Title: Alexander
Author: Sierra Crane
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Collins, Jen Scotts, or any other character shown in the TV Series. I do own his parents, Gen. Andrew Collins and Cpt. Belle Collins, as well as the following cadets: Bobby Watkins, Dana Shoeman, and Sienna Jacobson.
Summary: Any Alex fans out there? This one's for you! The birth of Andrew and Belle's son was the beginning of a life not soon forgotten, the life of Alexander Collins: Loyal officer, courageous soldier, and loving fiance. This is his story.
***
JUNE 13th, 2977
Belle Collins awoke in the middle of the night, gasping in pain and clutching at her enlarged belly, her face already covered in sweat. Her husband, Andrew, slept peacefully at her side, unaware of her discomfort until he felt her relentless shaking:
"Andrew! Get up, Andrew---the baby's coming!"
"Huh? What?"
"It's the baby!"
"The baby!" Andrew sat up quickly, his blue eyes wide, fully awake.
Belle managed a smile as she got out of bed and slipped into a robe, glancing outside and noting it was still pitch black, it seemed their child was in a hurry: It was barely past two in the morning. Andrew quickly got dressed, the usually calm general now shaking with excitement and worry.
"Easy, easy," Belle said, "there's nothing to be worried about . . . ohhh . . . "
"You okay?" Andrew asked, standing up straight.
"Fine," Belle said, quickly, "but I-I think we need to get to the hospital. Fast."
Two hours later, a screaming infant was placed in his mother's arms, his blue eyes tear-filled as he looked up at her with confusion and fright.
"He's so beautiful," Belle whispered, gently brushing her son's round cheek with her thumb as he gazed up at her through a pair of wide, blue eyes. Alexander Patrick, only a few minutes old, had already stopped crying and stared calmly at his parents.
"He looks just like you," she told her husband.
Andrew nodded in agreement, noting the prominent nose and the firm set of the jaw, characteristic of the Collins men all the way almost into the previous millennia. Alex's future was laid out before him, he was born into a strictly military family, tracing back to the early 21st Century; he would most likely become a Time Force officer, like his father and mother.
"Twenty-one inches, eight pounds," the doctor said, "a fine, healthy boy."
"He certainly is," Andrew said, taking the child from his mother's arm to stare at him face-to-face.
Alex's tiny hands were clenched into fists, his face was scrunched up and flushed bright red, and Andrew smiled lovingly at the boy, who was so tiny in his strong arms. "Alexander,' he whispered, "just look at you . . . what kind of man will you be? What will you do?"
"He's going to be great," Belle said confidently, "just like his father, and grandfather, and so on. It's in his blood."
"Sure is," Andrew agreed, "our son, Alexander . . . "
10 YEARS LATER
Alex pushed himself harder as he turned around the corner of their house, his breathing quickening and sweat beginning to run off his forehead as he ran. He saw his father in the front yard, shuffling through an enormous amount of papers before stuffing them into his case and preparing to head off to work; he quickened his pace in time to say good-bye.
"Good run," Andrew Collins said, blinking in surprise when his young son appeared. "How far did you go? You were only gone . . . " he glanced at the time " . . . twenty-five minutes."
"Three miles," Alex said breathlessly, "Mom told me in her last letter I needed to speed up if I was gonna make it through the Academy."
"Plenty of time to think about that," Andrew said, smiling.
Alex shrugged, then glanced at the air car waiting for his father on the side of the street. "Do you have to go to work already?" he asked, his brow wrinkling slightly.
"We're very busy now," Andrew said, "you know that, with Ransik still at large they need all the help they can get. I'll be back tonight again."
Alex nodded. "All right," he said, "good-bye, Dad."
"Good-bye, son."
Andrew walked to his car and hopped in, the sunlight reflecting off his graying hair; Alex smiled, his father had insisted on letting himself age naturally, rather than the options other aging generals took. His father was a good fifteen years older than his mother, and was now almost fifty- five.
