Toll
Rating: PG-13, some strong language.
Disclaimer: Love 'em, don't own 'em. No profit being made.
Summary: James Brody on insubordination, loss, and fatherhood.
Not beta'ed. I acknowledge and apologize for any and all mistakes ahead of time.
A/N: My muse for "What Lies Within Us" is on extended shore leave in Tahiti, but she's sent her evil twin to take over while I wait for her to return. Oh, yeah, and there isn't any Lucas in this story, in case that's not obvious from the summary.
I'm a bit surprised to find the fitness room empty this early at night. Not that I don't appreciate it. Tonight's one of those nights that when I am not really in the mood for any type of company. If I strain hard enough, I can remember when it wasn't like that Just a year ago – or ten, depending on whether or not you want to be technical – I would have welcomed company for the opportunity to have a sparring partner. But the people I enjoyed practicing with the most are either gone, or unavailable for other reasons. That stupid alien planet took away Miguel, who was the best for hand to hand combat, and Carl, the one I relied on for endurance training. Ford's off with Henderson, breaking regulations again. On the days that I really need a partner, I have to settle for Fredricks. I don't have anything against the woman, contrary to what Hudson might think, but she's the last person I want to see tonight. She's way too much of a reminder of how fucked up everything is.
After talking to Adam, I don't really need a reminder. I also don't want to dwell on this anymore. I just want an escape. Working out has always been the best method for me to do that, and it's the only way I'm going to be able to get any type of relief.
Attempting to push the conversation with my son out of my mind, I breathe deeply and aim before taking my frustrations out on the punching bag in front of me.
One.
That's for Hudson, for being a complete and utter ass.
Two.
That's for Hudson, too, specifically his little, "When was the last time you had sex, Lieutenant?" comment. I wish I was a woman, so I could sue him for sexual harassment.
Not that I couldn't as a man, but somehow I doubt my career as a tactical officer would survive.
But hell, I'm apparently not supposed to worry about the ship's safety. Because God knows that my concern over the security issues raised by having a former psycho serving as part of the ship's defense team were so very completely inappropriate.
Three.
That's for Alexander Bourne, while I'm on the subject of assholes.
Four.
That's for all the creeps he has working for him.
Five.
That's for Bridger, for leaving the boat almost the very minute we got back. Apparently the words, "Going down with the boat" have never entered his vocabulary.
Six.
That's for all the shitty officers that stayed on, and the self-important ones that joined us. The new Seals we've been given can't decide whether I'm completely useless, good entertainment to mock, or in their way. And the officers that I served with before Hyperion are almost as bad. The little demonstration of group insubordination by O'Neill, Henderson, and Piccolo last week?
Seven.
Christ, don't these people know what the term chain of command means? I'll admit that my orders weren't the best. . . but you aren't supposed to question orders. That's part of being in the Navy. If they don't like it, they should get out, before their insubordination gets someone on this boat killed.
Eight.
That's for Ford's . . . behavior lately. Mind you, I don't care who's shacking up with who on this boat. For the most part, that's their own business. And I freely admit to trying to get Ford to loosen up during our pre-Hyperion years, when the man was wound tighter than a pissed off rattlesnake. So, I'm happy for him that he's getting laid on a regular basis. But the Commander Ford I knew would never have openly flirted on the bridge with a subordinate. Our little ten year trip is taking its toll on him too, I guess.
I wouldn't normally care. But Jonathan Ford used to be a strong example of appropriate behavior, and one I depended on. If Hyperion had such a drastic effect on him, what chance do the rest of us have?
Nine.
That's for the arrogance that drove me to SeaQuest. "To make sure it never happens again," I'd said quite cockily to Ford shortly after deciding to join the crew.
I wonder how many laughs Ford got out of that comment? After all, not only did it happen again, but the boat was hijacked to another fucking planet.
Ten.
That's for Hyperion in general and all the aliens who couldn't fight their own war.
Eleven.
That's for Captain Bridger's audacity to erase his – and everyone else's – memories of their time on the godforsaken planet. That planet cost us a hell of a lot. You'd think we'd be allowed to remember why we sacrificed so much. Instead, all we've been permitted to know is what he delegated from way atop his high horse.
Twelve.
That's for the ten years I've missed out of my life.
Ten years worth of my career, along with any promotions I might have earned in the meantime – gone.
