she will always bring you home

"Yes, within reason."

It's not resignation or frustration that tints the affection of her smile. Not precisely. She can elaborate further, give some precision, but not explain why or how. Nor can she give insight on why it has changed, ranging from fathoms to orbital distances.

Pris wonders, when she's particularly bored. Is it just that she couldn't have conceived of the latter, before?

"Yes, within reason."

It's not resignation or frustration that tints the affection of her smile. Not precisely. She can elaborate further, give some precision, but not explain why or how. Nor can she give insight on why it has changed, ranging from fathoms to orbital distances.

Pris wonders, when she's particularly bored. Is it just that she couldn't have conceived of the latter, before?

compared to, well, just about everyone, pris been nothing but pleasant with him, and in acknowledgment of that he makes an ( unsuccessful ) effort not to scoff at her question. he has no doubt she does not intend for it to sting the way it does, has a rare faith that she means to offer some semblance of hope. reassurance. whatever name might be applied to that amorphous emotion that no longer belongs in his vocabulary. ❛ they're not going to send me out on another ship. ❜

he's not sure what she thinks she's heard, or what makes her think for a heartbeat the admiralty would change their tune now, after months. gabriel's not foolish enough to think they believe a word of what he says in psych evals, and he's scarcely been the most cooperative. no, there's no more trust left there.

(can she truly understands what it means to be grounded? not in the slow, relentless way that isn't the end. the literalism with which the stars are her life has its own fears, but this isn't quite one of them.)

"I can understand why you'd say so. but I think...it's not quite so black-and-white."

his eyes narrow, two and two snapping together ( belatedly, and he's a damn idiot to not have put it together sooner, when he's pieced all the rest together ) with a conviction he wishes were a little less certain. he'd been better off not considering that it had been — could have been — any other way than this, he with feet firmly grounded and the kid he'd all but stuffed into the uniform off in his place. maybe he'd been willfully blind.

it's instinct to reach for the reassurance of their connection. a mistake. pris nearly sways with it, nauseated. she blinks it away. finds she doesn't have it in her to ask. if his hesitation is hurt, it's best avoided. if it's something else, well. it shouldn't hurt her, but she knows how selfishly it would.

"you still came."

there's not an ounce of surprise in her. between care, curiosity, and duty, she'd expect nothing less. still, she's grateful.

"an alternate universe explains....quite a bit." how sick she is so quickly, for one. just how difficult it will be to get back to her own in time, for another.

context does not give him answers, not truly. not to who she is, or how she got here, or why she would ask for him. he can, however, account for how it is that a complete stranger to him and of whom no record seems to exist could ask for him by name, serial number, and personal details that only someone who knew him — and knew him well — could possibly know. he can account, too, for why those details go awry after a certain, notable marker.

his pace is slow, as it always is these days, though he would call it instead measured, tone carrying a wry dose of self-deprecating humor. and as he nears he waves away the guards who stand watch to either side of her, as if they expect her to run. he’d ordered them to bring her here, to the park, where gray walls cannot surround and press in upon them. where security, unwilling to allow an admiral to converse alone with her, can keep careful eye from a distance out of earshot.

a semblance of space, of freedom, and nothing more.

❛ I’d introduce myself, but they tell me you’ve been asking for me. I guess that means you already know who I am. ❜ there’s no pleasant way to break the reality of her situation to her, and he sighs before continuing, ❛ but I should tell you that I’m not the christopher pike you know. ❜

he owes her an explanation for that, but first he gestures her over to a nearby bench. he shouldn’t have walked all this way, but stubborn pride won out, as it always seemed to. he’ll add this, as he always does, to his list of chiding, ‘remember this next time you consider walking’ thoughts — the list he somehow never returns to when it matters most, only when it’s too late.

(even if she could run, as they seem to worry. her best chances are right here. with those who already know what she is and can be read in on the rest.)

she can't claim to know this christopher pike--but she knows her own. knows what he looks like in pain. so she settles beside him with a grateful smile. smooths the line of her skirt. a distraction that only grants her seconds.

he feels wrong. or maybe it's the silence, the lack of connection aching like a phantom limb. even if it weren't for the physical differences, she couldn't mistake them. not in her right mind.