It was barely six o'clock, giving Alex plenty of time to prepare for school, so he went inside the old house and hurried up the long flight of stairs to his bedroom. The house was built on the same property as the home of Alan Collins himself, and subsequently Wesley Collins, his wife, and their children; that meant little or nothing to Alex as he showered quickly, then got dressed and headed downstairs to find breakfast.
The holoscreen popped up in the living room as he passed by, and he paused to listen to the report: "This is a special report from Time Force Headquarters considering the attack on the Fleet only moments ago. Here is Admiral Cartwright---"
The admiral appeared, his face grave: "The attack on the Fleet was organized by Ransik, the leader of a gang of mutants that Time Force has been tracking down for the past few years."
Alex dropped into a seat, his eyes growing wide with fear and apprehension; his mother was in charge of the Fleet, and he anxiously awaited her appearance to report on the attack. The reporter continued his questioning, finally asking: "How many casualties have been reported?"
Cartwright's face twisted in a grimace. "So far . . . over one thousand have been reported dead," he said, "each ship in the Fleet has a crew of about fifteen hundred. There were five ships attacked." The reporter did the math on his own. "Which ships were destroyed?"
"I'm afraid I cannot release the names," Cartwright said, "the families of the crewmembers have not been notified as of yet."
Alex swallowed hard, a feeling of gloom descending over him as he watched the horror unfold; the images of the attack appeared onscreen, and he recoiled in shock when he recognized the ship, although its name was blanked out. It was, without a doubt, the A. Collins. His mother's ship.
"Mom," he whispered.
Ignoring the clock as it ticked away and finally reached seven o'clock, instead of going to school, he sat on the couch and remained glued to the screen. A moment later, he heard the front door fly open, and his father's concerned voice: "Alexander!?"
He stood and rushed into the other room. "Is it true?" he asked quickly, "was that her ship? Is Mom dead?"
Andrew stared at his son sorrowfully, only the child of two important Time Force officers would greet one of they parents in such a way, fearful for their lives. Taking a breath, he led Alex into the living room and eased him into a seat, watching as the boy's face changed from one of anxiety to horror.
"She is . . . isn't she?" he whispered.
"Yes," Andrew said, "her ship was the last to be destroyed in Ransik's attack this morning."
Alex held his composure remarkably well, although tears filled his eyes, they didn't leave their position there; his cheeks remained dry as he looked back at the screen, the casualty list was being read out by Adm. Cartwright.
"Ensign Parker, Robert A. Ensign Davis, Leona P. Ensign Jones . . . "
Alex vaguely registered his father's arm around his small shoulders, pulling him closer so he was leaning against him, feeling a sense of comfort in his father's embrace. The names continued on and on well into the hour, finally, the dreaded words came:
"Captain Collins, Belle D."
And Alex lost it. Tears rolled down his cheeks, he buried his face in his father's shoulder, the rough material of his uniform irritating his eyes and causing them to redden even more as he cried without restriction. Andrew swallowed hard as his wife's picture appeared on the screen, having been the captain of the Fleet, she was recognized amongst the crowd gathered to hear the list.
Alex fell asleep in his father's arms, the grief of the day temporarily forgotten as he dreamed of his mother coming home again . . .
***
The light shone through his bedroom window and onto his face, penetrating through the blackness of sleep and forcing him to wake up; he blinked a couple times, then slowly sat up, already going over the events of the previous day in his mind.
He robotically got dressed and walked down the stairs slowly, hearing voices in the living room, he recognized his father's, and Admiral Cartwright's, and another officer . . . yes, it was Colonel Kendall. He entered and found the three men seated, Kendall's young son, Lucas, standing in a corner. Lucas was eight, two years younger than Alex and three times more energetic, although he bore a solemn expression for the most part.
"Hi, Alex," Lucas said when the boy drew nearer.
"Hi, Lu---"
"Son." Andrew turned, holding out his arm and gesturing for him to come closer. "Gentlemen, you remember my son, Alexander."
"Of course." Cartwright stood and took Alex's small hand, shaking it as if they were equals instead of man and boy. "I'm very sorry about your mother, young man."
