The Autobiography Of An Alien

Interlude: Valorous Viktor

He was... numb. Yeah, that'd be the word to describe it.

It, like his dad's death was just something to brush off. Like losing the person whose mere presence in his thoughts had kept him going during times where he hadn't wanted to was just some footnote in his life, not worth mentioning more than once.

Viktor had never known pain quite like this.

He thought he did. The aching wound in his chest when Vok'Rul had left him on Earth had hurt, but the alien had been alive and it was only after a few months until they could talk again. Viktor would never see his dad again, and that ripped him to shreds.

His dad had been his rock. He encouraged him to go to his therapy sessions, do his voice exercises, get out of bed when he had last been like this. So muddied in despair that he could barely move. But now, his dad was gone and Viktor was untethered.

He barely knew how he'd gotten through the funeral. Sorry for your loss had rung constantly in his ears, and he'd grown so, so sick of it. His loss wasn't something that could be brushed away with a simple sorry. The days sort of blurred together until one day, he opened his eyes and realized that, yes, his dad was really gone. Just like that.

Viktor didn't know what he was going to do without his dad.

So he just... didn't do anything.

Viktor existed, but he didn't live. Vok'Rul shoved food down his throat and urged him to sit on the couch every once in a while, but what was the point if he could just lie in bed? The last time he'd been as depressed as this, his dad was there, and every time Vok'Rul tapped on the door, he'd look over and expect his dad.

It hurt more every time. So he just stopped looking.

He could hear Vikka cry outside his door, and he'd feel bad, really, but Vikka had two dads, he didn't need him. Yet, every time, Vikka would get dropped onto his bed and clamber up his immobile body, poking and prodding him in all the painful spots he could possibly reach. He'd rest his little head on Viktor's chest and babble mournfully. All Viktor could do was hold him.

It got easier to breathe every single day, even if the fog never lifted for long. Vikka helped - he had to be at least a little aware when the hatchling was in the room; who knows what an alien baby just starting to crawl would get up to. Plus, it broke his heart to hear him crying.

And when Vok'Rul and Thruul were muttering amongst themselves, Vikka did something really weird. Weirder than usual, he supposed, at least for baby aliens.

Vikka sat on his chest, and Viktor idly supported him with his hands around his chubby arms. He started squinting, really hard, and for a second Viktor thought he was taking a dump, which meant he'd have to get up because his diapers were in the other room, and Viktor really didn't want to change a diaper right now - but then his eyes started to glow.

And Viktor almost freaked out. Almost. Because all he could say was, "Vik-" before his brain got assaulted.

It was way louder than the Spirits. By like, a bazillion. Even more than a bazillion. What was bigger than bazillion? Ultramegasuperzillion?

Feelings of LOVELOVELOVE, pure childish love filled his every sense. It made him feel warm and happy and content, but all he could do was gape like a fish and feel his tears stream down his face.