#redemption 2

[darling-jack]

I'm trying out a new art style! Here's a few quick drawings of our Best Boy!

[data2364]

Brent Spiner as Data 1991 in Star Trek: The Next Generation “Redemption“ (Part 2)

http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Redemption_II_%28episode%29

[darling-jack]

Eventide

Anger, part 3

“Oh please,” Arthur answered with an eyeroll, “As if you won't go and outlive the both of us.”

Hosea pushed to his feet, unsteady, elbowing Arthur playfully, “Think so?”

“Outlive me, at least.”

“Arthur—”

“Ah, don’t get all bent out of shape, old man. I’ll be sure to save you a nice seat in hell!”

Hosea rolled his eyes, “Son, you ain’t savin’ shit. I know you’ll just get there and start trouble— best I arrive first, make sure the devil is prepared.”

[darling-jack]

Eventide

Denial, Part 13

He stood on the shore, staring back at the outline of Sisika, plagued by too many thoughts and none at all. Numb, he was tugged along as Dutch and Hosea finished destroying the evidence of their journey, retreating back to where they had left their horses. They made awkward small talk all the while. Dutch explained in hushed tones what had transpired; Hosea didn’t ask any further.

[darling-jack]

Eventide

Denial, Part 9

“I raised you better! Kidnapping and torturing innocent men— killing them? What the hell has gotten into you, boy? We left all that behind! That's not who we are, it's not what we do. Not anymore. You hear me?”

“Innocent?” Arthur parroted, taken aback, the shout tearing at his throat, “Innocent? He was a damn Pinkerton, Hosea! They took them— They took John, and Abi, and Jack, they damn well may kill them if we don’t get off our asses and do something!”

“What the hell you think we're doing? We're here, aren't we? We're trying – and you aren't helping, going off and turning into that same bloodthirsty idiot you used to be,” Hosea snapped, pausing only briefly to dissolved into a small fit of coughs, “Have you lost your goddamned mind? We suffered to get out of that life, Arthur, you suffered and I ain’t about to sit back and watch you piss it all away!”

Arthur pushed forward, yelling now too, “I ain’t gonna let them get hurt. I ain’t lettin no one get hurt, not again. I ain’t— Not again.”

[darling-jack]

Eventide

Anger, Part 8

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten. Not at all; it was hard to forget the hell he’d suffered in this place when he had an empty shoulder to remind him each and every goddamned day. No he’d… he’d hoped. That was all. A blind, foolish hope that maybe coming back wouldn’t hurt quite so much as it did.

“You see a snake or somethin?” Dutch hollered back, having stopped the count just a few yards ahead, “What’s got you so—”

The words died in his chest; Arthur could hear how his voice dropped off into something unplaceable. Arthur’s heart beat heavy in his ears; ceaseless ringing accompanied it as, painfully slow, his thoughts saw fit to replay every second he spent in this place.

Dutch laid a hand on Arthur’s arm. He flinched hard out of those memories.

“Arthur I… I don’t… We don’t have to go this way. If… if you want, we could double back, maybe skirt down the river, it… it’s a bit rougher by the looks of things, but at least—”

“No,” Arthur said, “I… Can we…. Can we go see it? I know we’re low on time, but I just…”

“Of course,” Dutch hummed, “Long as you need."

[darling-jack]

Arthur tore through John’s few remaining things, hoping to find something, anything, that might reveal to him the happenings of those long years they’d been apart. Something besides blood, soaked deep into the floorboards. Something besides wreckage.

Instead, he found an old chest tucked under John’s bed. Within, relics, memories of days long since passed. Newspaper scraps, photographs, letters… 

And his hat. 

Arthur’s hat. 

The very same hat he’d placed atop John’s head the last time they were together, just before they parted ways. He hadn’t seen it in years, though it was still worn and painfully familiar. Arthur held it in his hand reverently, for a moment just staring at the bullet hole punched through the leather, admiring the soft edges, wondering if Marston had kept it hidden away the whole time. 

It was meant to be a symbol; it was meant to represent something. The end of an era, he supposed. A chance for both of them to start fresh— for Arthur to finally abandon the criminal legacy and step away from his father’s miserable footsteps, and for John to step up and be a man. It was a chance for this hat to mean something beyond painful remembrance. 

Instead it was here, gathering dust. 

“You got something good here, brother,” he’d said all those years ago, “Don’t waste it.”