[multiversal]
He knows he’s dreaming.
He’s had this dream a thousand times before, every little detail filled in from his memory. Not the memory of someone who lived it, who was there, but the memory of someone who pored over every technical schematic he could lay hands on, who studied the visual logs archived from the medical shuttle where he was born, and who even, one night when his weary mother’s guard was down, questioned her about that day. He knows every bit of this bridge from his studies. He hears very syllable of his father’s voice from the logs. And he sees every detail of his father’s face from holos, remembering with perfect clarity a face he never once actually laid eyes on himself.
He’s been here so many times, as he sleeps, watching this scene unfold time and time again with that odd, weightless mix of from a distance and in the thick of things that dreaming affords. He’s relived and re-examined every moment, at once grieving and dispassionate, picking apart each tactical decision even as he longs for his father to see him, to notice, to touch him. But always he’s been satisfied, both in the choices his father made--however heartbreaking--and in his own confidence that he could do the same if called upon to make the sacrifice himself.
But this time feels different. Wrong. Harder, crushing, there’s no distance, there’s no time, but he could do it, he can do it, he’d have to do it--
...Be forced to do it, be afraid to do it, be scared, back down, lose everything--
No, he could do it.
...Couldn’t he?
This isn’t right, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go, he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus, can’t pull himself away, can’t pull himself above the doubt that smothers him now, can’t get out, can’t act, can’t live up to his father’s legacy, can’t do this, can’t do it, can’t win can’t live can’t give can’t be that man can’t succeed
...can’t avoid his father’s eyes.
He looks into that face, and sees his own looking back. He can’t bear the disappointment he sees there, the sense of seeing his father utterly let down.
"I knew you couldn’t."
The words crush him in ways the cloying atmosphere and the clawing panic can’t even aspire to. He goes cold inside, all the blood stilling in his body, his knees giving way and coming to rest on the deck.
"I should’ve let you die here instead of me."
He’s vaguely aware of movement from somewhere above him.
"Thankfully, that’s a mistake I can still fix."
For the first time in his life, Jim feels his father’s touch. His father’s hand warms his skin, closing around his throat, crushing the life right out of him.
Jim wakes screaming, gasping, clawing at his throat for a hand that isn’t there, was never there, but that he can still feel. He fights against the covers that seem to be complicit in smothering him. He feels something warm and wet against his cheek and he flails out on instinct, the back of his hand connecting with fur, a wet nose. It’s only the whimper and the scurry of scared feet away from him that snaps him back to reality, to wakefulness.
"Savannah." He slides out of bed, afraid for a moment his legs won’t hold him, that his knees will buckle like they just did--no , that was a dream, he’s awake, that wasn’t real... "Savannah. Come here, girl, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to."
He’s got to find the dog before Bones wakes up and realizes he’s hit her, for Christ’s sake. "Savannah."
He finds her cowering behind the armchair he dragged up here from the marketplace last week. She’s low to the ground, eyes watchful, but her tail wags when he says her name. "Come on," he urges softly, holding out a hand as he crouches on the floor. "I’m sorry, okay?"
And of course she forgives him, running to tackle him--or maybe it’s thank God she forgives him because Jim might not be able to bear not being forgiven by a dog, that might be the only thing worse, at this moment, than his father’s words still ringing in his ears.
But that was a dream.
...Wasn’t it?
"I’m sorry," he repeats dully, slumped on the bare floor of his bedroom, arms wrapped around the dog like she’s the only thing anchoring him to the world right now.
He’s had this dream a thousand times before, every little detail filled in from his memory. Not the memory of someone who lived it, who was there, but the memory of someone who pored over every technical schematic he could lay hands on, who studied the visual logs archived from the medical shuttle where he was born, and who even, one night when his weary mother’s guard was down, questioned her about that day. He knows every bit of this bridge from his studies. He hears very syllable of his father’s voice from the logs. And he sees every detail of his father’s face from holos, remembering with perfect clarity a face he never once actually laid eyes on himself.
He’s been here so many times, as he sleeps, watching this scene unfold time and time again with that odd, weightless mix of from a distance and in the thick of things that dreaming affords. He’s relived and re-examined every moment, at once grieving and dispassionate, picking apart each tactical decision even as he longs for his father to see him, to notice, to touch him. But always he’s been satisfied, both in the choices his father made--however heartbreaking--and in his own confidence that he could do the same if called upon to make the sacrifice himself.
But this time feels different. Wrong. Harder, crushing, there’s no distance, there’s no time, but he could do it, he can do it, he’d have to do it--
...Be forced to do it, be afraid to do it, be scared, back down, lose everything--
No, he could do it.
...Couldn’t he?
This isn’t right, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to go, he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t focus, can’t pull himself away, can’t pull himself above the doubt that smothers him now, can’t get out, can’t act, can’t live up to his father’s legacy, can’t do this, can’t do it, can’t win can’t live can’t give can’t be that man can’t succeed
...can’t avoid his father’s eyes.
He looks into that face, and sees his own looking back. He can’t bear the disappointment he sees there, the sense of seeing his father utterly let down.
"I knew you couldn’t."
The words crush him in ways the cloying atmosphere and the clawing panic can’t even aspire to. He goes cold inside, all the blood stilling in his body, his knees giving way and coming to rest on the deck.
"I should’ve let you die here instead of me."
He’s vaguely aware of movement from somewhere above him.
"Thankfully, that’s a mistake I can still fix."
For the first time in his life, Jim feels his father’s touch. His father’s hand warms his skin, closing around his throat, crushing the life right out of him.
Jim wakes screaming, gasping, clawing at his throat for a hand that isn’t there, was never there, but that he can still feel. He fights against the covers that seem to be complicit in smothering him. He feels something warm and wet against his cheek and he flails out on instinct, the back of his hand connecting with fur, a wet nose. It’s only the whimper and the scurry of scared feet away from him that snaps him back to reality, to wakefulness.
"Savannah." He slides out of bed, afraid for a moment his legs won’t hold him, that his knees will buckle like they just did--no , that was a dream, he’s awake, that wasn’t real... "Savannah. Come here, girl, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to."
He’s got to find the dog before Bones wakes up and realizes he’s hit her, for Christ’s sake. "Savannah."
He finds her cowering behind the armchair he dragged up here from the marketplace last week. She’s low to the ground, eyes watchful, but her tail wags when he says her name. "Come on," he urges softly, holding out a hand as he crouches on the floor. "I’m sorry, okay?"
And of course she forgives him, running to tackle him--or maybe it’s thank God she forgives him because Jim might not be able to bear not being forgiven by a dog, that might be the only thing worse, at this moment, than his father’s words still ringing in his ears.
But that was a dream.
...Wasn’t it?
"I’m sorry," he repeats dully, slumped on the bare floor of his bedroom, arms wrapped around the dog like she’s the only thing anchoring him to the world right now.