The Antidote

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The Antidote

I’m not saying this in a bid for sympathy, no matter what it sounds like, but it isn’t easy being the Vice-Admiral’s son. Maybe it would have been easier if Mother had been there… or maybe not, because she had only been out of the service for a year after I was born before getting reactivated.

I never blamed her for that. It’s hard to play the blame game when you understand the bigger reasons why your parents are doing the things they do, and Mother and Father always made sure to tell me those reasons.

Which made it hard when Mother was killed in a skirmish with the Drules.

We had rendezvoused with Father’s ship just a week before, to “transfer personnel” – in other words, me – and I saw something in their eyes that made me cling to Mother in a way I never had before. At eight years old, I had no idea what I was seeing, but now… they looked at each other as if they wanted to store up every moment until the next time they saw each other again. Father took a step toward her, to embrace her as they said goodbye. But then someone with orders for her to sign walked into the shuttle bay and he could only salute her instead.

To this day, I want to believe he was going to relieve her of command and pull her into his arms and just keep her with us forever, even though I know he never would. She was too good a captain for that.

After Mother was killed, Father was in no shape to deal with me. He could barely deal with his own grief and guilt, much less mine. So I learned how to bottle my feelings up inside and pretend that things didn’t bother me as much as they did and be a good son.

A couple of years later, Father managed to pry himself out of his regrets to see me and he realized that I was nearly 11. I knew more about strategy and maneuvering and bureaucratic red tape than any other 11 year-old in the galaxy, but I had no idea who the first world president of Terra was.

I didn’t want to leave; shipboard life was pretty much all I knew and Father was all I had. The only way Father got me to agree to go peacefully was by sitting me down and telling me that this was the only way I could get into the Academy. Didn’t I want to make him and Mother proud?

I looked down and felt ashamed, blushing and muttering that of course I did. So it was settled.

All my time before leaving to begin the fall semester at school was spent in trying to catch up to what the “normal” 11 year-olds knew. I bet no normal 11 year-old could field strip a laser rifle and reassemble it in two minutes.

It was hard to get used to boarding school, because for the longest time, I missed the thrum of the engines lulling me to sleep, and I kept expecting depressurization drills when the teachers called my name.

And the other kids… Well, they were kids and I was a newcomer, and as soon as they discovered I didn’t know all the things they knew, I was singled out as an object for ridicule. They didn’t dare try bullying me after I threw one of the 13 year-olds into the corridor wall hard enough to nearly knock him unconscious, and then broke his friend’s wrist. All the time I’d spent watching hand-to-hand practice shipboard had paid off, and I was still alive and undamaged.

I was alone, but I was used to that. Father’s visits were infrequent, verging on non-existent, and I often spent summer terms at school as well.

High school was easier in many ways, as I transferred to a different school. It was a clean slate, and by then I had caught up with – and mostly surpassed – my peers’ knowledge, so they couldn’t tease me for what everybody knew.

But in every way that mattered to a hormone-ridden teenager, it was pure hell. I wasn’t completely socially inept, but the way I’d been mocked over my lisp wasn’t really confidence-inspiring, and I just couldn’t bring myself to ask any of the girls out for a date.

When I wasn’t living in a little bubble of unrequited lust, I was a seething mass of wrath and resentment and, yes, blame. And guilt for being so angry for such unfocused reasons, which just intensified the anger in a cycle I had no idea how to stop… or even if I wanted to.

For the first time since Mother was killed, I felt free. Free of the specter of her death, free of Father’s shadow, free to be who and what I wanted to be… even if it was this person who hated and raged and vented without a moment to consider anyone else’s feelings. Part of me didn’t really like that person, but the rest of me just kind of reveled in doing things because I could, not because someone told me to.

Looking back at me, I see that confused pretty much describes everything. Not that I was truly aware of that then.

And of course, that was when I started using.

I know – straight-arrow Jeff, bound by rules and regs until I feel like a mummy, using drugs? Did the world tilt off its axis somehow?

But no, that was what really happened. That first hit was amazing, even more freeing than I’d expected….It was like all that confusion that I didn’t know I had just melted away, and everything made sense. I didn’t remember the why when I woke up again, naturally, just that it had, and that was reason enough to keep on using, because next time, maybe I would remember.

Teenage rebellion, experimentation, belief in my own invincibility and immortality – whatever rationale you want to apply probably fits. I knew it was stupid, but for a while, I just couldn’t seem to stop myself.

