Summary: In the 24th century, Alfred takes a long journey out into the final frontier, and almost doesn’t come back. His brother and father are left to tend to the aftermath, and see a not-so-young man take his next steps of maturity. Warnings for mentions of death, PTSD, and alcohol.
Words: 10,782
Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, and alcohol
Special thanks to @draw-a-circle-thats-the-foxhole, a conversation with whom inspired this entire thing. She also wrote one of Arthur’s better lines in this story, see if you can spot it ;) also, @rainbowfruitpastilles, you asked to be tagged when I posted this!
—————-
Sometime in the 24th century
The Accident. That’s what everyone had started calling it. Or at least, that’s what they called it when he was in the room. Alfred had no idea if they spoke of it differently when he wasn’t around, though if the hushed tones and timid glances that had reliably followed him since he’d returned were any indication, he’d be shocked if the euphemism wasn’t an attempt at personal courtesy.
He’d regained every one of his 218 pounds on the journey home, and as he’d laid there bobbing in the ocean, boneless and swaddled inside the cramped pod, he’d never been so relieved to feel the crushing burden of gravity. It took a little less than an hour for the welcome wagon to arrive and fish him out of the Atlantic. When they extricated him from the hull, the tears had only partially dried on his face, and not a single person had said anything about it. There’d been several photographers there to capture the occasion, as was typical, but ultimately the only stills released to the media were ones where his face was obscured or turned away. The American public did not need to see their nation puffy-eyed and weepy.
He hadn’t prepared any verbose or witty homecoming remarks as he had for missions past. He thanked the crew and allowed himself to be manhandled into a seat, where he’d be helped out of his suit, buckled in, and sit catatonic while medics reviewed his vitals.
As they approached the shore, Alfred could feel his heart reknitting itself back into his land in more desperate knots than ever before, an ironclad tangle that he felt might never come undone.
“Welcome back, Commander!” The administrator had come in person to welcome him, and was all smiles as he was disembarked. He’d tried to reciprocate, but gravity’s pull on the corners of his mouth outclassed him.
“Thank you, ma'am,” was all he’d said, a paltry grin quivering. His focus was on the solid ground under his toes. “Relieved to be back.” It was an understatement for the ages.
Keep reading