Mothers & Sons [ SM; Soliloquy ]
The dreaded day approaches and there’s not much he can do to keep the inevitable reunion from the forefront of his thoughts. No amount of distraction, of organizing and reorganizing, no amount of wearing himself out far beyond his easily surpassable threshold of exhaustion helps to quell or stave off this unrest. Sleep does not come easily or at all and it’s plain to see; circles darkening under dull eyes and paper white skin.
Sullivan keeps to himself and speaks no more than necessary. It is a ritual by this point, a strange sort of penance, a purgatory he subjects himself to every year. As often as he is reminded of the cowardice that defines him, no one is aware of and unable to look past that weakness more than Sullivan himself. As pitiable as he may at times seem, no one pities Sullivan more than he pities himself. He is still in love with the boy from his youth; a boy who had the whole ‘verse at his fingertips and lost it all. It’s selfish and immature in the faces of those who have lost so, so much more, but every year Sullivan folds up into himself and mourns the loss of his life.
It’s the Captain’s voice that cuts into his wallowing via the intercom, instantaneously shredding the black shroud he’s draped over each self-defamating thought. Suddenly he is alert; at attention. Immediately, he knows that something is wrong, dreadfully wrong. He’s seen and heard Jaewon in all levels of outrage and fury, but this...this is worse. Just the tone of his voice brings an immovable knot to Sullivan’s throat and the words themselves form a cavernous pit in his belly, one that, in comparison dwarfs the one previously festering there. His heart aches with renewed pain, a constricting empathy that Sullivan prefers not to feel but cannot escape, not when it comes to Jaewon and certainly not when it comes to the captain and her.
It only took hearing one story for Sullivan to decide three truths about Captain Vera Blackhound. First; Jaewon loved her. Maybe he wouldn’t choose that word himself; perhaps respect or reverence sounded more palatable, less intimate, but at the time, Sullivan had not yet seen nor heard his captain speak about someone with such affection; understated definitely, but unmistakable under the cool gaze of someone who’d been studying and scrutinizing his every word and gesture since coming into his employ.
Second, she was terrifying and thus, Sullivan was terrified of her. He’d naively believed Jaewon’s calamitous, cataclysmic existence to be unique. There couldn’t be multiple souls that possessed the same force as his. The thought in itself was frightening but at the same time, he was reminded of something he’d learned in his youth. The digital encyclopedia clip resurfaced vividly in his mind’s eye and haunted him again now as it had when he was younger. The clip showed a massive storm; black clouds ominously swirling and roiling, cloud convulsions illuminated by neon forked lightning until a writhing plume of tempest coiled to the ground and gained mass enough to threaten decimating everything unlucky enough to be in its path. As terrifying as the magnitude of that storm had been, Sullivan had watched on with renewed fear as other tornadoes twisted out of its breadth, breaking free of their mother to gain their own mass and speed and force, to leave their own unique wakes of destruction.
Third and most poignant of all, she would not want him on her ship. A bonafide son of the Alliance. A ‘purple belly’ in the flesh; a cowardly spineless weakling, if anyone had opposite beliefs, morals, and values, surely it would be him. This assumption was owed to her based on what the Alliance represented. It was not an association Sullivan could easily shake from himself and it was unlikely he could earn a reassessment from her based on his own dismissable merit. She had every right to distrust him and the reality of this opposition increased Sullivan’s estimation of that second truth.
It was quite early in his employment when he heard of her and quite soon after that they came face to face. He didn’t know what Vera thought of him or if she knew of his existence before waving in that evening for her weekly chat with Jaewon. She undoubtedly knew of Jaewon’s tendency to collect oddities that drifted into his path, objects that contained questionable value; value that perhaps only his hypnotizing golden eyes could estimate. It was the certainty that she would not see the worth that Jaewon seemed certain he possessed that caused him to fear her so greatly. It was the first time he remembered hiding behind Jaewon out of fear and the embarrassment of it still made his knees weak. He could recall her voice as she inquired as to just who that ‘ghost’ peeking out from behind him was and the resulting scuffle as Jaewon tried to pry previously strengthless hands off the back of his coat.
It seemed like ancient history now and he, of course, understood that his initial fear was misplaced.
