Chapter Text
The morning of July 19th is bright.
Jared squints and rolls over, kicking his covers off. It's hot, but he buries his face in his pillow to block out the sunlight. Totally worth it.
"Didn't think you'd want to spend your twelfth birthday sleeping all day."
Jared's eyes pop open and he sits up. "Steven?"
Steven Williams sits in the chair besides Jared's bed, his display device on his lap. "Yeah, kid," he smiles, putting it on the bedside table. "Been waiting an hour for you to get up."
Jared hasn't hugged anyone for a few years, but he'll make an exception for Steven. Just for Steven. "How did you get leave to come?"
"Being the captain has its advantages, you know," Steven says, hugging Jared back. "Arranged shore leave for Sydney at an opportune time is all."
Jared grins at him and hops back on his bed. "Are you staying the whole day?"
"Whole day's free," Steven confirms.
"You keep saying that you're going to let me go with you for a few weeks when I got older," Jared reminds him. "I'm old enough now."
"We can talk about that later," Steven says, smile faltering briefly. Jared grits his teeth; his mother must have already said no. "I figured you'd want to see my present first."
Jared peers over as Steven pulls a tiny package out of his bag, handing it over. He runs his fingers along the wrapping paper.
"Open it," Steven laughs, and Jared rips it the paper off with one tug, opening the box. It's a device that fits neatly in the palm of his hand, with three colored lights sitting above a small speaker.
"It's a communicator," Steven says. "It belonged to my dad; he gave it to me when I was about your age. 'S a special one, mind you. It only goes to me, so you can chat with me whenever you want to. Just you and me."
Jared stares at it, then up at Steven. "You're giving it to me?"
"Who else?" Steven says, but his smile grows a bit dimmer. "I might not be able to give it to someone of my own" - Jared hears the unspoken anymore " - but you're my son in every way that counts."
Jared's throat closes up and his eyes get a little blurry; he clears his throat and clutches the communicator tightly. "Thanks," is all he can manage to say.
"You're welcome," Steven nods, his smile going crooked. "Now hurry up and get dressed. I'll make you guys some breakfast and then we can head out for the day."
"Mom?"
Steven bites his lip. "She had to work today, kid."
"Right," Jared mumbles. "Okay, I'll get dressed."
"Good kid," Steven says, ruffling his hair. Jared glares at him as he leaves the room and smoothes it back down.
Jared takes another look at the comm, poking at the lights. It's awesome. The only gift he's ever gotten from a father.
Someone taps on his door and opens it; Jared's brother peers inside, his own package in his hands.
"What did he give you?" Sam asks, and Jared holds it out proudly.
"Why do you need that?" Sam says, crossing his arms. "It's stupid."
Jared frowns. "You're just jealous."
Sam rolls his eyes and turns away, muttering under his breath. "Whatever."
"What's that?" Jared says, pointing at the package.
Sam flushes. "Nothing," he says, looking at the comm in Jared's hands.
"Come on," Jared insists. "Let me see!"
The wrap job is sloppier than Steven's, but Jared takes more care in tearing it off, revealing a remote controlled starship.
"Stupid," Sam shrugs.
Jared holds it up to the light. "Did you build this?"
Sam shrugs again, running a skinny hand through his hair. He's still so skinny, even after their doctor wrote up a diet plan for him to follow. Bags sit under his eyes, bags that haven't gone away, even in the past five months. Jared hears him in the middle of the night, the nightmares that Sam thinks he's hiding, and Jared frowns.
"Yeah," Sam says, looking unimpressed, but Jared knows better.
"It's awesome," Jared says, grinning. "Can we test it out after breakfast?"
"Nah," Sam says. "You and Steven are doing something today."
Jared furrows his brow. "You're not coming?"
"Nah," Sam repeats. He looks out the window. "You guys go ahead. Happy birthday, ass munch."
If Jared had known that Sam would be gone only seven months after Jared's twelfth birthday, he would have insisted further, maybe he would have -
Sorry, man. I don't know what else there is to say. I had to do what I had to do.
It's not your fault. Maybe in a few years things will be different. Look, until then, just - just don't do anything stupid, okay?
It's stuck under the fruit bowl. The fucking fruit bowl. His mother's quiet when he tells her, then she hangs up abruptly, leaving Jared standing in the kitchen alone.
She doesn't bring Sam up for the next six years, and Jared doesn't feel particularly inclined to do so, either. He tries to ignore imagining Sam's face when Jared joins the Navy (you can't trust them, Jared, they'll fucking leave you to rot in a minute, didn't you learn anything?). Steven's comm is the first (and last) thing he checks for as he packs; he doesn't pay any mind to the sound of disapproval his mother gives when she sees his enlistment form.
His first flight simulation shows him that he can do it. He can do this job. Bright lights blind him and screaming roars in his ears; the ship tips over and over, throwing him to bang into walls. His shoulder pops out of his socket but he barely feels the pain, only focusing on the job at hand.
When he rewires the panel, stabilizing the ship, he turns around, seeing one of his fellow cadets on the floor, mouth opening soundlessly, his face scrunched up in pain. The supervising doctor kneels beside him and runs diagnostics.
"Heart attack," she says. "Get him ready for transport."
Jared watches in horror, but his own heartbeat is slow and steady, and he finds out three hours later that the cadet dropped out of the academy.
Steven calls him that night, and Jared slips out of his dorm room into the hallway.
"Heard you did well."
"Guess so," Jared mumbles. "Not so much for Cadet Jackson."
"Heard about that, too," Steven sighs. "I hate to sound cold, but that's the point of simulations. To see who can measure up and who can't. Some people's physiology is weaker than others. Some mental capacities aren't acceptable."
"I know," Jared says, ducking through some of the other cadets to steal a study lounge.
Steven normally can cheer him up - they talk once a week on their communicator; even when Steven's buried in paperwork, he always makes time for Jared.
This time, though, still feeling unsettled, he sets the comm down on his table.
He had no idea what it would do for him in fourteen years.