What Dreams May Come

She was asleep. She knew she was asleep. She clearly remembered drifting off as gravity pumped orange juice into her veins.

So it was a bit surprising to find herself standing in the middle of what looked like a foggy balcony.

She was even more shocked when she realized that the wraith standing several feet in front of her was her athair.

It took her a moment to recognize him; he was much changed from the father of her memory. She remembered him as tall, pale azure skin, hair silvered, though flecked somewhat still with black. She remembered broad shoulders that didn't need any winged coats to make him large and intimidating. She remembered clipped nails on strong, callused hands. She remembered clear, bright eyes, always with a small smile in them, even when he was sad.

The years had not been kind, she thought. He seemed to have shrunken, even allowing for the fact that she herself was now bigger. His clothes were slightly too large for him; his shoulders did not fill the coat and his shirt sagged around his chest. His skin was yellowed, betraying his extreme age. His hands seemed…frail, covered by paper thin skin that showed dark veins and ending long, cracked nails. His eyes were dulled and sorrow-filled; dark shadows under and around made his eyes appear sunken, dead.

"I am very proud of you Mairghread," he told her. "I am sure your mother is as well."

She was growing be a very lovely child, he thought. When she was older, she would be as beautiful as her mother was. Already her skin was a clear, pale blue. Her large eyes were like Seàrlaid's—green rimmed and flecked with gold. She was small now, yes, but she still had much growing to do.

"Athair?" she whispered, afraid somehow that if she spoke, she would wake and he would disappear.

"Yes, child," he replied. "I am here."

"Athair!" she cried and tried to run to embrace him, but the dark mist that surrounded them seemed to hold her back—it was like trying to walk through Jello. Not the Jello that one was actually inclined to eat—rather the kind of Jello that had been cubed and sitting in the fridge for too long and so now resembled colorful, clear cubes of caulking compound.

"I am sorry Mairghread, but we cannot touch, and time is short." Too short, he thought ruefully. He wanted so much to stay and speak with her, to hear what she had learned, the everyday minutiae that painted a better picture of life than the large events. "Do you remember what I left you of the Spirits' laws?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What do they say concerning the hunger?"

"The hunger must not control us," she recited. "It may only be satisfied by willing gifts, never stolen, for to steal life is to negate it—life is a gift of the Ancient One, and can only be re-given as a means of life for others or returned to the Ancient One in death."

Cullough smiled. "Very good. If the serum works as I have hoped it will, you will never feel the hunger and fear its satisfaction."

"How…?"

"You probably do not remember, but I asked you to reach out to me when you were given it. I am sorry I have not spoken to you before, but I did not wish to risk hurting you. I knew, however, that if you were given the serum, you must be old enough that it would not harm you to speak with me," he explained. "Oh Mairghread, you are growing up into such a lovely young female. You are beginning to look just like your mother."

"Really?" Mairghread's face lit up. As much as she loved her human family, she still longed for her father and missed her mother and brothers and sisters.

"Yes, really," Cullough replied. "I am sorry Mairghread, but I must go now. I promise, I will never leave you for so long again."

"Athair! No, please! Athair!"

"Mairghread!"

She woke with a jolt to see a concerned Carson looking down at her.

"Are ye alright lass?" he asked worriedly. "Ah didnae think a side effect would be bad dreams."

"No no," she assured him as she tried to sit up and a wave of dizziness washed through her while Carson steadied her with a hand on her back. "Not bad. I dreamed—I mean, I spoke with my father. My blood father," she clarified.

"Oh," said Beckett. He didn't really have a response for that.

"Is…?" Mairghread pointed to the nearly empty IV bag.

"Aye," Beckett squeezed the last bit of orange fluid out of the bag and flushed it with a little more saline. "How're ye feeling?"

The floor was trying to walk off without her. Her head was attempting an out-of-body experience.

"Dizzy."

"Aye, Ah was afraid o' tha'," Carson said as he slipped out the IV line and slapped on a Band-Aid in one smooth motion. "Ah could gi'e ye some Antivert, but Ah'm afraid all tha' it really does is put ye tae sleep for a few hours."

Mairghread shook her head until she realized that it was a really bad idea. "No thanks. I think I can manage. And I really need to finish the algebra problems Uncle Rodney gave me."

"Algebra? At ten?" Beckett shook his head. "Ah'll have tae speak with that man."

TBC

Next: Vertigo