![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Memory Prose: Leaving
Trigger Item: Matryoshka Dolls
Source: Headcanon
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)
The setting: a white plaster ceiling and uncovered windows that look out on a snow-dusted neighborhood. There's a broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and eyes holding the set of dolls. A fourteen year-old boy is giving him an exasperated look.
"I can't take part of a toy to the Academy with me," the boy--Pavel, of course--protests. "They're already not going to take me seriously."
The man frowns. "Humor an old man. It's a tradition."
"It's a silly tradition."
"Your mother didn't think so." The man begins twisting the dolls open, one after another, and lining them up on the edge of the bookshelf. It's clear that not all of them are present. "I don't think so. This is important to me, Pashenka... it's important to me that you have something with you that reminds you of home. Take one."
Pavel still looks unconvinced, but he does select one of the middle dolls. "I won't need this to remind me."
"Then maybe it will remind you to come back," the man replies. He glances sadly at the remaining dolls. "It will remind you that the set will be incomplete until you bring that one back."
"I don't need a reminder for that, either." The boy slips the doll into a backpack near his feet then moves to put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm not leaving forever, Papa."
The man doesn't look at him. "It's not too late for you to change your mind and not leave at all."
"I can't."
"You don't want to. That's different."
"You're being very dramatic." The boy rolls his eyes and pulls away.
"I'm losing my son to Starfleet. I have a right to be dramatic."
"You aren't losing me. I'll visit."
"You'll forget." The man's expression softens and he pulls Pavel into a hug. "I know you, Pashenka. Your mind is already halfway to space; once you get to the Academy, there will be no bringing you back."
Pavel hugs him back. "I won't forget."
Source: Headcanon
Time: 2255 (age fourteen)
The setting: a white plaster ceiling and uncovered windows that look out on a snow-dusted neighborhood. There's a broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair and eyes holding the set of dolls. A fourteen year-old boy is giving him an exasperated look.
"I can't take part of a toy to the Academy with me," the boy--Pavel, of course--protests. "They're already not going to take me seriously."
The man frowns. "Humor an old man. It's a tradition."
"It's a silly tradition."
"Your mother didn't think so." The man begins twisting the dolls open, one after another, and lining them up on the edge of the bookshelf. It's clear that not all of them are present. "I don't think so. This is important to me, Pashenka... it's important to me that you have something with you that reminds you of home. Take one."
Pavel still looks unconvinced, but he does select one of the middle dolls. "I won't need this to remind me."
"Then maybe it will remind you to come back," the man replies. He glances sadly at the remaining dolls. "It will remind you that the set will be incomplete until you bring that one back."
"I don't need a reminder for that, either." The boy slips the doll into a backpack near his feet then moves to put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm not leaving forever, Papa."
The man doesn't look at him. "It's not too late for you to change your mind and not leave at all."
"I can't."
"You don't want to. That's different."
"You're being very dramatic." The boy rolls his eyes and pulls away.
"I'm losing my son to Starfleet. I have a right to be dramatic."
"You aren't losing me. I'll visit."
"You'll forget." The man's expression softens and he pulls Pavel into a hug. "I know you, Pashenka. Your mind is already halfway to space; once you get to the Academy, there will be no bringing you back."
Pavel hugs him back. "I won't forget."