My grades started to slip a little, then a little more until I was skating the line of academic probation. Then all of a sudden I was facing suspension and possibly expulsion for losing control and pounding another boy into the mat during a self-defense class demonstration.

And I didn’t even care until I saw the bloody mess I’d made of his face. Then I felt sick to my stomach.

That night, sitting in the dark in my room, I really did some thinking. Even though I was still caught up in resentment against my father, I knew that I wanted nothing more than to be a fighter pilot. To do that, I had to go to the Academy, and I couldn’t do that if I got expelled from this school. The Academy didn’t want troublemakers, and Father had made it clear in his latest disappointed message that he wouldn’t – or maybe couldn’t – pull any strings for me to get into the Academy if I got expelled. I had to make it in on my own or that was it.

And the person I was becoming was clearly not fighter pilot material in any way, shape or form. A pilot – any officer – couldn’t be so hot-headed as to just go off at the slightest provocation.

So I pulled myself together, and pulled myself back into my shell. I turned myself back into the good son, the boy that didn’t have any desires or needs or wants of his own, other than that drive to become a pilot. Father’s influence was enough to clear the threat of expulsion, and my turnaround did the rest.

I kept my stash, though. Don’t get your hopes up; it wasn’t for any moral reason – to strengthen my resolve or whatever. I kept it because I thought that maybe I’d need it later, that I could control it, maybe, I don’t know. I just kept it.

I made it, though, at the top of my class, and my application to the Academy went through without question.

I thought I’d gotten used to being alone again; I’d had to turn away from the few friends I’d made at high school when I decided to apply myself again. But at the Academy, after that first week or so when nobody knew who I was, I was treated to the same whispers behind my back as I had when I started school. This time, though, it was whispers of favoritism, nepotism, and speculation about how easy it was for me to ace my classes.

I knew I couldn’t respond to any of it without making it worse, so I just went on, pretending that nothing bothered me, that I didn’t hear the not-quite-soft-enough accusations, that I had what I wanted.

After a while, I managed to convince myself that I did, that I didn’t have any wants or desires or needs, that what I had was enough.

Then came the day I was run down outside the library by another cadet. Books scattered everywhere, I landed on my ass and just sat there, blinking stupidly up into a set of sea blue eyes that were simply filled with mortification.

“Ah, shite!” the cadet moaned, running both hands through his short-cropped black hair. “I’m so sorry, mate, just wasn’t lookin’ where I was goin’! Here,” and he stretched out a hand. “Up ye go.” He hauled me to my feet with ease, strength belying his skinny frame. “I can’t tell ye how sorry I am…” He reached out as if to brush the grass and dirt off my rear, then thought better of it.

“It’s all right,” I said at last, and passed my hands a couple times across the seat of my uniform. “No harm done.”

“Just to yer pride,” he said mournfully, and his cheeks flushed a bit. “And it’s kind of ye to be sayin’ that, but I still feel bad for knockin’ into ye…”

I just shrugged, having already pretty much exhausted my conversational skills. “Don’t worry about it,” I added, and that was really pushing the envelope for me.

The bells tolled across the quad and suddenly we were scrambling to pick up books and papers and rushing away before we were late to class. And of course, in our hurry, I’d picked up his ballistics text, while he had my history of spaceflight and colonization.

He was waiting for me outside the lecture hall when class was over. Shuffling from one foot to the other, he held out my textbook with a sheepish little grin. “It’s the same size as my ballistics… Aye,” he finished, as I returned his book to him. “Thank you. I’m Shannon, by the by, but you can call me Shan.”

For a second, I hardly knew how to respond. It had been too long since I’d had such a friendly smile directed my way. “I’m Jeff…” My hand twitched forward a little, and he took it in a warm, firm grip.

“Pleased t’meet ye.” He kept hold of my hand for longer than I expected, as if to keep my attention. “Are ye takin’ ballistics with Professor Morgenstern?” he asked curiously. Then, as if realizing we were still joined at the hands, he let go and we turned as one to go outside.

“Yes. Why?” In contrast, my tone held very little interest at all.

It didn’t seem to deter him. “’Cause I thought it might be helpful to study with someone,” he replied cheerfully. “An’ if you understand it, even better.”

I stopped still and just stared at him, not quite able to process what he’d said. He wanted to… be in my company. He wasn’t talking about me, he was talking to me. And, as suddenly as I’d fallen on my ass earlier, I realized that I did have things I wanted or needed and that I had been denied. I needed human contact. I needed people, as much as I thought I hadn’t.

When I focused back on the real world again, Shannon was studying me, his ready smile tinged with confusion. “You all right?” he asked softly.

Somehow, I remembered how to smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What time? To study,” I clarified when he just blinked. “You did ask…”

His grin was blinding. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Tonight after dinner? I’ll meet you out in front of the library… if you trust me there, that is.”

Still smiling, I nodded. He clapped me on the shoulder and trotted off, heading for his next class.

It was some time later that I noticed how my face ached.

So I met with Shannon and we studied – kind of. Mostly, though, he just talked and occasionally asked questions about the ballistics assignment that was due the next day.

It was… nice. It was more than nice. From time to time, I caught myself watching him across the table, how he chewed on the end of his stylus, or how his features softened when he was lost in thought, how his eyes and hands danced when he made a point.

My face hurt when we finished up our ballistics homework, but I didn’t really care. And even though I had made some mistakes, distracted as I was by Shan’s presence, I was more than willing to do it again.

Studying ballistics turned into studying all the classes we were taking, even if we weren’t taking the same ones. Somewhere along the line, studying became an excuse to just… hang out, a teenage phenomenon that I had experienced only briefly. I discovered I enjoyed it.

After a while, the muscles in my face stopped aching whenever I spent time around him.

Now here’s the honest truth. It took me a long time to recognize what I felt while I was with him, because I hadn’t felt it in a very long time. It was the same feeling that I’d had when Mother and Father and I were together, a feeling of… rightness, of contentment. And I saw that everything I thought I had felt while I was taking the drugs was just a pale imitation, that this was the real thing. Shan was something strong, like a drug, and I got high in his company without even trying.

I liked it. I liked it so much I finally threw out that ancient stash.

So for the rest of the year, we studied and stressed about exams (mostly Shan), and hung out watching vids, sometimes with other cadets Shan knew. Sometimes we talked, and he told me about his mother, his soft Irish brogue becoming thicker and more pronounced.

Eventually, I told him about Mother; he already knew a little about Father, having asked during one of our study sessions about something he’d observed.

“Hey, Jeff.” When I looked up, he twiddled his stylus before putting it down. “Why is it that I’m the only person ye talk to? Or that talks to ye, for that matter?”

“My father is the Vice-Admiral,” I replied, just like it was no news, and Shan just blinked at me, frowning a little.

“An’ why on God’s green earth should that matter?” He picked up the stylus again and started tapping it against the table.

I shrugged. “I’ve overheard them from time to time. They think that my father’s influence got me in, or that the professors are padding my grades, or something.”

The tapping abruptly stopped. Shannon’s face turned pale, then red. “What?” he blurted, and I was thankful that we were in a nearly abandoned section of the library. He remembered himself – clearly with an effort – and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, though no less angry. “That’s bullshit!”

It was my turn to blink at him. I’d never seen him quite so upset.

He took a deep breath, then another, visibly trying to calm down. “They’re just jealous, Jeff,” he said after a moment. “An’ idiots besides. If they’d bother t’ get t’ know ye, they’d see that yer da’s influence didn’t have a bloody thing t’ do with ye bein’ accepted. An’ as for the other, they’re not usin’ the brains God gave ‘em, ‘cause any prof who’d do that is just beggin’ t’ be defrocked and tossed out on his arse. Bloody bunch o’ morons,” he finished under his breath, shaking his head.

Feeling my astonished gaze, he looked up and shrugged deprecatingly, as if his words hadn’t meant a thing. “Sorry, just irks me when people do things like that.”

It was a long time before I was able to concentrate on my assignment after that.

I was surprised by the feeling of gloom that settled over me as the second semester drew to a close. Shannon had to return home to work for the summer, so he could attend the Academy again next year, and I was missing him before he even left. My days had been so filled with his presence that his absence was… almost painful.

I was so glad to see him again at the start of the fall semester that I was the one who actually initiated the hug, but he threw himself into it whole-heartedly, and laughed and pounded my back.

Okay, I shouldn’t make it sound like we were always in harmony and never disagreed, because that’s not the case at all. No matter how much I had tried to bury it, I was still pretty hot-tempered, and by befriending me, Shannon had brought the real me to the surface. Not to mention that Shan had a pretty short fuse as well.

While I eventually unbent enough to let the real me out and make other friends – mostly cadets that Shan was also friends with – Shan was still my best and closest friend. That unbending was hard, though; it was so difficult to unlearn the lessons I’d taught myself. I knew without even really thinking about it that I’d never be able to bring myself to be as close to them as I was to Shan.

