Date: Sat, 04 Apr 1998 01:48:42 +0800 From: JSA Subject: "Alone" Sender: owner-tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu X-Sender: jsa@curricula.net To: tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu Reply-to: tales@mcfeeley.cc.utexas.edu X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.3 (32) This story deals with the last moments of "Weapons of War." Jessi *** ALONE a seaQuest 2032 story by Jessi Albano Based on characters from seaQuest DSV and seaQuest 20322. This story is based specifically on the seaQuest 2032 episode "Weapons of War" and contains scenes from and spoilers for the same. All disclaimers apply. It was over. The Choadai were gone -- gone back to wherever it was they had come from. They had struck quickly, ruthlessly, and then disappeared into the darkness, leaving no trace that they were ever there. No trace, that is, except for the great gaping holes in the seaQuest and in the lives of her crew. Captain Oliver Hudson surveyed the small room and wondered why the task he faced seemed so enormous. It was, by any standard, a small room, barely large enough to turn around in. How much could it hold? He held the empty box closer to his chest. How much could it hold? Lt. Tim O'Neill started with the letters, taking grim pleasure in repeatedly pushing the delete button and watching each one disappear from the hard disk of his computer. Six months' worth. Quite a lot, especially considering that by the end they'd been exchanging notes like grade school children having their first bout with puppy love. He gritted his teeth at the memory, wishing he could erase them from his brain as easily as he erased the letters from his computer. He'd been such a fool. Such a fool. He tossed the pack of letters into the box, quelling the urge to read them. It wouldn't be right, he knew that, he had no right. But it seemed like his last link, his last chance with her. His last chance to share her life, his last chance to learn more about her. Friends, family, maybe a lover left behind. Funny, he'd always thought of her as _his._ His lieutenant, his aide, his student. He kept forgetting that she'd also been daughter, sister, friend. He kept forgetting that unlike him, she hadn't been alone. The logs came next. He had never told her, but he had kept logs of everything. He'd recorded the oral chats, saved the others. It had seemed important then, to have something he could hold, something he could touch. They were his proof to himself that she was real. That she wasn't just a dream. He could remember Tony teasing him about the chat sessions and when he'd complained, she'd laughingly suggested that he introduce them. He had laughed, too, but he never did. Tony had always had better luck with the ladies -- a lot more outgoing, a lot more _fun._ He had been afraid to share her, been afraid that she would like Tony better. He'd never even shown anyone else those logs. He had been perfectly happy with how things were. Him. Her. The perfect set-up. She had been his alone. The book in his hand gave him pause, coaxed a slight smile. *The Red Badge of Courage. * He had given her this, of course, during her first year under his command. It had been a private joke of sorts. When she had looked at him questioningly he had shrugged and gave his standard answer. "It's a damn fine book," he had said, and she had understood at once, and completely. He doubted anyone else would have. He remembered now the way she had reacted when she learned that he had given the same book to Piccolo. "Should I be worried?" she had asked in a wryly teasing voice, arching her eyebrow. Back then he had dismissed her words with a laugh, but had to reconsider them after Lt. Brody died. Jim. After Jim had died he had turned to her, and she had been there. She had been his savior. Then, all he had wanted was to crawl into a dark corner and die, to smash his head against the steel walls of the seaQuest until it broke and the pain flowed free. She had called him back from the darkness, made the encroaching madness go away. Her voice had been insistently, perpetually present -- begging, demanding, cajoling. And because he couldn't deny her anything, he had come back. He had obeyed when she had ordered him to hang on. He had opened his eyes when she had demanded he come back to the light. He reached for the photo hanging above the side of her bed. Her graduation photo from the Academy. He wondered briefly how many of these brave young men and women were still alive, were still out there, fighting for peace, for a world they still believed in. A loud rapping interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see Tony Piccolo standing at the doorway of the room. "Yes?" he asked, annoyed at the intrusion. "About Lt. Fredericks, Sir," said Piccolo, hesitantly, seemingly unable to say what he truly wanted to say. "I thought you might need a hand." It occurred to him now that he had been so lost in his pain that he had forgotten to consider the young warrant officer's feelings. He had played his part in bringing that woman to his boat, yes, but he had also been