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For Jim Holden it was a rare when his body and mind were still. There was a quiet and peaceful ambiance. Not even proto Miller could interrupt his revelry. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
Coming back from the ring, the crew reunited; it was something else. It more than a little to process, all that he had seen in his visions, all that the Ring had exposed; and then the very brink of humanity on a teeter totter.
There was thirst for violence, wrath and a need for revenge. Expectations soared high and low. How could billions of lives be insignificant cosmic dust? With the protomolecule there were no answers.
But, Naomi was back and their crew was restored. They had survived and were recommitted. Together till the end. He and his chosen family were home on the Roci.
So, Holden didn’t want to think about the things he had seen or the events he had caused; directly or indirectly.
Instead he was busy watching the gentle rise and fall of Amos’ chest and the flicker of his dozing eyes. He was hypnotized. This was something he wanted to take credit for, it was quite the achievement. Because when Amos relaxed, it meant he could relax too.
Even he had doubted his own sanity, but not Amos. He was ranting and raving while talking to a dead man, but to Amos it was, “none of my business.” Holden felt more like himself somehow when reassuring Amos.
So, this moment after the chaos and past the cascade was something to cherish.
Their bond had grown and had flourished unexpectedly. Because somehow it was exactly what was needed. Amos was now showing him the way; it was the return to their old routine. They had often found comfort together this way after Naomi left. Even though she was now back, it didn’t change this habit. He wanted Amos to understand that.
Holden knew how much Amos did not understand her actions. While it had hurt all of them, it wasn’t really a betrayal. He had come to see that, he didn’t like the way she did it, but he understood why she did it.
Naomi always had to stand up for what she thought was right. He didn’t like concealing her deception, but he understood the Belt needed a voice. But, even after they reconciled, she still left. That was what hurt the most.
Holden had always been sympathetic to the belters. But, Amos couldn’t frame around the bigger picture. He had trusted Naomi and she lied. And then worst of all she left. Forgiveness wasn’t part of the problem or the solution.
For Amos, it had ripped out his core. Because Naomi had been his friend first. Naomi cared about him, when no one else dared. She took that leap of faith.
Amos backed her plans because she was so honest, her motives above board. Naomi always did the right thing. And yet she did the unimaginable. It was not right to leave the Roci. He knew she cared and yet she left.
Amos couldn’t deal with grey areas. Naomi had lied. Naomi had left. And Amos couldn’t see the forest, only one tree. And it had been chopped down.
To Amos she should have stayed. Naomi belonged on the Roci. But Amos wasn’t accustomed to wanting things, especially not wanting things from other people. That implied trusting people and depending on people, which he generally didn’t do.
So, Amos was stuck. He couldn’t understand. Naomi shouldn’t have left. Not just for him, but loyalty to Holden, to the Rocinante. Didn’t it mean everything to her? How could they disagree on that simple fact?
So, the strength that Naomi had given him, was gone. Amos felt like a torpedo without a guidance system. It just wasn’t fair. And that drove him crazy, because he wasn’t used to that level of soul crushing disappointment. Amos thought it had been cauterized out of him in Baltimore, when nothing was fair. But, he was wrong.
Naomi leaving hurt them both in different ways and different reasons, but the pain was the same. Love caused the pain. So, they shared heartache about Naomi.
Amos resented her cause, she wasn’t a belter to him; she was just Naomi. He hated places defining people. Because he would never fight for Baltimore. And he resented the implication that just because he was an Earther that meant he had any loyalty to his planet.
And yet Naomi fought for her home. Naomi loved the belt. She put strangers first; she sacrificed for the larger cause. It didn’t make sense to Amos that she could just throw away her life on the Roci. That she would want to be somewhere else.
Amos knew the pain of being left behind all too well. She triggered that buried and familiar pain. And he never thought Naomi would stick that knife in his back. Not Naomi. But, he was consistently incapable of being right. Because he was wrong. Again. He was wrong about everything, always.
