It was all wrong.

It had those nifty levers to make it recline and such. It was comfortable. A damned sight more comfortable than the copilot's chair. It was all sorts of fun to swivel about in.

But it was wrong.

It wasn't the captain's chair.

It was the pilot's chair.

Due to the significant lack of pilot, the captain eased himself into the chair. He felt the padding fit about him. Then he felt the mend, right at the center of his back. A hard patch. A shiver went down his spine as he tried to ignore the memory of the event. The event that caused the need to mend the chair. No. He forced himself not to think about the piece of tyen-sah duh lumber. The diameter of it. The suddenness. And here he was thinking on it.

Bringing his mind back to the task at hand, he flipped the obligatory three switches before checking the nav and the panel views.

And there were the toys. The dinosaurs. No one had the heart to clear them from the bridge. Even after everything had been patched up and cleaned as good as new, those monuments remained.

He was hard pressed to continue.

He could have just sat his bum in the copilot's chair. Everything that needed done could be done from there.

But, no.

She was there. The lurker. Yet somehow, he couldn't fault her. Her presence allowed him to complete his tasks.

"So," he began, continuing to prep the ship, "You gonna ride shotgun with me, help me fly?"

"That's the plan." She said simply.

And he realized that all was well. No, not well. Not yet. But that it could be.