Fredericks' partner. He wasn't the only one mourning -- Piccolo was surely also feeling the guilt, the loss. He knew he should say something, but right now he didn't have the heart, the energy. Whatever it was the young man was feeling, it couldn't hold a candle to his pain. "Actually," he said, dismissing Tony as kindly as he could, "I'm more or less finished here. Thank you." Tony nodded, accepting his need to be alone, and left. Lt. JJ Fredericks. He held the name plate in his hand, briefly running his thumb over the carved letters before placing it carefully inside the box. It was hard to believe this was all that was left of her. A life, brave and brief, over when it had hardly begun. JJ was dead. His friend, his aide, his student. It was over. He was alone. It wasn't enough. With a sudden surge of temper he decided it wasn't enough. It would all have to go, all of it. From under his bed he took a box that held a bunch of paperbacks and emptied it. With short, jerky movements he stripped the computer of its peripherals and started winding the cord of the microphone around itself. He turned rigid as he found her standing there, waiting for him to notice her. His first impulse was to scream at her to get out and leave him alone. But he couldn't let her see how much she'd hurt him, could he? Couldn't let her see how much power she still had over him. "I don't spend nearly enough time playing poker with my friends," he said, just to show her he was strong enough to treat this lightly. "I never learned to play," she answered, giving him a slight smile. "Maybe someday you could teach me." "Maybe," he answered shortly, dismissively, tossing the microphone into the box. "I should thank you for saving my life --," she began, moving further into the room. "Don't," he cut her off coldly, grabbing the computer monitor. "I had no choice," he said, flinging her words back at her, and watching with perverse pleasure as she flinched. He walked back to the bed and placed the monitor into the box, wishing she would go away. "There's something you should know," she tried again, the smile that had momentarily wavered returning. He faced her squarely, his arms akimbo, a slow anger boiling. How dare she, he thought, how dare she come here and act like nothing was wrong? How dare she be so confident, so sure of him and his forgiveness? The Kimura he loved was dead. Worse, she had never existed. She had been a fantasy, a fairy tale woven by the woman he now faced. A story told for her own reasons, for her own ends. He waited to hear what she had to say now, what lies she would spin with her beautiful smile and her sweet tongue. "I couldn't have deceived you as well as I did, for as long as I did, unless somewhere within me, I had those feelings," she said, giving him a small, self-conscious smile. "Nobody's that good a liar." "You are." he answered flatly, coldly. *You are. * He watched as she accepted his words, accepted his judgment with a slight nod. Watched as she turned away, needing a moment to raise her head and straighten her spine before walking away. He went back to the box containing all that remained of his Kimura, of the woman he had loved. His Kimura was gone, that woman was dead. It was over. He was alone. He snagged a passing ensign and gave instructions for the box and its contains to be destroyed. Throw it in the incinerator, he had ordered. Throw it in the garbage compactor. Jettison it from an empty torpedo tube. He didn't care what happened to it, so long as it was destroyed. Good-bye, he thought coldly, as he watched the ensign and the box disappear from sight. Good riddance. He watched as Ford took the box away, confident that the Commander would take care of the details of returning its contains to Fredericks' family. He should be used to this by now, he decided. Sooner or later, you lose everyone. Good-bye JJ, he thought sadly, wistfully. God bless. Epilogue It was over. The Choadai were gone -- gone back to wherever it was they had come from. They had struck quickly, ruthlessly, and then disappeared into the darkness, leaving no trace that they were ever there. He stood on the bridge, alone, though people milled around him, doing their duties, going about their businesses. Everything was back to normal, it seemed. The repairs on seaQuest were completed, and she was as good as new. The seaQuest was good as new and everything was back to normal. It was such a ridiculous statement he could laugh. He was surprised at the pang of pain that tore through him, at its frequency and its intensity. At the thought that came again and again, at odd instances, at unguarded moments. Dammit, JJ.... Oh God, Kimura... I really miss you... THE END Jessi Albano 15 September 1997 - ******************************************************** "The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his." - General George Patton The Goddess of War Homepage http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/1730 The ESCAPED/TALES Archive http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Zone/7124/ ********************************************************