And that stung. Amos didn’t feel fear, but he felt ignorance. He felt regret. He felt pain. He felt loss. He felt heartache. And that was worse than fear. Because the walls he built up were now cracked and exposed. Amos felt like one of the shitty rundown buildings in Baltimore’s slums. And all that he had done to escape was still with him.
Because in his experience, a person only leaves when they can’t cope. Leaving is the last straw; it is an act of desperation. And Naomi left.
So, the long dormant, rusty, ill fitting, underused and broken sensors inside him sparked. Because the circuits were coming alive. Naomi had helped to start that. The Roci slowly bringing him back, flickering with dangerous emergency lights.
Naomi fixed ships not people. But, Amos knew her better than that quip. She was the one that started to fix him. And he was afraid he was ill equipped to continue that work without an engineer of her skill. Amos always thought he could see trouble coming, but with Naomi’s decisions he was blindsided.
So, this was their spot. Two insomniacs leading each other towards sleep. Holden felt Amos wanted to take care of him. That it was something he could do. It was his coping mechanism. It was what Naomi would have done, since he was hurting. To Amos it was his business to shield and protect. He gave up on himself and focused on what he thought he could fix. Amos could fix the Captain. Or he would die trying, it was just that simple. And that gave him comfort. That kept the demons at bay.
So, it was an unspoken arrangement. When they couldn’t sleep, which was a regular occurrence; mindless TV was the answer. They lay next to each other on the crash couch in the gallery and could draw strength from each other. Pretending they were watching a movie. It was an excuse to find the strength to relax. To accept. To mourn. To grieve. And perhaps to hope.
Amos always fell asleep first. As if to show Holden the way, clear the path; fight off the nightmares by going first.
Follow me Cap.
They didn’t have to speak; just sharing the same air was enough. It just somehow made sense. So, in this moment nothing else really mattered. Amos was sprawled on the crash couch horizontally. Barefoot & clean from the shower but wearing an ancient set of coveralls with all kinds of faded stains that each told a story. Amos was on his side, his head on a pillow that was next to Holden’s legs as he reclined vertically. It was as close as you could get to another person without actually touching. Sometimes this was enough and they didn’t get any closer.
The very angry looking gouge and black eye was healing. Holden tried not to stare at it, he didn’t want to be maudlin or like an old mother hen. So, he just focused on enjoying Martian couch design. It was very practical, horizontal in the middle and vertical on the ends. It utilized space very efficiently. One of the many things about the Roci that made it feel like a real home.
Holden was with a different side of Amos, something very few had witnessed. He let his guard down and was simply a relaxed man on the brink of sleep. He looked younger and strangely enough he oozed innocence out of every pore.
Sometimes the pillow next to his legs, moved onto Holden’s lap. Amos did what he wanted. And Holden didn’t mind. He was a naturally tactile person. Amos could be timid about being touched, but also sometimes had a voracious appetite for it.
“Cap,” Amos said, “S’ still okay?” he asked quietly after a very gentle yawn. “Right?”
Such a gift for understatement. Holden’s eyes rolled automatically at the question. Of course he wanted to continue to share these moments. He felt goose bumps of affection prickle his skin, it was a soothing sensation.
He exhaled a deep breath. This connection was forged from loss. But, it wasn’t something Holden wanted to end just because Naomi was back. It was more important than ever.
“Yeah Amos,” Holden agreed, “It is more than just okay,” his voice brimming with reassurance, affection and gratitude.
“I still need it.”
--------
Holden thought back to earlier that day. He had been struck with the unnerving sensation that his mechanic could not only read his expression but hear his thoughts. So, despite the world nearly ending, nothing had really changed.
“Dammit Cap’n,” Amos had said slamming down his tools. “Don’t start.” His voice was a growl.
Holden opened his mouth and Amos hit the table again.
“No fucking apologies,” Amos raged. “You left, you came back. Naomi left, she came back. End of story.”
