Not a dream. A nightmare. A nightmare Dylan'd had more times than he'd care to count since the day his world was torn apart. In the nightmare -- the memory, the true events that had actually happened, had changed Dylan's world even before the black hole stole his life -- the bridge was the Andromeda Ascendant's, not the Enterprise's. The crew was High Guard, not Starfleet, and there were just two of them, Dylan and Dawn. It was the middle of a battle, a desperate gamble as they tried to escape their deaths, not this moment of traveling through space unmolested save by Q.
The thing that hadn't changed was the man standing in the middle of the room, bone blades extended, fingers held in a deceptively relaxed-looking position next to the weapon at his side. Not the uniform, not the cool voice that he remembered too well, that had called taunts across the Andromeda's bridge during that last fight when the friendship he'd relied on most turned to violence.
Gaheris Rhade, alive and apparently well, looking like he'd just stepped out of the past. Dylan, though, looked different than the last time they'd met: his hair shorter and no longer curling at the back, his face older than it should be after less than two years, aged by the stress he's seen.
"The USS Enterprise."
Dylan's hand, too, dropped to his side, near to his force lace. The last time he'd seen Gaheris, he'd been forced to kill him.
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Not a dream. A nightmare. A nightmare Dylan'd had more times than he'd care to count since the day his world was torn apart. In the nightmare -- the memory, the true events that had actually happened, had changed Dylan's world even before the black hole stole his life -- the bridge was the Andromeda Ascendant's, not the Enterprise's. The crew was High Guard, not Starfleet, and there were just two of them, Dylan and Dawn. It was the middle of a battle, a desperate gamble as they tried to escape their deaths, not this moment of traveling through space unmolested save by Q.
The thing that hadn't changed was the man standing in the middle of the room, bone blades extended, fingers held in a deceptively relaxed-looking position next to the weapon at his side. Not the uniform, not the cool voice that he remembered too well, that had called taunts across the Andromeda's bridge during that last fight when the friendship he'd relied on most turned to violence.
Gaheris Rhade, alive and apparently well, looking like he'd just stepped out of the past. Dylan, though, looked different than the last time they'd met: his hair shorter and no longer curling at the back, his face older than it should be after less than two years, aged by the stress he's seen.
"The USS Enterprise."
Dylan's hand, too, dropped to his side, near to his force lace. The last time he'd seen Gaheris, he'd been forced to kill him.
"Hello, Gaheris."