Sea of Stars – Chapter 2 - Hopelessness
"Combat sacrifices love, joy, sadness, even hatred. However, there is something that can be won only through a loss."
–Narrator, Space Pirate Captain Harlock, Episode 28
Her dreams were flooded with memories of him. Intense, feverish moments in the dark. Hands clasped, bodies intertwined, embraced in passionate climax until they surrendered to blissful exhaustion. They held on to each other until the morning light crept over glistening skin.
She missed waking-up next to him, finding his lean body tangled in the sheets, his auburn hair splayed across his face and pillow. She loved watching him sleep, watching him breathe. The slow rise and fall of his chest in oblivious slumber was somehow comforting, reassuring.
Temptation would always get the best of her. She would lean over him and kiss his skin, slowly moving up his body one gentle kiss at a time, until her mouth found the deep, intoxicating warmth of his. With one broad sweep of his arm, they were under the sheets again, her body beneath the welcoming weight of his.
Every shred of her missed him. Every fiber of her being was stretched to its limit with profound, incomprehensible grief. She could not bear the thought of never touching him again.
She remembered the taste of him, even when she awoke to the jarring sound of angry voices. She opened her eyes. She could see her body. Thin, white sheets clinging to her limbs with the dampness of feverish sweat. Yet, she felt strangely detached from them, as if they were not hers.
She willed her arm to move. She lifted it until the sheet fell away, revealing a delicate, clear bandage over an intravenous access point. Her eyes followed the tubing to the half-full bag of saline hanging nearby. She recognized a small bag of antibiotic feeding into the tubing, but it didn't explain why her body felt so weak and heavy.
She sat up, then slid her legs over the side of the bed. She let them dangle while she regained her orientation. She was dizzy to the point of nausea, but she had an instinctive need to reach out to the voices. Her feet touched the floor, one at a time. It was cold and hard. She stared at the grey surface beyond her toes until the blur in her vision receded slightly. She finally stood and balanced herself on trembling legs. The IV tubing stretched and pulled at the bandage on her arm when she tried to move forward. Without a moment's hesitation, she pulled the restraint from her arm with a sharp yank on the tubing.
"Since when have you shied-away from taking on strays, Doc?" Harlock crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter behind him.
"Since I've had to ration supplies!" Doctor Zero was a short man, but it didn't prevent him from shoving Harlock aside as he reached for something on the counter. "You should think of your own crew!"
"I only ask you to do your best, Doc." Harlock lifted one arm, giving the doctor more room to reach behind him. "That's all I've ever asked of you."
The little man pulled back a handful of bandages and shoved them in the container before him, then he glared as hard as he could at Harlock. "You don't understand! I don't want to be forced to choose!"
"You worry too much," Harlock said calmly.
The doctor paused and stared at the sterile grey wall above the equally plain surface of the counter. He released a long sigh, not bothering to hide his frustration. "It's so easy for you, isn't it?" He grumbled, almost under his breath. He opened the cabinet above him, grabbed something from it, and forcefully shoved it into the container. "You blow them apart like game-pieces, and I put them back together again! It's just a vicious cycle!"
Harlock stared at him, taken aback by his words. The two of them had shared a journey for too many years to count. He thought they shared a vision. Spoken by anyone else, the words would have certainly resulted in an unfortunate ending by Harlock's hand. However, these two men knew each other well. They knew which buttons to push.
Harlock was silent for a long moment, considering the doctor's words. He took in a breath to quell the anger which rose within him. He understood. The doctor was trying to get his Captain to hear him, really hear him. He couldn't accept a belittling pat on the back, with his concerns set aside, when lives were depending upon him. He wanted a firm promise of fresh supplies.
Harlock closed his one good eye and bowed his head. Before he made that promise, he wanted to make his own clarification. "It's never been easy for me, Doc," he said firmly. "Never."
