Disclaimer: Welcome to the first (to my knowledge) Treasure Planet fanfic on ff.net! Of course, characters and stuff don't belong to me, they belong to that Disney company and stuff. Not making money, blah blah blah. And no using my characters of archiving fic without my permission please! Uh, enjoy my creativity! Feel free to review!
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They buried her less than a week after the first symptoms appeared. The doctors were mystified, could do nothing but stave off the pain. Her son couldn't even do that, and his helplessness led to an inward spiral of withdrawal and frustrated anger.
He stood beside the grave in silence as others wept or spoke her praises. His clouded blue eyes couldn't look at the sleek, elegant casket being lowered into the ground. He made no response to any sympathetic touch on his shoulder or inquiry made. There were no tears in him. With a steady, rhythmic motion he turned an oval locket over and over in one hand.
After a fumbling, heartfelt eulogy from Doppler, Jim deemed he'd been there long enough. He didn't understand his friends' insistence that he attend anyway. She was dead. Death was the end. Nothing he did now would affect that. So, ignoring Amelia's stare, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his dress uniform and left the others to continue the service. He didn't look back.
* * *
"Mr. Hawkins, I don't think you realize the consequences of your choice. Surely this isn't what your mother would want."
Jim glared at Admiral Point, who was of the same race of rock people as old Mr. Arrow from the Legacy. "Don't tell me what my mother would want," growled the young man. He thrust his red, white and gold uniform onto the Admiral's desk, hearing the clink of medals on the stone surface. "I'm leaving," he clipped out.
Point sighed. "Don't throw your career away. Interstellar Academy won't let you return if you take off, son."
"Then I guess this is goodbye."
Jim held the Admiral's gaze unwaveringly. Abruptly, Point stood and saluted sharply. The human male stared at his superior officer for a moment in surprise, then sketched a return gesture before walking out of the office. He was getting good at not looking back.
* * *
Jim didn't know how the conversation turned into a shouting match. He had meant to be brief, hand over ownership of the Benbow Inn to Doppler and Amelia, and leave before anyone could react. Of course, he'd underestimated the former captain's reflexes. Before he could get the words out she had guessed his intentions and jumped down his throat. A hurt and shocked expression crossed Doppler's face as he figured it out, which did nothing for the guilt Jim already fought to keep from admitting.
Finally he couldn't take the accusations of abandoning his friends, betraying his mother, throwing away his life and all he fought for any longer. "I don't need your permission to live my own life!" he snarled at Amelia, cutting her off.
The feline woman's green eyes blazed. "James Hawkins, if you think running away from your problems will solve ANYTHING—"
"Well maybe I need to figure that out for myself! All I know is that nothing means anything to me anymore! NOTHING!" Emotions frayed, he found himself speaking more honestly to his old friends than he had since Sarah's death.
"Jim, this was a devastation to all of us," Doppler whispered sadly. "If you'd just let us help you. . . ."
The astronomer was silenced by a look. "I'll help myself, thanks," Jim snorted. Anger was easier to deal with than the pain his friends were asking him to express, so he used that. "Look, sell the damn place for all I care. I don't need it and I don't need any of you." He turned his back on the couple and strode for the door.
"Jim!" came the gasp from behind him.
He slammed the door behind him.
Outside the young man paused, waiting for them to come after him. But seconds ticked by and no one emerged. To be honest, he hadn't meant to say those things. His mouth hadn't run away from him like that since he was younger, before he began his Interstellar Academy training. With a sigh—why did these things happen to him?—he sat down on a barrel beside the door and buried his face in his knees. One hand slipped into his pocket and curled around his mother's oval locket. His eyes burned, but tears wouldn't come.
Eventually he felt a tug at his shirt. Lifting his head, Jim found himself looking into the big green eyes of Amelia and Doppler's oldest daughter, Amy. "Oo wook sad," said the kitten toddler. She offered a tiny hand, in which was clenched a pink blossom. "Fwower for oo?"
Even in his turmoil Jim could manage a smile for the child. "Thank you, Amy," he said, taking the flower. "It's very beautiful."
She giggled as she curtsied and, with a typical child attention span, ran off without another word. Jim sighed again and stood. He was tempted to go back through the front door, sort things out with Doppler and Amelia. Instead he did something else he hadn't done in years: he grabbed the trailing vine twining around the side of the inn and scaled the wall up to roof, slipping into the loft where he slept.
Though he very rarely wore them, he did still have clothes like he had back in his adventuring days (all those long outgrown by now, of course). These days he wore clothing that made him look a little more mature, finding that to be the only way adults would take him seriously. But if he was going to be traveling alone and didn't want to be messed with, he had to look the part. Therefore he pulled on well-worn tan kahki pants and a lighter shirt. For a moment he hesitated, then remembered he did have a leather jacket that fit. He'd spotted it in a shop once and bought it for nostalgia's sake. After he slung it on he checked himself in the mirror. Not bad. He wished he hadn't been so punctual on trimming his hair the last time, though.
His own reflection seemed to be glaring at him from the past. Funny, he thought he'd left that pale, angry kid behind years ago. And here they were again, face to face. Without conscious thought Jim's hand strayed into the small drawer below the glass oval and withdrew with his old golden hoop earring. His ear had long since healed over (earrings were not encouraged in Interstellar Academy). The youth stared at the flash of gold in his hand for long, silent moments. In his mind he could see his mother's sorrowful gaze. He knew the exact expression she would wear if she knew he was returning to his old ways.
He would never see that expression again.
There was a burst of pain as he shoved the pointed back of the hoop through his left earlobe. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as he wiped away a drop of blood.
A trilling voice burbled concern from the dresser. Two round eyes popped from a puddle of reddish goo.
Jim's anger was replaced with concern. "Hey, Morph, you feeling better?" The protoplasmic shapeshifter hadn't been himself since Sarah took ill. He spent most of his time in Jim's room as an indistinguishable puddle. At the human's words the eyes popped back into the puddle without a sound. He continued anyway. "Listen, I'm gonna be gone for a while. You should stay here and help out. You can explain things to B.E.N. when he gets back from that navigating job. Don't worry about me, I'll—"
The little blob shrieked and zipped up off the dresser, squeaking miserably as he clung to Jim's shoulder.
"Oh, oh, hey little guy, don't worry. Shhh. What's wrong?"
Morph twirled into a tiny figure of Sarah Hawkins, and the sight tore her son's heart. Her face was hidden in her hands as she cried. He couldn't stand seeing her, but didn't have the nerve to reach out and touch the shapeshifter to stop him. Jim closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see. He tried to speak, had to cough before he found his voice. "I understand, Morph. I won't leave you. I promise."
Returning to his usual form, the blob's big eyes peeked apprehensively at Jim over his tiny round appendages. "You can come with me," Jim assured his little friend.
With a happy squeak Morph clung to Jim's cheek for a second, then floated around the room with more gusto than the young man had seen all week. He grinned. At least he did something right. Throwing a few odds and ends into a duffel bag, Jim climbed out the window and slid down the trailing vines to the ground. Morph burbled from his shirt pocket as he threw the bag over one shoulder and began walking toward the spaceport. He couldn't think of any other place to go.
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I'm honestly not positive where I'm going with this. If you have any ideas feel free to give them in a review. It might spark something in my scatterbrained head. ^_^