Let it breathe, let it breathe, let it breathe for the space cadets

Hallucination

Don was seated in the pilot's chair the next night with his head facing up. He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching the front. He had his eyes closed, feeling drowsy, then heard the brush of clothing against the chair. His eyes opened. Recalling that he was the only one on the bridge. John was fast asleep. And the only one who would normally be awake at this hour would be the doctor who sometimes stood up after Will made a discovery on some days. Someone who wasn't presently there. Someone who had deliberately fallen out in the wilderness, mercilessly, attacked and left for dead recovering for his wounds. The imagery of Smith laid on his side coughing out his own blood, so alone, covered in scars and his hair disheveled broke Don's heart. Don felt that he wasn't alone even though he had to be.

"You shouldn't let your guilt eat you up, Major," Smith said.

Don had a snort.

"Says the person who acts like he doesn't have any," Don said.

There was a bemused chuckle.

"Coming from the man thinking he is hearing someone who isn't there," Smith said. "I am baffled how you can reply to that."

Don looked over toward the seat beside him observing Smith in the same garb that he had last seen him in at the space academy with the face of a commander not of a fifty some year old man. He had his arms folded leaning into the chair with one eye open looking on toward the major with the ghostliest of a smile. Don shook his head looking away from the undoubtedly a hallucination.

"I don't get you," Don said. "You could have gone to the caves or came back. Why didn't you?"

"Fear, terror, self preservation took over and I believed I could fight it," Smith replied. "Tired of being seen as the weak link. I had to prove myself to you that I could survive alone."

"You were trapped in a corner," Don said.

"Everyone has to make a sacrifice," Smith said. "I don't expect you to understand mine."

"I can understand sacrifices but fighting a werewolf?" he shook his head. "That is not a sacrifice. There was no sacrifice to be made."

"I respect you as a colleague and nemesis," Smith said. "I thought it was worth a shot. Sacrifice a chance at getting out instead of letting fear control me. I thought you would approve of that."

"Yeah, but you lost that battle," Don said.

"Who says I ever lost the fight to live?" Smith asked.

Don looked toward the man.

"Why are you like that?" Don asked.

"Like what?" Smith asked, raising a brow.

"In that uniform," Don twirled his finger.

"It is the way you remember me, Major," Smith said. "Whole and well. The last sight that you had seen me as before it happened to me. You are speaking to yourself after all."

Don looked up toward the night sky.

"I don't like talking to myself," Don said.

"Neither do I," Smith said. "It's bad form of company. Talking to yourself. Going mad."

"Which you are," Don said.

"Major. . ." was softly started then started to turn sharp. "What happened to me wasn't your fault."

"That is bullshit and you know it," Don said, looking toward the older man feeling hurt.

"You wagered, yes, you did," Smith said, his voice softening. "And like everyone among the crew wanted to see me actively learn from my mistake but what happened afterwards was entirely my mistake and mine alone," Don looked toward the figure who had a pillow behind his head. "Yet, you blame yourself for something that was not in your control. You still feel responsible because you were suppose to make sure everyone under your charge made it to Alpha Centauri. Stowaway, rescue, or a hitchhiker it doesn't matter to you. Don't blame yourself. The professor is experiencing that self-blame on a great level than you can possibly imagine. . . Like I said," Smith had his index finger rubbing against the edge of his eyebrow. "You don't want that eating you up."

Don briefly closed his eyes then opened them.

"How do you know?" Don asked.

"Because Major, it is my job to know these sort of things," Smith said.

"You are not actively being a doctor," Don said.

"I never stopped being a psychologist," Smith said.

"You don't normally show that," Don said.

"I may not be in control of myself but I do know where there is damage in my mind and how it can be healed," Smith replied. "Right now, I am merely positive energy lurking about the realm of darkness hooking on to anything keeping a part of myself alive under a delusion that everything is alright." he had a pause clearing his throat gazing toward the night sky tapping his fingers together in his lap. "There are many things I am guilty of, ashamed, and regretful of. But what I regret the most about this situation is bringing you into pain than neccessary. And I hoped I stopped the worst of it with my sacrifice. You and the Robinsons alive and well is the best deal I have ever made. I would gladly trade a extended life span for the chance that you get to Alpha Centauri."

Don closed his eyes.

"How can you be so content about this?" Don asked, looking toward the silent older man. "Because I am not."

"Am I happy about it?" There was a pause. "Yes." And it made Don so angry. "I have no regrets about what I have done but not for the emotional aftermath. I did not intend for you to be the executor of my fate."

"Yeah, well, we are not all psychics, Smith," Don said, as Smith got up from the chair then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Except you could have seen it coming a mile away. So confident that nothing was going to go wrong. You didn't consider something like a space werewolf happening."

Don's shoulder was squeezed.

"I am truly sorry for the pain that I have given you," Smith apologized. "I wish it didn't have to be this way to save you. I look forward to seeing the children grow up, this time, and you having your happily ever after with the eldest daughter," Don felt the hand on his shoulder go slack. "Even if I make these situations occur where we are separated from Earth for a long period of time to have that kind of happiness."

The hand went off Don's shoulder then he heard the footsteps walk away.

"Apology not accepted," Don said.

The footsteps paused.

"Dear old friend, what ever you did to me or told me . . ." Smith faced the man sideways away from a cool yet warm comfortable breeze coming from across with fondness in his voice. "I always forgave you for that. And always will."

The footsteps walked away and became soundless as they sounded like they were heading toward the elevator. Real, solid footsteps. Don turned from the chair to spot there was a flicker of red light vanishing from the elevator. Don got up from the chair then picked up the head pillow appearing to be baffled. Don went to the elevator then slid aside the barrier and pressed the button down. He needed to go to bed. He closed the rail then waited for the elevator car to go down.