I'd like to think I could be Captain by now. Hell, I'd at least be a Commander. Anything would be better than being a thirty-eight year old Lieutenant.
Ten years I would have spent waiting for a cure to be found for Mom's illness - gone. It doesn't matter that there hasn't been a cure found. From the day she went back into stasis, I started counting the days that passed. A part of me hoped each morning that that day would be the one. Maybe I was spared ten years worth of disappointment, but damnit, it was my disappointment to experience.
Thirteen.
Ten years of Super bowls, NBA championships, hockey matches - gone. They're all small things, when viewed in the big picture. But they're important to me anyway. Because for every hockey match I never saw, I lost a day with a friend. It hurts to think about all the times in the past ten years that Jake must have driven up to Toronto with someone else. The same goes for Billy or Eric.
Hell, before SeaQuest got hijacked, I was planning on a fishing expedition with Jake for the downtime between tours. I was going to ask Ford and Miguel to come too. That trip is never going to happen now. Jake barely knows me these days, Miguel's gone, and Ford – well, he's just not the same guy.
Fourteen.
That's for the ten years I've missed out of Megan's life.
We didn't date that long before Hyperion. But the time we did spend together made me realize that I wanted more than what I had. Dating Megan made me reevaluate the importance I'd always placed on my career. She was the first woman that I ever thought about spending the rest of my life with.
Did a lot of good, didn't it? After SeaQuest disappeared, I'm sure she grieved, but ten years is a hell of a long time to ask anyone to put their life on hold. It's too long.
She's been married to Vince for the past five years. They're obviously happy together, and he's apparently a great husband. He's got the family I wanted, including my son.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
That's for the ten years I've missed out of Adam's life.
My son. When SeaQuest was hijacked, I didn't even know Megan was pregnant. But a week after we got back, she contacted me with the news. Not only was I a Dad, but my son was nine years old.
He plays soccer – a sport I never much cared for, to be honest. But I'd give anything to be able to sit through those boring practices, those long games. Because he's my son, and he should have had his father there. Never mind that Vince has been there since he was four, it's not the same.
Hell, I had my grandpa, didn't I? While I appreciated everything he ever did for me, it wasn't the same as having a real father. Wouldn't Adam have felt the same way? Wouldn't he have thought of me every time he looked up in the stands and saw Vince? Would he have thought of me whenever Vince coached a game, or practiced with him in the yard?
Or was Vince enough? Maybe he was everything Adam ever wanted in a father, and I just wasn't needed.
I don't know which idea is the worse one.
Why obsess with his soccer games? Damn, I missed so much more than that.
Eighteen.
That's for all the little things I missed before he was ever born – the initial thrill of finding out, the first kick, Megan's expanding stomach, morning sickness, and the actual labor itself.
Nineteen.
That's for the all the first I missed – first words, first steps, potting training, first day of Kindergarten. . . .
First "Mommy." First "Daddy."
Twenty.
That's for Hyperion, again, for making me as bad of a father as the sperm donor that I had. Because, really, that's all I've really given to the kid, isn't it?
Twenty-one.
I didn't want this, damnit. I wanted to be a good father. I wanted my son to have with me all the things I never had with mine.
Twenty-two.
This is for the UEO, for forcing me to stay on this boat, when I want nothing more to go home and get to know my son.
Twenty-three.
But because of their stupid war that they somehow couldn't win without us, the idiots in charge want me to stay for another year.
Twenty-four.
What's the point? Hudson thinks he can run a better boat without any of the old crew aboard. Why can't they just let me go, so Hudson can prove it?
Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
I don't want to be here anymore. I don't know what happened to the James Brody that lead the Korea invasion, and I don't care. Because he isn't here anymore. I'm sick of war, sick of the atmosphere on this boat, and sick of being away from my kid.
I just want to go home. And when the year is over, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Maybe they'll let me teach at the Academy. That could be fun. Or maybe they'll give me some desk job that will allow me to get a promotion every now and then for being an excellent paper pusher. I really don't care. Maybe they won't hire me at all, and I'll have to get a job flipping fake burgers somewhere. That'll be okay too. Because it won't be here, and it will be closer to my son.
I have a lot of making up to do to that kid for all the time I've been away. I wonder if he likes fishing. Maybe I'll take that fishing trip I'd been planning before Hyperion, only with my son instead of Ford or Ortiz.
Something tells me it's going to be a slow year.
The End.
Feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed.