Song for Eurydice, Part 1: Teaser
Chief Medical Officer's Log: Stardate 2264.65
It's been five days since the Enterprise encountered the, ah, being known as Circe. According to classified Federation logs and from Ambassador Prince's testimony, she's been a thorn in the woman's side for a long damn time. Since she undid her granite whammy on everyone, the crew has shown no side effects from the affliction. Just in case, I've sent my findings to Starfleet Medical in the hopes that should something like this happen again, we're ahead of the curve.
The crew, for the most part, are back to their usual selves. They're not the ones I'm worried about.
I'm not entirely sure what to do about Jim.
The captain's insisted that he be cleared for duty, even though he's clearly suffering from a neurological affliction that is endangering his life. Problem is, I don't have the first idea how to treat him. There's remarkably little about this sorta thing - go figure - in Starfleet Medical's databases. Two neural patterns, one stacked right on the other… That ain't natural. My only hope was in researching other telepathic species, but so far, nothing.
Starfleet has recalled us back to the Yorktown, but even at maximum warp, the trip is several days away. Hell, it took us two days just to repair the bridge. I tried confining Jim to quarters, but he was stir-crazy without anything to do but think, so I just let him go to the bridge. Spock knows he's to alert me if he makes any questionable command decisions, but we haven't run into any trouble so far. In fact, the only time the captain seems to be doing all right is on the bridge. So, I'm reluctant to kick that hornet's nest. If he can keep it together until I find a solution, I'd rather him be there with his crew to support him rather than losing his damn mind in his quarters.
Unfortunately, while that means Jim is able to focus on being Jim, it's taken a toll on Diana. Course, she won't say anything, but it's obvious to anyone who looks at her that she's about as put out as a stray cat in a thunderstorm. She hides it well enough, but the only way that the captain's found a way to control himself is… well, by avoiding her.
And it's not just him trying to avoid a painful subject, either. I completed my last round of neurological scans on him this morning and asked Diana to come in for a few minutes. Sure enough, the moment he saw her, the second neural pattern went nuts. He was talkin' about some lady he thought he knew from England.
The fact is, until I can figure out how to help Jim, the best thing he can do is to stay away from Diana. But, I'm worried about the toll it's taking on her. It's bad enough he looked like her old lover, but for him to have all those memories and know they're not his? That's gotta be torture. She wants to help him, she's all heart. But, I don't think she's considering how much pain she's been hanging onto. I tried to help, but something tell me I ain't the kind of medicine she needs.
At this point, I'm open to any suggestions. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to make that crack about the hand of Fate. Because, truth be told, we need the nudge in the right direction. I don't know how much longer he can keep it up…
Winter was already at home in Belgium. The forest was cold enough in the evening, but the sun had gone down long before they arrived. The night chill strung at his cheeks.
He was alone as he came upon the campfire, save for the tall Native American tending his soup pot. He could smell the wood smoke, hear the crackle of kindling. He could hear the mortar shells as they exploded somewhere beyond the horizon.
"Chief?" He asked.
"You're not supposed to be here." Chief replied, but didn't turn to face him. He kept his back to him, stirring the soup pot. "Then again, I think that's why I like you, James."
He stiffened, then made his way closer to the fire. He knew this place, he knew the time. It was his, and yet it wasn't. "Where are the others? Sammy? Charlie. Diana…" He turned to face the darkness behind him. Anxiety with the ferocity of a wave crashing upon the shores of a beach he'd never been to, yet intimately remembered. Not seeing her here made the loss more poignant than in his waking hours. Hang on. Waking hours.
"That's exactly why they're not here." Chief answered the unspoken thought. "They're not meant to be. They've moved on, like you were supposed to move on from here. No longer Steve, but James. Only you didn't, so I thought I'd see you myself." Chief tapped his soup spoon on the edge of the pot. "Dreams such as these are a special gift to my people."
"What kind of dreams?" He turned back to face the man at the fire.
"The kind that need a guide." Chief took a seat on a log behind him. He motioned for the man staring at him to take a place across near the tent. "You have a long journey ahead of you. Where you need to go, some people can't follow."
"What sort of journey?" He took a seat across him, the firelight dancing across their features. Again, his heart throbbed anxiously. Diana. She should be here. I should find her.
