One Who Can Find His Way Only By Moonlight [3/3]
[Part One]
[Part Two]
The blue glow of warp casts deep shadows through the dimly lit officer's lounge, silent and lonely in the deep hours of the night cycle. Ribbons of azure light dance across the walls and the face of the man sitting at the bar, an untouched wineglass at his elbow, deep red-black like blood. The droning hum of the engines vibrate quietly in the deckplates, smooth and subtle, barely casting a single ripple across the surface of the drink as it waits patiently.
"You know what the answer is here, Jim."
A sigh, as he looks out through the viewpoint into the shimmering sky-wreathed void, a strange ache in his heart that has no name, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like traveling a well-known path in the wrong direction. "It's not that easy."
"Sure it is." A figure in white turns behind the bar, idly polishing another glass with a cloth, leaning one elbow on the bartop. Its warplight shadow twists and distorts as it dances across the wall, curling upward into the shape of a man, arms stretched wide as if in song, or speech. The glass is set down, clean and shining, and a piercing blue gaze fixes on him, stern yet kind. "For once in your life, Jim, you have to be honest with yourself. You've never had an opportunity like this before, and if you reject it now, it may never come again."
"I know that," he says, defensive, pushing back on reflex, on instinct. Old habits. Don't show weakness. Never show you aren't good enough. Not worthy. He lifts the wineglass to his lips and tastes the bitterness on his tongue, coppery and wrong. Underneath the rumble of warp, he feels the distant pulse of weapons fire, or the beat of a heart, the blast of a shofar calling for teshuva.
"Do you?"
The figure leans closer, and a hand reaches out to his leather-clad shoulder, weightless where it rests. "Seems to me you have a decision to make. No more of this self-denial bull. He loves you, son. Really loves you. And if you don't decide to let him in, if you don't admit to yourself that you want this, you're going to lose him for good."
A pang of guilt, ice in his belly, looking at that wiser face. Too many lost, left behind. Too afraid to let alone get close, to let them in, and then, too late. Lost forever, beyond his reach. A seedling cut short, tender roots like a scar, left behind to wither. Better never to try, to save himself from feeling that pain again?
They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away; I need my pain.
A small smile as the figure leans back again, and places an apple at his elbow, red and polished with honey sweetness. "It's time to choose, James," the figure says, dissolving into light, the man-shaped shadow thrown into stark relief against the brilliance as the engines rumble louder and louder. "Make up your mind, or he'll make it up for you."
"Wait!"
Jim sits bolt upright, darkness and shadows meeting his eyes, faintly lit by pinpricks of starlight. A soft lump rumbles softly against his hip, quiet soothing waves pushing into his head. "Lights," he croaks to the computer, and soft white light reveals the familiar sight of the captain's quarters, chasing away the haunting afterimage of Christopher Pike in his mind's eye, leaving only the shadow.
Even as one hand finds a home in Zunar's soft fur at his side, the other reaches up to trace the symbol against his forehead, the shape of the rune imprinted invisibly beneath the surface. Not just a tickle of intuition now, a momentary hunch to guide against a misstep.
More than just a dream.
A message. A warning?
Jim lies down again, and the kneazle is quick to climb onto his chest, curling up tail to nose, purring all the louder, the sound blending seamlessly with the faint rumble of engines, and the beating of his own heart. But he can't go back to sleep so easily, the dream refusing to fade in the light, the taste of bitter wine as vivid as the sweet scent of uneaten apple.
A choice.
"I'm an idiot," Jim says out loud. Too long, he's been afraid, unwilling to admit it. Afraid of the past, of failures and missed opportunity. Afraid of the future, of getting too close only to be ripped away. Avoidance. Cheating as surely as he cheated on the Kobayashi Maru test. Never facing the consequences, refusing to accept there are any, hiding his own uncertainty behind a mask of bravado and audacity. Too long he's coasted, taking the easier path, always looking outward to the stars, too focused on what could be, rather than what is, what is right in front of him. What he could have, if he let himself admit that no man is an island, not even James Tiberius Kirk.
I dare you to do better.
You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him find it within himself.