She reminded him of a nightmarish woman he’d known shortly before then. A similarly stern and powerful woman who was like Vera in the force she commanded, yet unlike her in the ways that truly mattered; in the ways that separated humans from monsters. He recognized the difference immediately, but he was still afraid. If anyone could convince Jaewon to be rid of him, it was her.
Thankfully, that hadn’t happened and he hoped there had come a turning point in the years since he’d joined the crew where she realized Sullivan posed no threat to Jaewon, his crew or the Serenity herself. What Vera felt for him, if anything, mattered not when compared to what Jaewon felt for her and what they’d meant to each other. If there was ever a time to assume that Sullivan would cry out of empathy or sympathy, it was now but somehow, there were no tears in his eyes when he flung open the door of his quarters and sprang to action.
He was on the cortex immediately, contacting clients and port authorities, seamlessly realigning their obligations to account for the Captain’s detour. He hunkered over his desk, tirelessly assessing the route they’d need to travel to make it there in time, accounting for the resources they’d be burning through and need to replenish and orchestrating precisely timed false leads to keep the more heavily alliance-patrolled thoroughfares clear of obstacles that could possibly detain them.
When they’d landed and the time came, he joined the others in the cargo bay as they waited with heavy hearts. Jaewon emerged from nowhere and Sullivan felt his breath hitch; heart splitting as he beheld him, a white squall. He followed, as he always follows, this time silent and solemn. He watched the ceremony through his lashes, eyes half-lowered, earnestly desiring to support Jaewon in his loss but guilty all the same since he wasn’t sure he was welcome.
If the sun beating down on them was any indication, Sullivan was sure he was unwanted. But stubbornly, he stayed put. And as one might imagine, the climate did not agree with his disposition. Sweat poured off of him, soaking him to the point he was worried the officiator might accuse him of crying for the deceased. The temperature made him nauseous and the sun’s rays ate through the pale linen garments he wore, bringing welts and blisters to the surface of previously pale skin.
By the time Jaewon and Vera started their journey into the sunset, Sullivan was near fainting. Somehow...he didn’t. For someone who was accustomed to operating on borrowed strength, he couldn’t honestly say whose he was syphering now. The idea that it might actually be his own bolstered his resolve. He followed the procession into town, feverish and dazed but unwilling to withdraw himself from the experience if there was a chance it meant dishonoring Vera or her sons.
He joined them in a tavern, many of them strangers yet somehow eerily familiar. He stayed on the outskirts of the room, sipping water, eavesdropping on stories that he honestly couldn’t believe weren’t embellished. He silently paid homage, raising his glass with the others, grateful for the chance to experience their memories; envious that he didn’t have the courage to live life with the same intensity.
The more he listened, the more he understood the legacy Vera had imparted to these men and women and though she was gone, there was no way she’d ever be forgotten. Jaewon had amassed his own ragtag, mismatched family but it was just one branch of a much larger, firmly rooted tree. The more he listened, the closer tears came to his eyes. An older pirate noticed the out of place youth and his glassy eyes. He joined Sullivan on the opposite side of the post he gingerly leaned against, a knowing gleam in his eyes when he warned him not to waste tears on the dead. “They’re...” Sullivan struggled, concentrating on not letting them spill and speaking loud enough to be heard. “They’re not for the dead.”
He’s not sure who carried him back to the Serenity, but he’s grateful he was not conscious during the journey. Apparently touched by his sentiment, the burly old pirate had raised a heavy limb to drape over Sullivan’s shoulder, a gesture of solidarity intended to bolster his spirits. However, feeling that log-like arm and hand clap onto his sun-blistered shoulders felt like nothing less than a lightning bolt, sending Sullivan promptly to the ground in a heap and instantly out of consciousness.
He woke in the medbay, slathered from waist to scalp in a jelly-like goo and wrapped in bandages like a mummy. Knowing his miniscule pain tolerance, Casta had medicated him accordingly but it didn’t do anything to mask the feeling of wanting to die from embarrassment. He spent an entire day in the infirmary with an IV rehydrating him, Cheesestick suspiciously observing the vaguely familiar creature, lingering nearby but out of reach.