But, the look on Amos’ face was nothing but devotion. Holden read between the lines on his face. Amos was still processing, still trying to leave churn mode behind on the Behemoth. Still trying to catch up. It was exactly how he felt too.
So, Holden understood that Amos didn’t have any energy left to be angry at the people he loved. Even for Amos there was no denying, the Roci was their home and they were a family.
But, Amos had never had a family before. And certainly no one had offered him unconditional platonic affection, respect and admiration. So, Holden just stared at him.
“Can I tell you something?” Amos asked cautiously.
“So, you can talk but I can’t?” Holden tried to tease, but it fell flat. “Of course,” he added quickly.
“Thank you for knowing who you are,” Amos sighed. “That consistency. Like a rock.”
“Dumb as a rock,” Holden smiled.
“True, but only when you haven’t had any coffee,” Amos returned the smile.
“Thank you,” Holden found himself saying, repaying the compliment.
“I don’t say that enough. I should. Because you are always there for me. So soothing as all hell breaks loose. You are like a sedative to me.”
Amos laughed at the heartfelt sentiment. He slapped Holden on the shoulder, hard and yet brimming with affection. He kept his hand there after the motion.
“No offense Cap, but I’m not a sedative. I’m more of a laxative, I get the shit out.”
They stood face to face and Holden laughed too.
-----
Coming back into this moment watching Amos relax, Holden felt a new wave of gratitude wash over him. Sharing space, sharing air, it was vital to them both. And he did worry too much. Plus they had also both drank a far amount of Ganymede whiskey in toasts with Alex and Naomi.
But, while they continued to discuss repairs for the Roci, he had pulled Amos away. And that was how they wound up both reclining in opposite directions in their usual spot. A little drunk. So, tired but so content.
It took Amos a long time to fall asleep but Holden thought he had finally given into slumber. If anyone could understand his own insomnia it was Amos.
Given the circumstances of his dark past, touching Amos was always a bit of a gamble. But, for Holden affection came so naturally he just had to offer it. Because he found that offering whatever comfort he could to Amos, always comforted him too. And Amos usually responded to the affection the way a starving person would a sandwich. He might not understand it, he might make a lewd remark or downplay it with a tease, but he never outright rejected it.
So, Holden gently stretched a hand down to the crown of Amos’ head. His crew cut was very short. So, it felt like petting a porcupine when Holden stroked his fingers through his hair.
However, the touch made Amos automatically tense. His relaxed body went rigid. He twitched like the contact had been an electrical shock.
Holden internally berated himself; worrying that perhaps it hurt him given the proximity of his head injury. An apology was on his lips but he was too mortified to speak. So, Amos spoke first. His eyes flicked open. They made eye contact and Amos closed his eyes again.
“Sorry Cap,” he said his voice was slurred and heavy with sleep. And then a tentative whisper, “Try Again.”
Holden felt overwhelmed with esteem for that attitude. Try Again, just two brilliant words that seemed to be everything about the best way for everyone to live their life.
Amos squirmed testing the space around him. It was Holden that touched him and that was okay. He shimmed towards Holden, his head now half on a pillow, half spilling over onto Holden’s legs. Amos draped over his lap and it felt completely normal. In fact it was exactly what he had hoped for.
That openness commingled with resilience always affected Holden. And he wasn’t the only one prone to unnecessary apologies. It made him smile and so he did as requested. This time when his fingers made contact with his hair, Amos turned into the touch. Knowing it was coming and who was touching him made all the difference.
“S’okay,” Amos said again. Almost as though he was genuinely surprised. He seemed to melt with another yawn. And Holden felt equally tranquil. Warm with the emotion of his gentle stroking. In fact it made Holden yawn too. He was caught up in the moment drifting towards sleep. Was Amos leading him? Or was he leading Amos? Holden decided they were walking side by side. He closed his eyes as he continued his rhythmic strokes. They would have to agree to disagree about the sedative like quality of these moments.