nexus_crossings | Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question

Not everyone who frequents the Nexus was unfortunate enough to be caught up in Khan's attack. Reynard had ended Winter in his own world and engaged in his usual annual seclusion that, as it always did, ended once he had run out of alcohol. The sight of an obliterated Nexus was not the pub crawling paradise he'd remembered it as. It seems that he's missed the action and stumbled into the aftermath. People are tired, disoriented, upset and in shock, or powering through their emotions by helping organise everyone else. Without much of a thought, Reynard falls into a group that is already working to set everything right again. Or as right as things can be set. As it turns out, an atmosphere of destruction and tragedy does wonders for a Spring-sick Winter spirit.

He looks as awful as he feels, and far more sober than he'd like to be. He's forgone his coat, but kept his gloves on and a makeshift mask for the work at hand. Reynard has volunteered for the grim task of working with the dead. In a shaded area he helps move bodies to rest side by side, covered in shrouds that have started to vary in colour as they run through their supplies. These are the ones who have not, or cannot, be identified.

It's been a long day, and it's been hard graft, and everything feels hotter than it is, especially with the cloth around his face. Reynard takes his gloves off, leans against the edge of a table, and pulls away the mask, revealing an unkempt beard. "What would you like to happen at your funeral?"

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Reynard watches Jim for a solid minute before getting another chair and planting it directly across from the captain, then sitting in it himself. He clasps his hands together and rests his elbows on his knees.

"A long time ago a wise woman told me a story about a farmer who had a family out in a secluded valley. The only bad thing about their lives was the family of wolves that lived in the same valley. One year there was a famine and it stretched on long and hard. The farmer killed his cattle and boiled his leather to feed his children and his wife, but it wasn't enough.

Then the wolf came to his home, with half the pack behind him.

"Where is your family?" Asked the wolf.

"They are dead. We had nothing to eat," said the farmer. "Where is the rest of your pack?"

"We ate them," said the wolf.

"Don't you feel your guilt? How could you do such a thing?" cried the farmer.

And the wolf replied, "Half my family lives. I can say I did everything I could for them. Can you say the same?"

"But they were your family," said the farmer.

"And I am a wolf," said the wolf."

It's a morbid story, but even if it doesn't mean anything to Jim, it will have distracted him from his own thoughts, if only momentarily. Reynard takes a moment to compose his thoughts before continuing.

"The woman who told me this said she envied me, because creatures and spirits know what they are. They know their limits, and don't feel bad because they aren't something else. Despite what you think, my friend, you do not have to feel guilt. It wasn't your fault that there was a violent man in the world, just as it isn't your fault that there are hurricanes and earthquakes. It isn't your fault that you weren't at a particular time or place, just as it isn't your fault you are flesh and bone."

The story has Jim's attention. His eyes are on Reynard's while the Spirit speaks. It's one he understands, even if it's moral is one that twists in his stomach. His gut reaction is to insist he should have been the one to get hit. To take the blow. To die to save the others.

He's done it before. But he cannot do it every time. He is flesh and bone and there are only so many miracles in the world.

"I know." He sounds bitter. Yet there is understanding to his words. "It's just all the more worse....knowing I might have been able to prevent it."

"You need to stop thinking about what isn't and think about what is." There's a stern undertone to his words and a warning glint in his eye. "The past is past. Nothing lives there, and if you decide to you'll only find yourself surrounded by ghosts. Focus on the people here, now, and the future, not your guilt and what 'could have been'."

Then he sits back and sighs. "Breathe, Jim, and enjoy breathing."

It's sound advice from a man who has had to learn that lesson very well, Jim realizes. Reynard is a spirit and one bound to a season which has existed for thousands of years on Earth. How long had it taken for Jim's friend to take that to heart?

Jim can't fathom the guilt and the torment he feels every time he loses a crew member--or anyone really--saddled with him for millennia. He'd rather die. It would be maddening.

"Breathing is pretty underrated." The captain finally answers.

"Very underrated, if you ask me." He's willing to let the topic of guilt and regret drop. The captain has enough going on without Reynard hounding him to have more durable life views.

"I once knew a sailor who nearly drowned. He breathed like most men drank. He would fill his time with taking deep, slow breaths and enjoying every second of it." Reynard tilts his head at Jim. "I suppose you don't have sailors anymore."

"I know the feeling well."

Anyone who has been starved of air in one way or another or spent too long at a high altitude where the air is so thin that simply existing is a struggle knows all too well the velvety relief of air to breathe. The soup of gases that sustains the body.

"We do, sort of. There are still trade ships across the oceans. Most of what you'd consider sailors though have moved to space though."

Most important to remember is that the captain has more than just the thrill of being alive going for him these days. His crew is relying on him to continue taking care of them and even here....Jim watches Reynard carefully with a tiny smile slowly lifting his features. It is a small and fragile thing, but Jim is starting to learn that he is no longer alone. That he can rely on others. That others care about him and his life. Jim recalls the worry and desperation in Felix's voice when he'd arrived in the Nexus. His chest tightens painfully and he nods mostly to himself.

"I still feel awful but...it wouldn't have helped anyone no matter who it was, huh."

It's not the same and they both know it, but Jim's world is probably faster and safer for it. He rumbles as he thinks on it. "That's a bit of a shame. I like sailors."

"No. It wouldn't," he confirms with a nod. He's happy to hear Jim say that, but he's not going to call attention to the difficult concession. Instead he tips his head down, eyeing the other man. "Are you sure you don't want a nightcap and a bed?"

It isn't, but that's what the Nexus is for. If Jim ever wants to experience real sailing he's more than welcome to go to Tamriel or any number of other worlds that still have such things.

His gaze flits to the shovel leaning next to his seat and the work that's left to do. Duty dictates that he continue to help here, to do what he can for those who've lost their lives to Khan and his crew. But it's been how long already?

Long enough for his limbs to feel leaden and his vision to sway when he gets up too quickly. When was the last time he's slept or eaten?

"I want to keep helping here, but I'm not sure how much longer I can before I pass out." The admission is quiet, but plain factual. Jim isn't limitless in his energy as much as he wishes it were otherwise. "I should....find Felix. Let him know I'm alright."

"Too many people here want to keep you alive for you to be working yourself to death," he quips. Reynard stands and takes the shovel so he can keep it out of the captain's hands.

"I can find your wizard friend. Go, rest."

"You sound...like my CMO."

Judging by the fain and fragile smile the comment pulls from Jim though, that's not in any way an insult of an observation. He steadies himself when he gets back to his feet. A shower and a nap will do him wonders, and then he can get back to helping out.

And if by some chance that nap turns into a well fought for proper rest and a meal to follow it, all the better for the captain.

"Tell him...I went back to th'ship."

"I'm sure your CMO is a wise and dashing man." Reynard manages to conjure a grin that, while tired, has his characteristic mischievous glint.

When Jim stands, Reynard nods and claps a hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "I will. Now, when you're done giving out orders, captain, I'm certain there's a soft bed with your name on it."

Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question

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