So, even though I was still a little naïve when it came to friends and friendships, I still had an inkling that something was… well, not wrong, but certainly not quite right when I realized that I was thinking about Shan while masturbating in the shower.

The thing of it was that once I realized that, I had to admit that I’d been doing it for a while.

And I couldn’t talk to the one person I wanted to, because he would pry out of me everything I was trying to keep from him. And then… I just couldn’t bear thinking about what would happen then.

Being my wonderfully well-adjusted self, I did what I always did – I retreated into myself, pretended that I wasn’t attracted to my best friend and just tried to cover up that I was confused as hell by ignoring everything but my course work.

Shan didn’t like being ignored.

Since Shan had drawn me out of my self-imposed shell, he knew all the ways to keep me out of it, and despite being as stubborn as I could possibly be, his head was harder, and he kept at it until he got what he wanted. The fact that I wanted to be around him didn’t mean that I wasn’t… well, an ass. I never meant to be so cold, but it was what I had taught myself. It was how I reacted to everything I couldn’t deal with.

And I really couldn’t deal with what I was feeling for Shan.

I’m kind of surprised that he didn’t give up on me, but he didn’t, and I’m grateful.

We managed to get through the rest of our time at the Academy with our friendship still intact, which was more than I’d hoped for. Our first postings, however, were on separate ships, and I kind of hoped that the distance would take care of the attraction and just leave us with friendship.

As I’d discovered before, though, not having Shannon around hurt. But since I had the time and the luxury of space away from him, I took advantage. Since I was more used to locking feelings away than examining them, it wasn’t easy.

It didn’t get any easier when I realized I loved him.

Our second tours were also separate, but less than a year in, both of us and several of the other cadets we were friends with were recalled to form the Voltron team. My time was up.

I was more relieved than I could say that the tine apart hadn’t damaged our friendship, and being around him again was… a balm to my soul. I had found the missing part of me.

Which brings me to now.

Our lives are short bouts of intense danger separated by long stretches of boredom. It seems that every time we discover a new planet, the Drules try to take it away from us, and more often than not, they destroy it in the process.

If they’re facing the same overcrowding we are, their “if we can’t have it, no one will” policy isn’t doing them any favors, either.

Today was another hard-fought battle, another planet saved from teetering on the edge of devastation… but I can’t say that it was a victory. Not when Shan is lying here in the infirmary, his face whiter than the bandages swathed around his chest and head.

I don’t know what happened or when. I just knew that it did, knew it in the jolt of my heart when he didn’t answer my hail. I dogged the medics all the way back to the infirmary, paced the waiting room while he was in surgery, then took up residence by his bedside, clutching his hand like a lifeline. I’ll be here when he wakes up, too, even if it means I have to commandeer one of the other beds and stay here all night and day.

We’ve had close calls before, but nothing like this, and right now, all I can think about is… what if he doesn’t wake up?

The doctors say he will, that he lost a lot of blood but they repaired the damage done and are giving him fluids, that he’ll be fine. But seeing him so very still, his features so slack… I can’t help but think of it.

Suddenly that immortality I’d always believed we had was gone, and where before I probably would have held my feelings close and never let him know, now I have to tell him. I don’t know what I’ll do if he turns away, any more than I know what I’ll do if he feels the same.

But I love him, and I know I’ll love him regardless of what he does.

So, come on, Shan. It’s time to wake up. I never really wanted you to see the screwed up side of me, but you did. You saw it and you didn’t run away, and that… that helped me more than I ever thought it would. But now, see, I need you more than I did before, because I’m not complete without you, so you have to wake up…

***

“Cold” by Crossfade

Looking back at me I see
That I never really got it right
I never stopped to think of you
I’m always wrapped up in
Things I cannot win

You are the antidote that gets me by
Something strong
Like a drug that gets me… high

What I really meant to say
Is I’m sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold
Never meant to be so cold
What I really meant to say
Is I’m sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold Never meant to be so cold to you

And I’m sorry about all the lies
Maybe in a different light
You could see me stand on my own again
‘Cause now I can see
You were the antidote that got me by
Something strong like a drug that got me… high

Never meant to be so cold

I never really wanted you to see
The screwed up side of me that I keep
Locked inside of me so deep
It always seems to get to me
I never really wanted you to go
So many things you should have known
I guess for me there’s just no hope
I never meant to be so cold

What I really meant to say
Is I’m sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold
Never meant to be so cold