06-01-2024, 05:19 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2024, 05:23 AM by Peter Jensen.)
Peter listened to her, transfixed by her now in a way he hadn't been before. It felt as if time seemed to stand still. As if this moment would contain all other moments there had been, were now, and would be.
It was as if he actually saw her for the first time. Not just as a subordinate, nor even as a fellow officer. But....as a person. A woman. That realization filled him at once with both utter shame, and wonder at the same time.
He didn't precisely "stare" at her, but he definitely saw her. As in saw her now. And his heart was racing. Had he been a Vulcan, or a doctor, or a Vulcan doctor, he'd probably have said that it was the poisoned tea which was about to mess him up. But that was not all of it. He hung on her every word now. Every move, every twitch. The moment was almost trancendental.
He finished the last of his blursed tea and knew that it would soon hit him like a charging targ. He had so many feelings, and didn't know how to express them. This was one part of life which he had never been good at. He could turn a phrase, give a rousing speech and lead men in combat well enough. But...being vulnerable like this was something he was not good at, and he didn't know what to do with himself.
Peter was about to say something else as he looked at her, and that's where there freight train, crazed targ, or whichever other metaphor one might want to use, hit him and his eyes turned big and wide like the mill wheels of the eyes of the third dog in the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen.
When he opened his mouth as if to speak, a pain even worse than man-flu struck him in the gut and he crumbled over forwards a bit, taken aback by it, but remained seated, impressively enough.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all of his carpenter friends!", he exclaimed through clenched teeth. He wasn't religious as such, but once having heard that exclamation from a friend at the Academy, and thought it was hilarious, it had stuck with him. Used very infrequently, but this occasion definitely merited it and it came out without him even thinking about it. This was a pain like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The nausea had hit him a few moments before this, but he'd done his best to try to push it aside and focus on the moment. Now he realized that it had been a warning, a "Buckle up, buckaroo!"-moment which he had ignored. And had been caught completely off guard because of it.
As he was hunched over clutching his stomach, trying to stop himself from writhing in agony because he still had the presence of mind to know where he was and who he was with, he wondered for a moment if it had been worth it.
And one thought kept pushing itself to the front of his mind, even through the impenetrable jungle of pain:
Of course it was!
It was as if he actually saw her for the first time. Not just as a subordinate, nor even as a fellow officer. But....as a person. A woman. That realization filled him at once with both utter shame, and wonder at the same time.
He didn't precisely "stare" at her, but he definitely saw her. As in saw her now. And his heart was racing. Had he been a Vulcan, or a doctor, or a Vulcan doctor, he'd probably have said that it was the poisoned tea which was about to mess him up. But that was not all of it. He hung on her every word now. Every move, every twitch. The moment was almost trancendental.
He finished the last of his blursed tea and knew that it would soon hit him like a charging targ. He had so many feelings, and didn't know how to express them. This was one part of life which he had never been good at. He could turn a phrase, give a rousing speech and lead men in combat well enough. But...being vulnerable like this was something he was not good at, and he didn't know what to do with himself.
Peter was about to say something else as he looked at her, and that's where there freight train, crazed targ, or whichever other metaphor one might want to use, hit him and his eyes turned big and wide like the mill wheels of the eyes of the third dog in the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen.
When he opened his mouth as if to speak, a pain even worse than man-flu struck him in the gut and he crumbled over forwards a bit, taken aback by it, but remained seated, impressively enough.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all of his carpenter friends!", he exclaimed through clenched teeth. He wasn't religious as such, but once having heard that exclamation from a friend at the Academy, and thought it was hilarious, it had stuck with him. Used very infrequently, but this occasion definitely merited it and it came out without him even thinking about it. This was a pain like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The nausea had hit him a few moments before this, but he'd done his best to try to push it aside and focus on the moment. Now he realized that it had been a warning, a "Buckle up, buckaroo!"-moment which he had ignored. And had been caught completely off guard because of it.
As he was hunched over clutching his stomach, trying to stop himself from writhing in agony because he still had the presence of mind to know where he was and who he was with, he wondered for a moment if it had been worth it.
And one thought kept pushing itself to the front of his mind, even through the impenetrable jungle of pain:
Of course it was!