-Galileo Galilei
[Part Two]
The blue glow of warp casts deep shadows through the dimly lit officer's lounge, silent and lonely in the deep hours of the night cycle. Ribbons of azure light dance across the walls and the face of the man sitting at the bar, an untouched wineglass at his elbow, deep red-black like blood. The droning hum of the engines vibrate quietly in the deckplates, smooth and subtle, barely casting a single ripple across the surface of the drink as it waits patiently.
"You know what the answer is here, Jim."
A sigh, as he looks out through the viewpoint into the shimmering sky-wreathed void, a strange ache in his heart that has no name, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like traveling a well-known path in the wrong direction. "It's not that easy."
"Sure it is." A figure in white turns behind the bar, idly polishing another glass with a cloth, leaning one elbow on the bartop. Its warplight shadow twists and distorts as it dances across the wall, curling upward into the shape of a man, arms stretched wide as if in song, or speech. The glass is set down, clean and shining, and a piercing blue gaze fixes on him, stern yet kind. "For once in your life, Jim, you have to be honest with yourself. You've never had an opportunity like this before, and if you reject it now, it may never come again."
"I know that," he says, defensive, pushing back on reflex, on instinct. Old habits. Don't show weakness. Never show you aren't good enough. Not worthy. He lifts the wineglass to his lips and tastes the bitterness on his tongue, coppery and wrong. Underneath the rumble of warp, he feels the distant pulse of weapons fire, or the beat of a heart, the blast of a shofar calling for teshuva.
"Do you?"
The figure leans closer, and a hand reaches out to his leather-clad shoulder, weightless where it rests. "Seems to me you have a decision to make. No more of this self-denial bull. He loves you, son. Really loves you. And if you don't decide to let him in, if you don't admit to yourself that you want this, you're going to lose him for good."
A pang of guilt, ice in his belly, looking at that wiser face. Too many lost, left behind. Too afraid to let alone get close, to let them in, and then, too late. Lost forever, beyond his reach. A seedling cut short, tender roots like a scar, left behind to wither. Better never to try, to save himself from feeling that pain again?
They're the things we carry with us, the things that make us who we are. If we lose them, we lose ourselves. I don't want my pain taken away; I need my pain.
A small smile as the figure leans back again, and places an apple at his elbow, red and polished with honey sweetness. "It's time to choose, James," the figure says, dissolving into light, the man-shaped shadow thrown into stark relief against the brilliance as the engines rumble louder and louder. "Make up your mind, or he'll make it up for you."
"Wait!"
Jim sits bolt upright, darkness and shadows meeting his eyes, faintly lit by pinpricks of starlight. A soft lump rumbles softly against his hip, quiet soothing waves pushing into his head. "Lights," he croaks to the computer, and soft white light reveals the familiar sight of the captain's quarters, chasing away the haunting afterimage of Christopher Pike in his mind's eye, leaving only the shadow.
Even as one hand finds a home in Zunar's soft fur at his side, the other reaches up to trace the symbol against his forehead, the shape of the rune imprinted invisibly beneath the surface. Not just a tickle of intuition now, a momentary hunch to guide against a misstep.
More than just a dream.
A message. A warning?
Jim lies down again, and the kneazle is quick to climb onto his chest, curling up tail to nose, purring all the louder, the sound blending seamlessly with the faint rumble of engines, and the beating of his own heart. But he can't go back to sleep so easily, the dream refusing to fade in the light, the taste of bitter wine as vivid as the sweet scent of uneaten apple.
A choice.
"I'm an idiot," Jim says out loud. Too long, he's been afraid, unwilling to admit it. Afraid of the past, of failures and missed opportunity. Afraid of the future, of getting too close only to be ripped away. Avoidance. Cheating as surely as he cheated on the Kobayashi Maru test. Never facing the consequences, refusing to accept there are any, hiding his own uncertainty behind a mask of bravado and audacity. Too long he's coasted, taking the easier path, always looking outward to the stars, too focused on what could be, rather than what is, what is right in front of him. What he could have, if he let himself admit that no man is an island, not even James Tiberius Kirk.
I dare you to do better.
-Galileo Galilei