Alex nodded mutely, exchanging the same greeting with Lucas' father before joining the boy in the corner, avoiding the adult conversation. Lucas leaned closer and spoke softly to the older boy: "My parents are sending me to a boarding school across the state. A Time Force school."
"Why?" Alex asked.
"I don't know." Lucas shrugged. "I guess they want me to get a jump on my career." He rolled his eyes. "Seems stupid to me, I can't even get into the Academy for another eight years!"
"You'll be prepared."
"What if I don't want to go to the Academy?"
Alex's eyes widened: How could anyone not want to attend Time Force Academy? "Don't you wanna be in Time Force?" he questioned.
"I don't know," Lucas said, "geez, I've got time to think about . . . well, only if they'd let me." He paused. "You want to, I guess?"
"Of course."
"Why 'of course'?"
Alex blinked. "Well . . . my whole family was in Time Force," he pointed out, "it's just what we do in this family."
"Doesn't mean you have to."
"Why would I want to do anything else?"
"Why not?"
Andrew, Kendall, and Cartwright stood as one and turned to the boys, who immediately fell silent as Andrew spoke: "It's time, Alex. Come with me."
He led his son away, and the three others followed them to the cemetery where the funeral was about to take place; Alex winced painfully at the sight of the gravestone with his mother's name on it. Her body was not recovered, not unusual for a starship captain, but his father had assured him that his mother loved being in space so much that she was in the right spot for her final resting place.
"Don't worry, son," Andrew said, "we'll be okay."
"We won't be the same . . . will we?"
Andrew sighed. "No."
Other officers gathered to bid farewell to a great captain, and they fell in line neatly as Andrew stepped forward, looking down sadly at his wife's grave. His voice was strong, despite his grief, and well heard:
"Present arms!"
The men and women of Time Force raised their right arms in a salute to Cpt. Collins; hesitantly, Alex stepped forward and saluted smartly, watching the reaction on his father's face.
Andrew nearly lost his composure when he saw his son raise his hand, his face impassive and his eyes cold as he stared off into space. He was unreadable, perfectly still as he gave his mother the respect she deserved in life.
'Good-bye, Mom . . . '
TBC
Author: Sierra Crane
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Collins, Jen Scotts, or any other character shown in the TV Series. I do own his parents, Gen. Andrew Collins and Cpt. Belle Collins, as well as the following cadets: Bobby Watkins, Dana Shoeman, and Sienna Jacobson.
Summary: Any Alex fans out there? This one's for you! The birth of Andrew and Belle's son was the beginning of a life not soon forgotten, the life of Alexander Collins: Loyal officer, courageous soldier, and loving fiance. This is his story.
***
JUNE 13th, 2977
Belle Collins awoke in the middle of the night, gasping in pain and clutching at her enlarged belly, her face already covered in sweat. Her husband, Andrew, slept peacefully at her side, unaware of her discomfort until he felt her relentless shaking:
"Andrew! Get up, Andrew---the baby's coming!"
"Huh? What?"
"It's the baby!"
"The baby!" Andrew sat up quickly, his blue eyes wide, fully awake.
Belle managed a smile as she got out of bed and slipped into a robe, glancing outside and noting it was still pitch black, it seemed their child was in a hurry: It was barely past two in the morning. Andrew quickly got dressed, the usually calm general now shaking with excitement and worry.
"Easy, easy," Belle said, "there's nothing to be worried about . . . ohhh . . . "
"You okay?" Andrew asked, standing up straight.
"Fine," Belle said, quickly, "but I-I think we need to get to the hospital. Fast."
Two hours later, a screaming infant was placed in his mother's arms, his blue eyes tear-filled as he looked up at her with confusion and fright.
"He's so beautiful," Belle whispered, gently brushing her son's round cheek with her thumb as he gazed up at her through a pair of wide, blue eyes. Alexander Patrick, only a few minutes old, had already stopped crying and stared calmly at his parents.
"He looks just like you," she told her husband.
Andrew nodded in agreement, noting the prominent nose and the firm set of the jaw, characteristic of the Collins men all the way almost into the previous millennia. Alex's future was laid out before him, he was born into a strictly military family, tracing back to the early 21st Century; he would most likely become a Time Force officer, like his father and mother.
