Breathe.
Nothing is familiar, nothing resonates. The dry air burns, even the colors of the sky are wrong. Only one thing, one person holds his attention. Among the creatures swarming the alien ship below is the one. He draws his eye, a beacon.
She, who is his mother, offers no answers to his questions. He, who is his father, is unresponsive to his inquiries. Only the cold circuits of the computer ask and answer but cannot touch him.
Breathe.
Jim comes to him finally, offering everything, answering nothing. It is enough that he grasps his hands, murmuring words that meant something once, but he can't quite recall. He knows only that this bright force will leave soon, leave him behind to heal. This cannot be.
He steps aboard, welcomed by every hand. He leaves his planet, but not his home. He leaves his parents and his daughter, never truly his family as Jim is. He follows instinct bred in his bones.
Breathe.
They fall into the past, a maelstrom of light and sound. They find chaos, a primitive world, a caricature of the City they know. But there is honesty here among bustling streets, cacophonous voices, and strange customs. Jim never leaves his side and he begins to believe his worth.
The cetaceans they search for humble him by their attachment to each other. He wonders if he and Jim had ever been so tightly bound. Jim says nothing but he feels the pressure of his emotions against his mind. Memories slip by, prompted by the smell of spray in the air, the graceful lines of the Bridge on the horizon, and the memory of tomatoes reeking of basil, drowning a dinner, long ago in this very city.
It is an abrupt emotion, this compassion for his crewmates, the whales, the City itself. It begins to integrate into his mind and there are moments when he remembers, but the memories disappear like the fog shrouding Golden Gate Park. He is reminded to let it be.
Breathe.
They are home. The trial, Jim's trial, cannot break the bonds woven over a career. He stands with his crew. He stands with his commanding officer. They take everything away and then give it back, a gift to Jim, a silver ship, to protect and guide. He can feel Jim's blinding joy. He will travel at Jim's side, as he was intended to, as he must. Jim is his.
Breathe.
Not all is recalled, it will come, perhaps with time. I remember the joys and sorrows, the love and anger, the petty disagreements and the bursts of desire. We are one, once again, on stage to begin our lives once again.