THE CHOICE OF BEFORE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE NOW. Before was then. Then, as in the past, as in there was nothing to be done about it now. It was exhausting, they think, the necessity to agonize over things long before. ( They think this, but of course they were no exception either. ) What good came out of it? Desperation? A desire to change what had been for what could be? It didn’t make any sense or perhaps, better worded, it wasn’t worth spending the time thinking about it. Keith was the best of the pilots gathered in the Castle of Lions and they would have been foolish to have chosen anyone else.
However annoying his insecurities may have been, they suppose he cannot be faulted for it. The concerns are still present. They could find another just as easily as they had found him, but would it be worth it when there was already so much at stake? Worlds upon worlds counted on them and Red would not disappoint them. Not again.
In this moment, this was their pilot. This was their paladin and they would never dream of replacing him. Not now, not when the entire universe was at stake. Regardless of where he came … so long as he never impeded their mission, then whatever he was was fine with them. They only offer a nod in reply. They expected it, an answer that was, as to how he came to be and how he had come to Earth. How he met the others, met Blue, came here, met them. They were memories shared and yet Red never wishes to divulge in them. Memories are private. They do not belong to them.
“I don’t think trust works th’ way you think, then.” They reply, a half-laugh lingering in the wake of everything. False lips twist into an honest half-smile. “I do expect ya’ t’ explain but I was more curious ‘bout yer’ name. If yer’ not from Earth, then what’s yer’ name? Yer’ real name, I mean.” It’d be stupid to call him anything else, after all.
QUERY COMES AS A surprise, entirely unexpected & he hesitates in his response. It is not a lack of trust that stops him, but rather a sense of guilt, a sense of surrealism, nostalgia tugging at heartstrings & he wonders, briefly, if she ( mother dearest, mother fairest ; how do you fare, soul lost to stardust ? ) would feel sadness, anger, knowing her darling son had all but let the name bestowed upon him crumble into dust, buried alongside the same coffins in which family resides. Heart lurches, tightens; is he even fit to speak it? Is he even fit to be called her son now, this boy who cannot recall a voice and masquerades as someone else?
( ‘ of course you are ‘ she’d say, kindness incarnate; of her, the universe was undeserving )
❛ ...Kaiev. ❜ Comes the answer, honest & foreign upon his tongue and there is a shiver that runs down spine ( somewhere inside a dusty chest, rusted locks ----- it rattles, shifts, & he feels the dead wrap delicate fingers around his wrist ). He can no longer recall the tone in which name was said, but he knows it was soft, knows it was gentle, loving, knows the sorts of things fell before or after: ‘ Good morning, my darling Kaiev ‘, ‘ Kaiev, be careful not to fall ‘, ‘ Kaiev, I love you ‘. Memories serve as knives; he can feel old wounds undoing their haphazard sutures. ❛ But Keith might as well be my ‘ real ‘ name at this point. ❜
IN A WAY, IT’S FITTING; different name, different person, despite sharing the same body. Kaiev was kinder, softer, a boy with eyes full of stars and a mouth full of love, who ran to a mother’s embrace with laughter on his lips and spoke of the future with an optimism found only in fools and children. Fair, of course; he was a child then ( ‘ & what are you now? ‘ the wind whispers ; something broken, something scared, something burning ) and to believe was nothing to fault, was of the norm ------ ‘ what was it like to die ? ‘ Kaeiv would ask, if he could, with innocent curiosity. And Keith, steeled boned and ash lunged, jaded and angry ----- what reply could be given but the truth: ‘ it hurt, it hurt, it hurts. ‘.
