AN: This chapter goes further in depth about Sterling's home, and we'll peel back the layers on his mental state a bit. Although there isn't anything explicit in this particular chapter, some of the imagery is a bit mature.
The feeling of being a bitter disappointment is something that Sterling is rather used to, and upon exiting Amelia's cabin, he finds himself back in that familiar groove of self loathing. Worn smooth, beaten down and marching to a slowly beating drum, Sterling heads for the bow of the ship.
Warm boots thunk down the knotty chestnut deck, the fabric of reality knit tightly beneath him. It was curious to not feel like he could just slip right through the layers of tangibility, like he had so many times previous.
A memory, warm and nebulous finds him like a lover on the railing. Arms cradle him, and a pair of red lips find his ear 'There you are, I was looking for you everywhere.' Intent is spelled out in morse code along pumping veins and fingertips along his sternum.
'Come back inside darling,' Desire lingers just behind those eyes that burn like twin suns. Awash in watercolor and the far off scent of coming rain, Sterling finds himself dipping low into that comfortable groove between memory and mind- home.
"To feel one with the universe, cher."
Sterling's head snaps up from the various tins and boxes filling the shelving. "I'm sorry?" One of only a few who still clung to those ancient ways, the mystic's shack was a curio of artifacts. Preserved plants sat unregarded on tables and shelves, spilling over onto the floor- a soft kind of foreign chaos in the precious placement.
The sky was bright that afternoon, but little was the light that cut through the heavy curtains drawn across the windows. Scarlet smoke curls in the air, permeating the air with strawberry and sandalwood and masking the unmistakable smell of certain ceremonial herbs.
The mystic smiles, sprinkling worm fat into a bubbling pot. "You're goin somewhere. Long journey, caterpillar." She spoke in low, clipped tones, her hazel eyes never leaving her work.
The caterpillar- change. He would endure something that would change him. "What if I back out?"
Long dreadlocks shake around her head. "Do the birds of the field stay after the frost?"
His eyes wander the bookshelves, undetermined about his answer. Birds migrate, winds change, people grow. Soon the tides of war would touch even this peaceful world, so rare a jewel with it's forests, mountains and life.
"Ah," A glance of recognition lights her face. "You'll get there, mon cher." Clamping the lid down on the pot, she crosses the room towards him. Sterling watches her remove a simple talisman from her neck, kissing the dime on both sides.
"Take this wit' ya," she says, draping a long black cord over his neck. "and remember your way home." Her face crinkles, deep brown lips upturned; affection. It pours from her like a wellspring of love. Somewhere, suddenly on the fringes of this intimate moment, something lurked. Dread pulls at him- it's one of the first things to change. Pulsing, angry and just barely contained, and he is thrust from his memory.
His hand reaches up to his neck, tracing the black cord to the dime that hung there. Not only worn at the urging of the woman who had all but become his mother, he too still clung to those ancient acadian ways. Clung still perhaps to those places in his mind where the grass grew up to his knees and the roads were a brown velvet beneath his bare feet.
'That won't help you now.' It sounds like smoke, billowing into his ear, with just a hint of that bitter taste in the back of his throat.
'We're still here.' Every syllable is a link in the shackles that bind him, punctuated by his ever beating heart. His body lives, but Sterling doesn't remember the man that he used to be.
'Your body may wander as far as it likes, but your soul will never be free.'
–
The evening of their nupitals, Delbert and Amelia find themselves walking hand in hand through the old town center. It was a change in tone from the passion fueled all nighters, an innocent callback to their courtship phase when she had still been so tender beside him. The restaurant they had eventually chosen was well out of the way, and the dining room was almost completely vacant.
"Well, it's not a traditional honeymoon. But there will be all the time in the world after you return home." Making sure she is settled in her chair, Delbert sits across from her, slinging his jacket over the back of his chair.
"Delbert, I think there is something that we need to discuss." For all her courage, Amelia can't seem to bring her eyes to meet his.
Delbert shakes his head, his nose burying itself in the wine list. "Look at that dear, I haven't seen that vintage in years." Placing the wine list face down, he grins at his new bride. "I think I know what I'm drinking." He's avoiding, and Amelia has to work to hide her frustration.
"What if I don't come back, Delbert?" The question is heavy on the table, and Amelia watches as the levity leaves his face.
"I can't-" he stops, his voice catching in his throat. "I didn't think I would ever be able to move on from Abagail. But then I met you, and when I realized that I could love you, it felt like I was just seeing the light for the first time." Delbert clears his throat, his hand reaching across the table to grasp hers.
"You can't possibly fathom the depth of my love for you, and it is for this reason that I implore you one last time; please Amelia, don't go." The pleading in his eyes is something that Amelia had only seen a few other times. But the desperation in his voice made her heart beat wildly in her chest.
"Delbert, this isn't something I can just get out of. I have to go, and this is the assignment that will make my career."
"You already had a career, you don't have to prove anything to anyone!" If the restaurant was quiet before, it was deathly now.
"This isn't about my pride, Delbert!" Her fist slams on the table, rattling the silver and nearly tipping the water glasses that had gone untouched.
"I imagine such a place where I wouldn't have to march off to war. We could settle down, build a life and have children." Amelia feels hollow, at this confession, but is determined to make him understand. "I want that life, Delbert. I want it more than anything."
The sincerity in her voice is something that Delbert had loved early on. He had never wondered where he stood with her, and her 'tell it like it is' attitude is emboldening. It's hard for him to remember now that she cannot simply say no. She must comply, no matter how high a cost her loyalty might come at.
"In a world where that was possible," he starts, working up the courage to look her in the eye. "With no ship or crew, would you be content with only me?"
Amelia mulls over the pre-dinner question as if he had just asked her a heartbeat ago. The truth of his statement had been the deepest cut. When she had glanced across the table, her green eyes swimming and her mouth quivering, he hadn't pursued the matter any further.
Glancing over at the partially full bottle of scotch, the urge to drown herself is just one of the many conflicts to present themselves to her that evening.
Shedding her jacket and shoes, she sits back down in her desk chair, bare feet tucked beneath her. Mayhew had seem so on point when they had met, self assured and ready to take on the universe. But the idea that her first officer was just half a step away from hanging himself in the bathroom was altogether horrifying to her.
It was the blackest sin, to leave anyone to suffer at enemy hands. And Amelia felt all the more grieved for it. If they had been in captivity so long, could they even be freed? Mayhew's mind had nearly been lost, would there be anything left to fight for? And how do you fight against something on that level? A being capable of preserving the body while destroying the mind was nothing short of terrifying to her.
It's only when she is alone in the shower cubicle with the hot water pounding on her back that she lets herself fully process her feelings. Amelia was skilled in fighting for life and liberty, but in a war where the ammunition could be your own precious memories, how could one even hope to fight back?
With only one clear goal in mind, and little else to go on, Amelia is resolute in these early stages. Burdened so by her own grief over her first officer, and her own longing for her husband, she knows in her heart that she must go on. And it's the only thought she allows herself to linger on