He sits upright, today. His wool curls marvelously, all creamy softness and no memory of blood. Vasilia wasted no time in cleaning him up properly. She’s laid out charts and papers before him, close at hand, and he’s made a valiant dent in the pile today. There will always be some matters easily resolved.

Alexa’s arrival heralds the start of a much-needed break, for the answer of 'when you are ready for tea' is a resounding 'five minutes ago.' Do not take it for an insult, She of No Arms, when the infirm Captain unscrews the thermos and pours a perfect cup without spilling a drop. He takes but a little sip, enough to warm his belly, and curls up with the cup hugged in both hands.

It is here, where you ask your question. As heart and body warm, and troubles are naturally coaxed free.

“...it is odd, being Captain.” He stares at his own reflection in the cup. “Everyone looks to you for direction, so naturally, I assumed the job would come with a great deal of scrutiny. And, it has, yes, it very much has. And yet, when I ordered a pursuit, no one noticed I gave no instructions for  when we catch up.”

Sitting here, you can see the papers more clearly now. Trajectory through the warp. Estimations of relative speed. Interior of the Plousious, as best as could be remembered. Notes, in tiny, scrawling hands, of intel overheard from duct and shadow. Compiled into a rough list of opposition: A Master of Assassins. A number of Kaeri warriors.

A single name, accompanied by a question mark.

“I keep expecting someone to come in at any moment, and ask for me to fill in the gap. I’ll have to, soon. But  I hope they give me a while longer. Not because I’m trying to stall, no. I know there’s no one else but me to make this decision, or else why have a Captain? There’s just, oh, there’s so much to consider, and every bit, I have to go over with a fine-toothed comb, and wonder if I’m just seeing what I want to instead of what’s right.”

Dolce heaves a miserable sigh, and slumps his shoulders, and the motion upsets a delicate equilibrium of documents. A star chart slides aside. A freeform, sprawling list, written in his own hand, sits ready beneath it. His eyes draw to it. They cannot help it. It is where they rest, when there is nothing else. When there is not something more pressing to hide it.

“I’ve also been, trying, to record things. Whenever I can, when they come to me. It’s not - it doesn't work if I [i]try[/i] to, it’s like there’s a great cloud over those minutes, and only, sometimes, I see something, and it’ll remind me, and then. I write. As best as I can. It’s not for the mission, really, but.” 

He shrinks around his cup of tea.

“I don’t know if I can remember it all. I think that might be a little horrible of me.”

******************************

“Apart from the odd laugh, and the air of mystery, I thought there was no use for the past. That the sooner I could be rid of it, the better.” Vasilia takes the vacant spot on the rail beside her, and the opportunity to continue. “But without it, what then is your present? How do you find a future? With no foundation to build on, you simply…are. And such you will remain.”

She watches the stars in vain. Her eye finds the blazing trail for a moment, before it is lost in a sea of its fellows, and all is blinding, intoxicating swirls of color. She stares. She follows. She blinks, again.

“In case you’ve misplaced your present, dear Alexa.” An impish smile tugs at her lips. “Currently, you are on a ship, hurtling towards your father, after winning the respect and honor of the forces he himself raised up, puzzling out how to subvert his every command to you, in hopes of discovering how to 'rescue' him away forever so he will do no harm to himself or others.”

“Is that really how the old bastard raised you?”