"Twenty-one inches, eight pounds," the doctor said, "a fine, healthy boy."
"He certainly is," Andrew said, taking the child from his mother's arm to stare at him face-to-face.
Alex's tiny hands were clenched into fists, his face was scrunched up and flushed bright red, and Andrew smiled lovingly at the boy, who was so tiny in his strong arms. "Alexander,' he whispered, "just look at you . . . what kind of man will you be? What will you do?"
"He's going to be great," Belle said confidently, "just like his father, and grandfather, and so on. It's in his blood."
"Sure is," Andrew agreed, "our son, Alexander . . . "
10 YEARS LATER
Alex pushed himself harder as he turned around the corner of their house, his breathing quickening and sweat beginning to run off his forehead as he ran. He saw his father in the front yard, shuffling through an enormous amount of papers before stuffing them into his case and preparing to head off to work; he quickened his pace in time to say good-bye.
"Good run," Andrew Collins said, blinking in surprise when his young son appeared. "How far did you go? You were only gone . . . " he glanced at the time " . . . twenty-five minutes."
"Three miles," Alex said breathlessly, "Mom told me in her last letter I needed to speed up if I was gonna make it through the Academy."
"Plenty of time to think about that," Andrew said, smiling.
Alex shrugged, then glanced at the air car waiting for his father on the side of the street. "Do you have to go to work already?" he asked, his brow wrinkling slightly.
"We're very busy now," Andrew said, "you know that, with Ransik still at large they need all the help they can get. I'll be back tonight again."
Alex nodded. "All right," he said, "good-bye, Dad."
"Good-bye, son."
Andrew walked to his car and hopped in, the sunlight reflecting off his graying hair; Alex smiled, his father had insisted on letting himself age naturally, rather than the options other aging generals took. His father was a good fifteen years older than his mother, and was now almost fifty- five.
It was barely six o'clock, giving Alex plenty of time to prepare for school, so he went inside the old house and hurried up the long flight of stairs to his bedroom. The house was built on the same property as the home of Alan Collins himself, and subsequently Wesley Collins, his wife, and their children; that meant little or nothing to Alex as he showered quickly, then got dressed and headed downstairs to find breakfast.
The holoscreen popped up in the living room as he passed by, and he paused to listen to the report: "This is a special report from Time Force Headquarters considering the attack on the Fleet only moments ago. Here is Admiral Cartwright---"
The admiral appeared, his face grave: "The attack on the Fleet was organized by Ransik, the leader of a gang of mutants that Time Force has been tracking down for the past few years."
Alex dropped into a seat, his eyes growing wide with fear and apprehension; his mother was in charge of the Fleet, and he anxiously awaited her appearance to report on the attack. The reporter continued his questioning, finally asking: "How many casualties have been reported?"
Cartwright's face twisted in a grimace. "So far . . . over one thousand have been reported dead," he said, "each ship in the Fleet has a crew of about fifteen hundred. There were five ships attacked." The reporter did the math on his own. "Which ships were destroyed?"
"I'm afraid I cannot release the names," Cartwright said, "the families of the crewmembers have not been notified as of yet."
Alex swallowed hard, a feeling of gloom descending over him as he watched the horror unfold; the images of the attack appeared onscreen, and he recoiled in shock when he recognized the ship, although its name was blanked out. It was, without a doubt, the A. Collins. His mother's ship.
"Mom," he whispered.
Ignoring the clock as it ticked away and finally reached seven o'clock, instead of going to school, he sat on the couch and remained glued to the screen. A moment later, he heard the front door fly open, and his father's concerned voice: "Alexander!?"
He stood and rushed into the other room. "Is it true?" he asked quickly, "was that her ship? Is Mom dead?"
Andrew stared at his son sorrowfully, only the child of two important Time Force officers would greet one of they parents in such a way, fearful for their lives. Taking a breath, he led Alex into the living room and eased him into a seat, watching as the boy's face changed from one of anxiety to horror.
"She is . . . isn't she?" he whispered.
