softly.

“No work paper filled out,” With that she leaned back in her seat, throwing a hand up flippantly.”

“Could’ve forgot to file one,” the cook offered.

Valdez clicked her tongue and looked away, “Could’ve, I guess…”

Jones knitted his hands together around his mug, “Could’ve also come loose on its own. This place wasn’t exactly a solid unit before the incident.”

The electrician didn’t look over at those possibilities.

“So what else?” he pressed on again regardless.

Valdez pointed the spork back at him, “I don’t like how interested you seem to be.”

Jones only shrugged, “You started the story, I am just enjoying it.”

She cut him a crossed look, but couldn’t answer that. Her spork lowered slightly as she weighed her thoughts first.

“Go on then,” Jones leaned forward more, “Tell it proper now.”

Rolling her head back, she set the utensil down once more. “Worst has been this lighting relay. 112B. Near life support. Keeps tripping and throwing errors. I fix it. Log it. Next day? I get another error. Same relay.”

“Same break?” the cook guessed.

“You’re as smart as you look, Jones,” the electrician smiled back.

“Did you fix it for good this time?” he pressed her, more playfully this time.

“Damn straight, I did. But that’s not it.” She leans in closer, making Jones do the same as she whispers conspiratorially. “The maintenance log? Said I did it three days prior. Signed by me.”

Jones was quiet for a moment, absorbing all the info in. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘And’?” Valdez threatened to go for the spork again.

“You sure?” he asked very flatly, his smile having since vanished.

“I know I fixed it,” her eyes narrowed.

“I am sure you did,” the cook nodded again, “You know your work better than anyone else here.”

Gritting her teeth, Valdez fixed him with the most intense stare she had in her. Then she slumped back into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing to the side.

Jones waited patiently, watching her. “Sounds like a ship full of tired people to me.”

Valdez groaned. She knew that's exactly where it was going. But she hated how naturally it got there. “You know I hate it when you do that?”

“What?” he asked, this time he was very concerned with his chin turning up to the side slightly.

“You and your explanations,” the younger woman cut her eyes back at him without moving to face him.

That made him chuckle. “Well, darling, somebody’s got to provide one between us.”

“OK, then,” she challenged back, raising a finger towards the ceiling, “We go movement readings in the sealed sections.”

“And we got busted sensors," Jones answered, raising a finger just like her.

“Banging on bulkheads,” another finger raised.

“And tired and stressed mechanics,” another answer.

“Tools moving on their own.”

“And people borrowing things.”

Valdez was running out of fingers and she was afraid he would start growing more once she was out.

Instead, Jones only shrugged, “I’ve spent most of my life feeding people.”

This one made her brain lock up for a second, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Means I’ve listened to folks complaining for all of it.”

That actually pulled a laugh from her. She tried to hide it, but she knew she was completely lost when it came to trying to one up him. “Jones, you are only five years older than me.”

“That’s five more years of experience.” he pointed towards her with his smile having return. Silence fell between them once more. The older cook leaned back in his chair, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are crazy.”

“So generous,” Valdez snorted.

“I’m serious,” he tapped the table between them with a finger, “This ain’t normal now. It’s easy to be crazy right now.”

That made her pause, rarely had she had heard him show a side this in the year she had been aboard with him. But he continued.

“The ship got hit. Folks got hurt. Hell, some are still missing at best.” The smile left him as he cast his eyes down at his cooling mug, “ We are all carrying something with us these days.”

After a moment, all Valdez could do was look down and nod. He was right, and that didn’t make her happy. Silence moved back in between them, not uncomfortable, but tense. Thoughtful.

Eventually she spoke up again. “I am most worried about the captain.”

Jones raised his head to her, his expression more neutral. “He does seem a little off doesn’t he?”

She only nodded.

“Man got hit in the head,” he spoke softly.

She nodded again.

“He ain’t sleeping well,” he continued.

“And he’s asking weird questions,” Valdez interjected. Jones remained quiet. But she leaned forward, “And before you say stress, I am very aware.”

The cook chuckled again, “Took my favorite answer from me.”

“Damn right,” she flashed a victorious grin.

Jones began to rub his chin, thinking, "Captain's carrying the heaviest load of us all.”

Valdez couldn’t argue.

Jones glanced at the coffee mugs between the two of them. “Every bad thing that happens on this ship lands on his desk first.” His eyes shifted to meet hers again, “That’ll wear on anyone.”

With a sigh, she retorted with all she had, “Still.”

Jones nodded contemplatively, “Yes, still.”

For the first time since the conversation started, he didn’t offer a counterargument. Just an agreement. A small one, but it was enough for Valdez.

“So it’s not just me?”

Jones continued to rub his chin for a second, “I think everyone deserves a little grace, especially now.”

A pause.

“But I don’t reckon you’re wrong to keep an eye on him especially.”

The words hung between them. Neither particularly wanted to hear them. After a while Valdez pushed herself to her feet. “Guess I should go back to work.”

Jones joined her out of the booth, “Rest is probably best. Can’t have you falling asleep on the job.”

She flashed him a smile before swallowing the last of her coffee. It had gone cold, practically stale, but it was just what she needed to keep going she told herself. “That’s what the coffee was for.”

The cook only wagged his finger at her, “Man doesn’t live on coffee alone. A little sleep is needed.”

She rolled her head again. “I already told you I hate it when you do that.”

Jones picked up her now empty mug and headed towards the wash bay, “You know, if things get worse, all of my explanations of everyone being tired starts to fall apart.”

Valdez laughed back, “If things get worse, I am sure you’ll come up with something new to say.”

He turned over his shoulder, flashing a devious grin, “Damn straight.” Then he turned and began washing the dishes that had used.

She turned to exit the galley, only stopping briefly to look back at the cook diligent in his work, “Thanks, Jones. I needed that.” She patted her stomach once more and moved through the cold corridors of the Wayfarer.