Luke drops the headset, his hands numb, shaking, just like his head his mind, because things stopped making sense about fifteen minutes ago. His life, his entire life, he had only ever had one constant. Well, two constants, but only one that was good, was something he liked being able to count on, fall back on, and it definitely wasn’t the Oliver’s. And now, and now, things were strange. There were storms and winds and charges and forces, but he can’t feel them, can’t touch them, and he doesn’t like, not at all. He’s always had the weather to fall into when things got bad, got ugly, could let himself be absorbed into a storm front, and forget everything that was going wrong, was wrong, would never be right. He could rely on the comforting lull of the waves to rock him back to sleep when the world was just so much hurt, even when he was miles from the shore, he could always find a stiff breeze to ride out into oblivion, and its only been gone for a few minutes and already he’s lost, just so lost.

He thinks they’re watching him, staring at him, but he isn’t sure, it’s like he’s blind now, without the subtle electricity in the air, the potential crackling through everything, and he thinks he would rather die than spend another minute like this, but he can’t even do that now, can he, because the oxygen molecules in the air strain away from his touch, and electron chains are making and breaking all around him, regardless of his will. He takes a step back, two, and clutches the reassuringly solid wood of the desk tightly, desperately, because his knees are about to go. There is noise around him, near him, in him, and it’s his heartbeat isn’t it, pounding away erratically in the cage of his chest, and is this what life is like for Jase, being able to hear the how and why of every single living thing and the blood pounding in his ears is too much, too much.

He breathes, in and out, carefully, slowly, and the world begins to right itself, if even only a little, and all he can hear is the wind rushing around the ship, into the sails, and such relief, absolute relief, pours through him. He can’t feel it, can’t alter it, can’t fly with it, but at least he knows it’s still there. Another breath, and if his hands were shaking they’ve stopped now, and he’s pretty sure his knees are no longer knocking together, and that’s something. He closes his eyes, breathes, relaxes a little more, and he no longer wants to pitch himself overboard, at least not right away.

Things are still wrong, things are still so wrong, but there has to be a reason, a rhyme, and he’ll find it, he and Sam and Fiona will figure it out. And while it’s definitely not an isolated incident, cause Sam ran into the same thing, didn’t he, maybe it’s not everywhere, maybe Löchen will be better, normal, and god, that thought is what brings him to extract his fingernails from Paten’s desk.

Luke opens his eyes, and although the world is a bit dimmer, a bit duller, it’s alright, he’ll cope. Paten and Lane are staring, look a bit frightened, and he really, really isn’t looking forward to trying to explain this.

A few more deep breathes, and he thinks he might even be able to stand on his own now.

“What the hell is going on?” Paten demands, looking for all the world like a spoiled little kid, and isn’t that usually how his friends describe him? Luke wrinkles his nose, and doesn’t answer.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

Suddenly, Lane is seeming far more pleasant than he originally thought, which is good, because someone needs to make up for this Clark fellow, who’s acting as though he own the place, and while this is his comms room, it’s Luke’s ship. A little late, Luke remembers that maybe Lane was waiting on a response, and he smiles, weakly, he knows, but its better than gawping around like a fish out of water, which he kind of is, but no need to advertise.

“Sir?” Okay, maybe not better, because Lane is looking at him like he has three heads and one of them’s got a whole other body of its own.

“Fine, lieutenant.” And he sort of is, he thinks, because he’s never really been good, has he, and how is this any worse than lying in a hospital bed, alone but for the row of machines he’s hooked up to and the loud, pushy nurses, it’s just a different kind of bad.

Course, he could always come down with something on top of all the rest of this, and maybe he should think positively before he starts to cry.

“Did Captain Polly have any ideas about what was happening, sir?”

Luke looks up at Lane, considering him a second. “You call me sir one more time and I’ll probably have to drown you.” Because there’s a difference between casual and rude, and while Paten’s not quite figured that out, Lane has got the exact opposite problem, which is annoying enough in its own way.

“Sorry sir, uh,” He pauses. “What should I call you captain?”

“Benevolent Supreme Leader.”

Lane looks taken aback for a moment before he realizes that probably Luke’s kidding. Luke just rolls his eyes.

“You can call me Luke. And I will call you…”

“Dutiful slave?” Lane says, and what do you know, the boy’s got a sense of humor after all. Luke thinks it’s probably a little strange for him to be calling someone four years his senior ‘boy.’ “Or if that’s too much of a mouthful, there’s always Atlas. Which would be my name, by the way.”

Huh. Well, you learn something new every day don’t you? Luke shrugs internally; it’s a good enough name, doesn’t quite have the same ring to it that dutiful slave does, but it works.

“You still haven’t explained what happened.”

And that would be Paten Clark, a charmer unlike any other, if Luke’s not mistaken, and that rhymes doesn’t it. “Nothing much.” He says cheerfully.

“Nothing much.” Clark repeats.

“Nothing much.”

It goes very quiet for a minute, and Luke gives Clark one of his patented ‘who me?’ looks as the corporal stares at him disbelievingly.

“Well, if that’s all, I think I might run on down to the Navs room. Care to join me dutiful slave? Oh, whoops, Atlas, sorry.” Except that he’s not. “If you don’t mind corporal, I’d like you to sit tight here for a while, I’m expecting a call or two, and I’d rather not to miss them.”

“We do have a recorder. And status boards all over the ship.”

“Yes, well, I’d as soon not take the chance.” Luke says winningly, and walks from the room, concentrating hard to keep himself steady. Atlas follows a step or two behind, closing the door carefully behind him, in sharp contrast to the footprint Luke left earlier that morning.

“You’re a bit evil, you know.”

“Little bit, yeah.”

Previous: Scene 2-IV

Scene 2-V

Next: Scene 2-VI