Author's Notes: Continuity wise, this story takes place after the episode, "In the Father's Footsteps," though it really doesn't have to follow the events of the episode. The only thing you have to know is that Lucas' father is dead. It's set during the leave after the third season tour. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic. They belong to Amblin Entertainment and the SciFi Channel.
The house was dusty. It smelt musty and old, an obvious sign that it hadn't been lived-in in quite a while. Lucas sat in the middle of the huge living room, boxes surrounding him on every side. The faded furniture was covered in white sheets, and they created an eerie atmosphere in the firelight. He had spent the better part of the evening at that exact spot, letting the memories, good and bad, come to him for the first time in years. He sighed as he picked up the next object in a box of his mother's old stuff he was going through. It looked like a scrapbook of some kind, but he hadn't been aware that his parents had kept any. He opened it and tears sprung to his eyes at what he found.
On the first page was a picture of his familyÑhis mother, young and in love, his father, still with a full head of hair, holding on to his ambitions, and Lucas, about four years old. They were posing in front of the house, next to the "SOLD" sign in the grass. That was the day that they had bought the house, the one he had just spent the last month of leave clearing out. It had been a good day. There had been so few of those with his family that he had almost completely forgotten about any of them.
He turned the page, hearing the soft crackle of the bindings as the old pages moved. Pasted onto the next few pages was a collage of pictures from their first Christmas. It was the last one he could remember that his parents had actually been home for. After that, they had always been too busy to celebrate a "stupid" holiday like that. Family time seemed like such an alien concept to them. As a kid growing up he had never even really known that families actually sat down and ate dinner together on a regular basis; it wasn't until one night, when he was visiting one of his few friends that he realized just how much he was missing.
That Christmas had been great. They had stayed up late decorating the Christmas tree themselves. Every year after that his mother had hired a decorator to come and decorate the house for them. It had always seemed so artificial, just like the rest of his so-called home life. The house had seemed so warm that year, a warmth that faded with each passing season until it died out completely, and he was left with the house as it was now; an empty, lifeless bunch of wood and nails that had, once upon a time, held the promise of family.
Turning the page, his surprise turned to true shock at what he found. Pasted beside a picture of him at his high school graduation was a news clipping from a local newspaper. The headline read, "Local Boy Graduates at twelve." He couldn't believe it. He remembered that day well. His father hadn't been able to come, but his mother had been there. He hadn't expected her to, and when he had looked out into the audience and saw her sitting there, a proud smile on her face... well, he couldn't remember ever being happier. But to think that she had actually taken the time to clip the article and put it in a scrapbook... well, that was more than he had come to expect from his parents.
He flipped through the rest of the pages. They contained various news articles about what the seaQuest had been up to. Everything was there, from finding the lost library of Alexandria to saving New Cape Quest from attack. Every bit of action they had seen and every discovery that was news worthy had been cut from the papers and magazines and pasted into the scrapbook. Even his science papers that had been published were there.
The headline on the last entry read, "UEO Flagship Disappears with All Hands on Board." The article went on to describe the fateful day that had changed Lucas' life forever. He longed for the days before it happened. The seaQuest had seemed like a home then, and the crew was his family. Most importantly, though, Captain Bridger had been his father. He knew that Bridger had left the seaQuest to find his son, but what he hadn't realized was that he was leaving another son behind. Lucas could understand why Bridger had left, but it still hurt.
The whole crew had been different then. Tim used to smile once in a while. Tony used to be constantly arranging poker games; now he was too busy studying for his officer's exam to play. He missed Ben, his big brother and fellow troublemaker. They used to have so much fun playing practical jokes together. Now he was fighting against the UEO and everything that Lucas believed in. Then there was Wendy and Miguel; he still couldn't believe that they were gone. Jim, too. Death had seemed to lurk around all their shoulders on the past tour. Dr. Westphalen had been a mentor and a mother to him, but she too had moved on with her life.
That was his problem; everyone else had moved on with their lives, yet he was still stuck in the past. His crewmates still considered him a kid, even though he was an ensign. He didn't know what was worse- Hudson's expectations or his friend's patronizing. He was stuck in the middle, playing in a grown-up world yet still with one foot in adolescence.
He knew he needed to move on too, but he wasn't sure how.
Well, he thought, one thing's for sure; I need to get out. The house was starting to get to him, and finding the scrapbook had been an unexpected twist in his day that his mind just couldn't get around. It defied his whole perception of his parents. He was okay with the way they had treated him; he had been on the receiving end of it for so long that anyone would have gotten used to it. Finding evidence of a caring mother inside the woman known as Cynthia Holt-he almost wished that he hadn't found it at all.
He gently closed the scrapbook and placed it on the ground beside a stack of boxes. Getting up, he walked over to the vidphone, pretty much the only thing still working in the house, and dialed a number.
After a few minutes, Piccolo finally answered.
"Hey, Walenczak! Finally decided to come out and play? You haven't been out of that house all week."
"That's an exaggeration, Tony. I have too."
Piccolo smiled. "Oh yeah? When?"
"I, uh, I-" he stammered. Then he grinned. "I went out to get the paper yesterday."
Piccolo shook his head. "I'm just glad you're no longer comatose. So, when do you want me to pick you up?"
"As soon as possible."
Lucas took a final look at the house. His house, actually, since his father's will had left it to him. It was a cold structure, one he could never bring himself to call home. Now, empty and dark, he was astonished by how little it meant to him. Most people see a house and a home as one and the same, but for him, it wasn't. This house had never been a home.
But there had been times in his life; times before his father's ambition had gotten the better of him, when he had a home. Times when his mother had made dinner and read him stories at night; times when he and his father had played catch and video games together. And despite what happened after that, some part of that family remained in all of them. If that was how he could remember his family, then maybe he would finally be happy, and free.
He heard Tony shout and honk the horn from the driveway and smiled.
"Come on, Walenczak! Time is a wastin' and girls are a waitin'!"
He shook his head and fell back into their old game. "Tony, don't you ever think of anything else?"
"What else is there, Luke?"
"Don't call me Luke." He smiled. Some things never change.
Kate Questie, 6-28-01