The doctor stared down at the container before him. He seemed to regret his words. "I…"
"I will get your supplies, Doctor." Harlock spoke before the man could say more. Harlock sensed an apology coming, but the obvious remorse was enough. "You have my word."
The doctor met Harlock's eye and nodded. The little man backed down his step ladder with the container, turning just in time to see his newest patient clinging haphazardly to the door frame of her room.
Harlock uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. Exhausted blue eyes stared through unkempt strands of long, blond hair, still stained with patches of dried blood. Her body was frail. She trembled, as if she would collapse into a heap at any moment. However, when her eyes met Harlock's, her shoulders lifted, as if some enormous weight had been removed. Her face, so white and pale, slowly flushed with color. Her eyes sharpened, as if there was renewed strength in them. They seemed to catch the light of the room, but they were luminous, as if they made their own light.
Harlock caught his breath, feeling as if he witnessed a resurrection of the dead. He was transfixed by the softness of her expression, the blissful happiness which radiated from her. His dark presence evoked intimidation and fear in those he confronted. Never had he inspired such stunning emotion in another.
The doctor placed his container aside and moved toward her, but the young woman didn't seem to see him. Her eyes never left Harlock's, even as she stumbled forward. Harlock stepped toward her and reached for her, offering the strength and support of his arms.
Instead of accepting his hands, the young woman threw her arms around his neck.
He didn't move. He didn't pull away. He was inexplicably frozen in her embrace. The moment was brief, ephemeral, but shockingly intimate and beautifully eternal. The seconds seemed to crawl by, allowing him to somehow cling to tiny, striking details. Her delicate, thin body pressed against his, the warm, feverish skin of her cheek against his face, her soft, desperate breath rushing over his ear. She held him like a long, lost lover, and it pulled at thin shreds of his memories.
Memories of his vulnerabilities.
Memories of his human frailties.
Exquisite chills ran through him as her fingers moved gently over his face and through his hair. He sensed a deep sincerity in this woman, an openness, and a purity. Barriers within him shattered, and turned to dust. For that brief span of seconds, he wanted to be what she needed. He wanted to be what she thought he was. He closed his eye and gave himself up to the vulnerable feelings rising within, silently wishing for the power over time. He ached to stay in that moment forever.
Long forgotten fibers of instinct drove him to desire. He wanted to embrace her in return. He wanted to kiss her. He never had a moment such as this. He had never been missed like this. Something deep inside of him was in awe of such profound intimacy. He almost forgot himself, moving his hand to touch her, but he stopped. At the furthest edges of his soul, deep in the rational part of him, he knew this moment belonged to someone else.
He felt her pull back from him. She suddenly caught her breath. He opened his eye, locking gazes with her. They were suspended in a moment of cold, mutual clarity.
Her eyes traced the hard lines of his face. It was as if she saw him for the first time. The black patch, hiding the vacant space, which was once his right eye. The jagged scar over his nose, across his left cheek. The disbelief etched upon her face was more familiar to him. It was almost like greeting an old friend, but this friend was not welcome.
She grasped at his flight suit, clinging to him for support. Her strength seemed to bleed out with each second of harsh reality. Her tortured expressions read like a book: shock, disappointment, regret. Finally, unmistakable sorrow.
Her body seemed to shrink from him. He extended his arm to her, offering his support for her unsteady retreat should she fall, but he would not touch her. She gave in to the doctor's hands as they pulled at her and she let him lead her away, but she never took her eyes from Harlock.
Harlock felt his own expression melt into painful remorse as he gravely shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, almost mouthing the words to her.
She finally looked away from him, but not before he saw the light within her eyes flutter and die. She collapsed onto her bed, like a rag-doll, as if every stitch of fortitude had been ripped away from her. Gently, but firmly, she pulled her arm from the doctor, refusing his inspection of the bleeding IV site. She turned her back to them, pulling her legs to her chest.
The doctor looked back at Harlock and their eyes met. They understood the same thing. She wanted to be left alone.
"What have I done?" Harlock whispered to himself.
