Captain Dylan Hunt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreams_dont_die) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2014-09-25 02:21 am
dreams_dont_die) wrote in ten_fwd2014-09-25 02:21 am
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He'd only been out of sickbay a few days. Dylan had woken up that morning with the image of the black hole at Hephaistos burning in his thoughts and Gaheris' -- or was it Telemachus'? It was impossible to tell -- voice gloating in his ears about the frailties of the Commonwealth. The flash of a force lance and the sound of a falling body mixed in with screams, explosions, and his mind's imaginings of a world shattering, the destruction of a society, a whole civilization that was more brittle than it seemed.
The world fell apart at Nietzschean hands, and through all of it ran a Nietzschean voice. The voice he'd trusted, respected, loved like the brother he'd never had. The voice he'd had at his side for three years, that he'd turned to for advice, for support, for friendship.
The voice that had said, weak and on the verge of death, I'm proud of you, had whispered a sentence that was never finished, because his best friend had died in his arms at his hands.
The voice he's been hearing again every time he encounters Telemachus Rhade.
He'd woken with nothing to reach out to, no Andromeda there at single word to tell him something, anything, to ground him in now, away from Gaheris' betrayal. Away from the Fall. From the things he still feels he could have changed, and that tore his world apart.
Because this isn't now, and he's not on the Andromeda. And everything he'd once fought for seems further away that it's ever been.
Trance had ordered him to rest when she'd released him from sickbay, but he can't.
He has to move. Has to leave, has to do something, so he dresses, in undershirt and his uniform pants, and he runs. With no particular destination in mind at first, he runs, head pounding with the sounds and sights that had invaded his sleep.
What he really wants to do is shoot some hoops, and eventually he gets to the Enterprise's gym.
There's a hoop. It's not a basketball hoop and there's no basketball, but a ball is easy to do here; he leaves to find a replicator, and while he's about it, he makes a pair of track pants and some proper shoes, too.
It's not the makeshift court in the hydroponics garden on the Andromeda, but it's certainly better than nothing, and it gives him something to vent the frustration in the bounce of the ball and in throwing his body around the court to catch it.
(Trance wouldn't be impressed so soon after his release from sickbay. He still tires more easily than usual, and he'll feel this later, but right now, he doesn't care.)
He's bouncing the ball so hard that when he misses it, it goes flying.
[ This post is plot-locked tospideys. Dylan will have an open post soon! ]
The world fell apart at Nietzschean hands, and through all of it ran a Nietzschean voice. The voice he'd trusted, respected, loved like the brother he'd never had. The voice he'd had at his side for three years, that he'd turned to for advice, for support, for friendship.
The voice that had said, weak and on the verge of death, I'm proud of you, had whispered a sentence that was never finished, because his best friend had died in his arms at his hands.
The voice he's been hearing again every time he encounters Telemachus Rhade.
He'd woken with nothing to reach out to, no Andromeda there at single word to tell him something, anything, to ground him in now, away from Gaheris' betrayal. Away from the Fall. From the things he still feels he could have changed, and that tore his world apart.
Because this isn't now, and he's not on the Andromeda. And everything he'd once fought for seems further away that it's ever been.
Trance had ordered him to rest when she'd released him from sickbay, but he can't.
He has to move. Has to leave, has to do something, so he dresses, in undershirt and his uniform pants, and he runs. With no particular destination in mind at first, he runs, head pounding with the sounds and sights that had invaded his sleep.
What he really wants to do is shoot some hoops, and eventually he gets to the Enterprise's gym.
There's a hoop. It's not a basketball hoop and there's no basketball, but a ball is easy to do here; he leaves to find a replicator, and while he's about it, he makes a pair of track pants and some proper shoes, too.
It's not the makeshift court in the hydroponics garden on the Andromeda, but it's certainly better than nothing, and it gives him something to vent the frustration in the bounce of the ball and in throwing his body around the court to catch it.
(Trance wouldn't be impressed so soon after his release from sickbay. He still tires more easily than usual, and he'll feel this later, but right now, he doesn't care.)
He's bouncing the ball so hard that when he misses it, it goes flying.
[ This post is plot-locked to
spideys. Dylan will have an open post soon! ]