"That's the question, isn't it? Is it a journey of the mind? Or of the heart?" Chief pulled his gloves off and brought his hands closer to the crackling flames. "Your doctors can't help you. Diana can't help you. But, we can."
He furrowed his brow. "... 'We.'"
"You have to make a decision, James. It won't be an easy one. All of this…" As if by design, the mortar shells rumbled louder in the distance, followed by machine gun fire. "You don't have to walk here forever. You can leave it behind."
The world suddenly flashed around them. Light threatened to engulf him before it dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Everything had changed.
Chief was gone. The forest was gone.
He was in a… a store. A quick glance in a mirror to his right revealed a blue suit and trenchcoat. Early Earth. Sack suit and fedora… He heard himself rattling off the names as if they were second nature to him. But, maybe they were?
Footsteps behind him. He whirled, faced with a curly redhead that he knew instantly. "Etta."
"You don't have to be here, you know." She said, smiling so widely she could light up the room as she pat his chest affectionately. "You could go back to your life. We'd just see you off and all."
"I don't understand." He muttered. He knew - in the way that sometimes he was both observing and experiencing a dream - that he had a look of befuddled amusement on his face.
"It would be all right. If you chose to go. Only thing is, it means you can't keep all of us. You have to throw the baby out with the bathwater, as it were." Etta crinkled her nose in disgust and picked lint off his vest. "Can't say I like that idea too much, but it's not really my choice, now is it?"
He focused on a group of patrons. All in Edwardian dress, only… in their uniform colors. Uhura stood admiring a fountain pen in a red dress with a pillbox hat. Beside her, Spock was in a blue suit as well.
"Spock." He called, hoping to gain the much needed clarity his vulcan friend could offer.
His first officer refused to answer or acknowledge him. He strode forward, realized something was in his hand. Looking down, he realized it was Dr. Poison's journal. But, how was that possible?
"How did you persuade him to keep your secret?" Spock was ignoring him to carry on a conversation.
He didn't expect the person to reply to be Ambassador Spock. He was dead, wasn't he? But, wasn't that the whole point? So was Steve.
"I inferred that universe-ending paradoxes would ensue should he break his promise." Ambassador Spock conversed with his younger self as if they were sipping dry martinis in a bar.
"I don't understand." He said as the two Vulcans turned to face him.
Younger Spock simply replied: "A person cannot be in two places at once."
"But…" He trailed off, confused.
He heard footsteps again. He turned towards the changing area. He knew what came next, he knew who would come next. His heart, completely committed to the events and emotions around him in the subconscious world, rose in his chest as he waited for her to walk around the corner. His anger, the heartache, it all vanished in the face of the dream's promise that Diana would be here.
But, she never walked around the corner. Time stretched. People slowed around him. He turned to ask Etta what was happening, but she had left him.
Instead, standing at the counter with spectacles and mirrors, Hippolyta stood. It was impossible, as she was dressed like one of the many Edwardian ladies in the store. Her piercing eyes may have been behind a pair of glasses, and she wore a black skirt and white button down, but she was still queen of the Amazons. But, more importantly, she was smiling. And it was a smile that spoke of warmth and friendship. It was a feeling of welcome she'd never extended to him. But here, none of that mattered. He found himself walking towards her.
"You cannot do this alone." It was strange. He could tell she was trying to say his name, but he couldn't hear it. Her lips said one thing, the sounds said another, and so none of it made sense. "She will never walk through that curtain. You can never see where that road will take you if you don't take the journey. Great reward comes to one who can be called Champion. But, there is great risk."
He frowned. Anxiety and frustration thrummed through his veins again. "What journey? What am I supposed to do?!"
She reached across the table, cupping his face in her hands as she had done to her daughter on the beaches. "Go to Delphi."
Jim startled awake, shooting straight up as the sheets clung to his clammy chest. He glanced frantically around the room, searching for the people, the places, signs that any of it was real. It had been a dream.
He'd felt every emotion, every sensation as if he'd been there.
Slowly, he laid back down, a hand at his forehead as he tried to process. The images were fading quickly. People were starting to drift away as sleep threatened to overtake him again. As he finally closed his eyes, he exhaled softly and muttered something.
Half a ship away, Diana tossed and turned in her bed. The same word plagued her, beckoning to her.
"Delphi."