They were already back in the Black when he came to and his recovery afforded him a lot of uninterrupted time to think and come to term with things in the well-intentioned but strange way he made deductions. He didn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but he did believe in ghosts. Vera’s body had died, which meant she was now a spirit; free from pain and worry and the tethers that bound her to their plane of existence. If she could now exist wherever she wanted, surely she would stay close to her treasured children; watch over them, protect them.
Sullivan frequently feared. Big things, small things, unlikely things...he always feared for the Captain, who seemed genetically compelled to flirt with disaster and tempt fate. Yet, Sullivan felt so much less worried now? Perhaps it was completely illogical. It isn’t something he can prove and perhaps Jaewon would allow his loss to swallow him up before he again saw the light, but it didn’t change the newfound peace of mind that washed over his blistered skin and soothed him from the inside out.
If there was anyone who could keep Death from robbing Serenity’s crew of their captain, certainly it was her.
“LOOK AT ME, I’M MUTILATED!!” Sullivan croaked, leaning over the sink in the medbay to look at his newly spotted visage. He furiously rubbed his fist against the mirror, trying to convince himself that it was the reflective surface that was marred; not him. His efforts were to no avail. His eyes scanned his reflection to his outstretched arm and up to his shoulder. He checked the other side to be sure and then looked back to his freckled nose.
He frowned, imagining he’d be teased for his insurmountable lack of constitution. The Vallurian sun and desert had given birth to Jaewon. He was made of them and sure enough, Sullivan hadn’t lasted a single day in their presence. He’d had a multitude of run-ins with the Captain that left him scorched and flushed and certain if the man had gotten any closer he would’ve combusted but the habitat itself had literally burnt him; leaving a permanent spattering of sun-kissed speckles on ivory cheeks and shoulders.
Secondary to the shock of his appearance was the realization that he had lived through his birthday without sparing a further thought to his own self-pity. It was something small when compared to everything else going on around him, yet, something he wouldn’t have believed he was capable of. He felt different somehow. Not in a way that was obvious. Maybe only because he looked a bit different now.
Sullivan wants to believe there’s something more and it’s with the hope that there is, that he combs his hair into place and dresses himself up before sitting down in front of his communicator. He punches numbers and letters into the device that he was sure he’d forgotten after five years without use. The face that greets him is different than he remembers; faintly lined, brows heavier, eyes tired and worried until she recognizes the man staring back at her; until she realizes her eyes are not playing tricks on her. “Sully!! Sullivan!”
Floodgates open and a deluge of tears seem to gush from his eyes all at once. “Mom...” he chokes out. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” he sobs, shoulders shaking. He wanted to sit in front of her, poised and grown up and strong but of course, that was not the case. It was outrageously presumptuous even for Sullivan, to believe he could change to such an extent after what boiled down to a funeral and a sunburn. Still, somehow he’d managed to face this; a huge fear that could’ve turned into a huge regret. A fear he would not have dared face if it hadn’t been for what his friends had lost.
“It’s all right, darling...don’t cry,” she soothed, reaching up to wipe tears as they slipped down her cheeks. Despite crying herself, she smiled, she smiled so brightly that it just made Sullivan's heart want to burst. He’d spent such a long time letting fear control him, letting doubt and worry restrict his actions. He didn’t want to live like this anymore; didn’t want to waste any more time. “You look well, dearheart. Are you happy? You look stronger,” she gently praised, eyebrows rising when her sensitive boy perked up.
Did he really look stronger? Could she tell?! Sullivan sniffled and straightened up, wiping his tears away but the freckles still would not budge. “Yes, I’m much happier, Mother and...I’m stronger too...probably,” he added although he seemed less certain of the second part.
“Tell me,” she encouraged. “Tell me where you’ve been...the adventures you’ve had.”
Sullivan loved to tell stories, but whenever he told one it was about someone else. Someone famous who’d lived and died; someone who had accomplished something, someone who stood for something. He’d never been able to tell a story that he shared a part in and although they were small parts, it was still something he belonged to. Something precious and sacred that shaped him into the person he was now, a person, he was coming to realize, that might not be as worthless as he believed.
Sullivan swallowed down the lump that had been stuck in his throat for the past few days and told her; told her everything he’d been holding onto since the last time he’d seen her.