"Yes," Andrew said, "her ship was the last to be destroyed in Ransik's attack this morning."
Alex held his composure remarkably well, although tears filled his eyes, they didn't leave their position there; his cheeks remained dry as he looked back at the screen, the casualty list was being read out by Adm. Cartwright.
"Ensign Parker, Robert A. Ensign Davis, Leona P. Ensign Jones . . . "
Alex vaguely registered his father's arm around his small shoulders, pulling him closer so he was leaning against him, feeling a sense of comfort in his father's embrace. The names continued on and on well into the hour, finally, the dreaded words came:
"Captain Collins, Belle D."
And Alex lost it. Tears rolled down his cheeks, he buried his face in his father's shoulder, the rough material of his uniform irritating his eyes and causing them to redden even more as he cried without restriction. Andrew swallowed hard as his wife's picture appeared on the screen, having been the captain of the Fleet, she was recognized amongst the crowd gathered to hear the list.
Alex fell asleep in his father's arms, the grief of the day temporarily forgotten as he dreamed of his mother coming home again . . .
***
The light shone through his bedroom window and onto his face, penetrating through the blackness of sleep and forcing him to wake up; he blinked a couple times, then slowly sat up, already going over the events of the previous day in his mind.
He robotically got dressed and walked down the stairs slowly, hearing voices in the living room, he recognized his father's, and Admiral Cartwright's, and another officer . . . yes, it was Colonel Kendall. He entered and found the three men seated, Kendall's young son, Lucas, standing in a corner. Lucas was eight, two years younger than Alex and three times more energetic, although he bore a solemn expression for the most part.
"Hi, Alex," Lucas said when the boy drew nearer.
"Hi, Lu---"
"Son." Andrew turned, holding out his arm and gesturing for him to come closer. "Gentlemen, you remember my son, Alexander."
"Of course." Cartwright stood and took Alex's small hand, shaking it as if they were equals instead of man and boy. "I'm very sorry about your mother, young man."
Alex nodded mutely, exchanging the same greeting with Lucas' father before joining the boy in the corner, avoiding the adult conversation. Lucas leaned closer and spoke softly to the older boy: "My parents are sending me to a boarding school across the state. A Time Force school."
"Why?" Alex asked.
"I don't know." Lucas shrugged. "I guess they want me to get a jump on my career." He rolled his eyes. "Seems stupid to me, I can't even get into the Academy for another eight years!"
"You'll be prepared."
"What if I don't want to go to the Academy?"
Alex's eyes widened: How could anyone not want to attend Time Force Academy? "Don't you wanna be in Time Force?" he questioned.
"I don't know," Lucas said, "geez, I've got time to think about . . . well, only if they'd let me." He paused. "You want to, I guess?"
"Of course."
"Why 'of course'?"
Alex blinked. "Well . . . my whole family was in Time Force," he pointed out, "it's just what we do in this family."
"Doesn't mean you have to."
"Why would I want to do anything else?"
"Why not?"
Andrew, Kendall, and Cartwright stood as one and turned to the boys, who immediately fell silent as Andrew spoke: "It's time, Alex. Come with me."
He led his son away, and the three others followed them to the cemetery where the funeral was about to take place; Alex winced painfully at the sight of the gravestone with his mother's name on it. Her body was not recovered, not unusual for a starship captain, but his father had assured him that his mother loved being in space so much that she was in the right spot for her final resting place.
"Don't worry, son," Andrew said, "we'll be okay."
"We won't be the same . . . will we?"
Andrew sighed. "No."
Other officers gathered to bid farewell to a great captain, and they fell in line neatly as Andrew stepped forward, looking down sadly at his wife's grave. His voice was strong, despite his grief, and well heard:
"Present arms!"
The men and women of Time Force raised their right arms in a salute to Cpt. Collins; hesitantly, Alex stepped forward and saluted smartly, watching the reaction on his father's face.
Andrew nearly lost his composure when he saw his son raise his hand, his face impassive and his eyes cold as he stared off into space. He was unreadable, perfectly still as he gave his mother the respect she deserved in life.
'Good-bye, Mom . . . '
TBC