Biscuits

She was going to kill him. She was actually going to murder him. Yes, she has said it plenty of times before but this time she meant it. This time she would drag him by his stupid hair to an airlock and shove him out to space where he can suffocate.

Seven months. She lasted seven months stuck in this shuttle with him, but now she was finally going to crack.

It started off with the computer. He programmed it to call him "Hot Stuff." She changed it back. Then, he programmed it to call him "King of the Bandages." Once again, she changed it back. Twenty nine nicknames later-yes, she kept a list-the most recent development was "Big McDaddy."

And since his names apparently weren't keeping him preoccupied, he decided to spend time obsessing over hers. Specifically, her first name. On the top of her medical file is "B. Miller" neatly typed out, but he wanted to know more. The guesses started off sensible enough with Bella and Bethany-they have now devolved into Bread and Bacteriochlorophylls.

And somehow, no matter what happens, he won't stop grinning. No one should be as cheery as this guy, it doesn't seem healthy. Every time she sees him she wants to growl in frustration, but he remains as sunny as the actual suns they pass.

But this time is worse than all those other time. This time he took the biscuit because this time he broke a rule that could get himself and her fired. This time he... well, he took the biscuits.

"I can't believe you!" She screeched, storming into the medical bay. "I can't believe you would actually steal from the passengers!"

"I'm sorry?" He asked looking up from a rather heavy looking book. He was still smiling. Asshole.

"The biscuits. Don't even try to deny it. I know it was you who took them."

"Ok." He went back to reading.

"Ok?" That threw her off her guard. She was expecting an argument. For him to try feign innocence before she finally broke him and he begged her not to tell their boss. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

"Ok, I won't deny it. I took the biscuits." He raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything else or...?"

"Well... well... what do you have to say for yourself?" Her voice got weaker and weaker throughout the sentence. She really had no idea where she wanted to go with that.

"...They tasted nice?" Oh, that made her blood boil.

"Nice? Taste? That's not what I was asking. Do you know how much trouble you could be in for this." He was an idiot, he had to be. Maybe, he just didn't care. No that couldn't be it, could it? This job involves being away from Earth for years at a time and being fired tends to mean never getting work anywhere else. Maybe he thought the job would be easy and that he would get away with stuff like this. Not on her watch.

"I know how much trouble I will be in-none. No one cares. No one apart from you. Speaking of which, why do you care?"

He is unbelievable. "I care because I was put in charge of making sure everything is ready for when the passengers wake up." 

It is a requirement of every shuttle to have at least one engineer, and, if asked, she would tell people that she is the engineer-because she is. However, the shuttle is built fairly sturdy, and the AI seems to be doing a fine job of maintaining everything. It's not that she wants things to go wrong... it would just be nice if there were a few mishaps that called for her assistance. This lack of jobs can make floating in space a tad boring, hence her eagerness to take on the role of an over-glorified party planner.

"Look," he said, closing his book, "in eight months time we're stopping for fuel at a space station. If we happen to be low on supplies-which we won't be 'cause these passengers have more than enough-we can stock up then."

"What if one of them wakes up?" It's a weak argument but one she feels strongly about. She has read every story there was on passengers waking up from the deep sleep they are put into before take off. The passengers they were currently transporting were Taubverlians, so the four year journey would probably feel like a human's version of a week to them but apparently it's a week they would rather sleep through. What if they woke up angry? What if they got so annoyed they decided to file a complaint? What if those biscuits were the only thing that would have been able to calm them down and stop them from demanding the whole crew gets fired? It's unlikely, but it is possible.

"Really?" He asked. She glared at him with cold, unforgiving eyes. "You need to calm down before you give yourself a stroke. I check, double check and triple check each passenger's pod everyday and there hasn't been even the slightest hint that one of them might wake up before they're supposed to." He let out a sigh and for the first time since she met him, his smile faltered. "It's your first trip right? Thought as much. You see, after a while, you will start to get bitter. You'll start to resent the passengers, our bosses, whoever it is at home that you're sending your wages back to. The thought that you will more than likely be working here until the day you die and the knowledge that it is extremely rare for a crew member to ever see Earth again combined with the fact that if someone in charge screws up and needs someone to blame we will probably be killed... well, at some point or another, it gets to you. That's why I play around with the AI and steal the occasional biscuit. That's why Ellie stole a bottle of whiskey. That's why Charlie is cheating on her husband with Smith. These acts keep us sane. And they're not hurting anyone-not if no one finds out."

She could somewhat sympathise. Ok, she could sympathise a lot. She was bitter. Of course she was bitter about... everything, but she wasn't going to complain. Her family needed her to have this job, and so must his-it's not like he would ever see his wages, so they have to be going somewhere.

"Our supervisors don't care as long the passengers get to their destination safe and sound. You can relax, Birdy."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "That is not what the B stands for."

His smile was now back to full voltage as he realised he won. "We have been in this tin can for seven months and I still don't know anything about you. What are your hopes, your dreams, your fears? Where are you from? And what exactly does the B stand for? It doesn't stand for Biscuit, does it?"

She may come to regret this, but at the moment her stress is leaving her and she feels... lonely. She doesn't have anybody to talk to on this shuttle apart from when she is arguing with him. Hearing him talk about their colleagues that he clearly knows so much better than she does just reminded her of how much she has isolated herself. "Brooklyn."

"You're from Brooklyn? Cool, I have a cousin that lives there, or used to at least."

"No-well, yes I am from Brooklyn but, that's what the B stands for." The look on his face was almost worth it. Almost.

"So, you're from Brooklyn... and your name is-"

"Oh, shut up." She tried to fight a grin.

"...Were your parents really worried about you forgetting where you lived?"

"I shouldn't have told you. I should have just stuck to Biscuit."

He let out a laugh at that. Dear god, it was brighter than his smile. "Ok, ok, I'm sorry Biscuit." She shot him a glare with much less heat than the previous one. It was kind of nice talking to him-not that she would ever dream of saying it to him. Just before she got a chance to retort, a series of short beeps filled the room. "Time for me to go check on the passengers again."

"Oh, right. I have work I need to go do as well." She turned to leave, ignoring the pang in her chest. She has her work to focus on, friends would just take up time.

"Wait." He tossed her a small metal box. She stared at the box, then at him, then back again. At his nod she opened up the latches and the contents very nearly managed to surprise a snort out of her. Biscuits.