#chanced

Starship Enterprise continues to surprise you.

Sometimes in bad ways: you knew you shouldn’t make eye-contact with a member of the Kosha’en until they had touched you to acknowledge your presence, but you didn’t know that looking to their left rather than right was a terrible insult until you found yourself writhing on the floor at the wrong end of an energy whip.

But often in good ways. When you were applying for the posting, you hoped you and the captain would be on friendly terms, but you couldn’t have seen yourself cooking in his kitchen.

“Taste this. What do you think – more ginger?” You dip a spoon in the carrot and orange soup and offer it to Chris. Everything else for dinner is ready, or on the way: the salmon is roasting in the oven with fennel, chilli and orange and lemon slices; the Mediterranean roast vegetables that Chris had prepared are in the oven too, and the key lime pie, with a touch of dark chocolate grated on top, is chilling.

He leans across and tastes the soup on the spoon, expression going from thoughtful to a warm smile. “It’s perfect. The heat of the ginger is there – that little kick – but it doesn’t overpower the other flavours.” He tilts his head. “You need to stop worrying. Your guests are going to love it.”

You turn the heat down to the point where the soup is just being kept warm and put the lid on the saucepan. “It’s my first time cooking for company in so long. You know how it is when you don’t do something for a while.”

“We’ll have to make this a regular thing, then. Enter!” He adds, as the door chimes.

Your nerves melt away as your friends and colleagues come in. Commander Nhan is on bridge duty, and Lestari is on shift too, but Sullivan hands you a bottle of wine with a smile, closely followed by Corea, Tehrani, and Anderson. You pour wine as Chris passes round bowls of olives, and conversation soon flows.

Chris makes an excellent host, you think, as you do final checks on the food that’s still cooking. You know Corea especially had been a little anxious when you invited him, but he isn’t anymore; he’s telling some anecdote that has everyone else laughing. Chris looks over to you, a question in his expression. You nod, pouring the soup into a tureen, and he steers your guests to the table.

“Thank you for this evening,” Chris says as you load up the recycler. You’re tired, but you’re feeling that buzz that comes when your guests are gone, but you know they had a good time.

“Oh? I think that’s my line,” you say, glancing at him over your shoulder. “You let me do all this,” you gesture with the last dish before putting it in the recycler.

“I used to host the crew quite often, but… I haven’t for a while. You gave me a reason to again, and I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it.” He smiles. “Next time I’m cooking.”

“Nicola was waxing lyrical about your steak when I told him what I was doing this evening, just in case you’re looking for menu ideas…” you straighten up. “Looks like I’m done. Thank you for this evening, though. It was wonderful to cook again.” You turn to see him studying you, looking thoughtful. Your eyes meet, and just for a moment—

But no. You take a breath and smile. “See you at briefing?”

“Steak with the bridge crew next time, then. It’s a plan. Good night.”

Fresh basil with your scrambled eggs, spinach and tomatoes tastes good, and your coffee, arguably, tastes better. You’re eating breakfast in the mess hall, and everything seems right with the universe. Especially since you see Tehrani and Anderson heading your way with their trays; you’re glad for the excuse to lay aside your PADD with its somewhat dull report.

“Good morning,” you say, bright, as they sit. “How was your run?”

“The run itself was dull,” Tehrani says, taking a sip of her peppermint tea. “We should have art up in the corridors. Something.”

You nod to Anderson. “Well done for dragging her out.”

Anderson nods back, hazel eyes sparkling. “She likes it really. Plus, we got to talk.”

“That’s true. We did.” Tehrani is holding a flatbread in hand, but she focuses on you. “We enjoyed dinner last night. The salmon.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “Perfection. But…” her eyes snap open and she raises a brow. “We have a question.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while. For example, I don’t see the captain spending hours in sickbay keeping other officers company when people get injured. But last night?” Her eyes narrow. “How long have you and Pike been together?”

You choke on your coffee.

“Excuse me?”

“Together. You know? A couple? Spending time together? Cooking together? Sleeping together? All that stuff?”

“Oh my goodness Laleh, we are not together! Gosh!” You keep your voice low and look around, hoping no one else is close enough to hear. “We’re just friends. He’s the captain; he’s in my chain of command. He’s in everyone’s chain of command – he wouldn’t be with anyone on the ship. We’re friends. Good friends, but friends is all it is.”

Anderson shakes her head, voice gentle when she speaks. “No, but… the way he looks at you. If someone looked at me like that…” her expression goes dreamy as she takes a mouthful of her scrambled egg.

Tehrani waves her fork. “And the way you look at him. There has to be something there.”

“Well, there isn’t, so…”

“So even if you aren’t together, you both clearly want to be.” Tehrani’s brown eyes soften. “Of course you’d want to be careful, but there are no rules against relationships, even for captains. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be together if you want to.” She bites into her flatbread with an air of finality.

“We don’t want to be together, though. I don’t want to be with him. So… that’s that.”

You can tell they don’t believe you.

Sometimes, you just need to hit something. You’re in the gym, but you’re warming up before going for the punching bag, because you’re a professional.

These last few days have been frustrating. After your breakfast conversation with Tehrani and Anderson you struggled to concentrate on the bridge. You were painfully aware of every move Pike made, whether it was accessing data at the console in his chair, or getting up to check something with science or comms, or joking with Number One. You couldn’t stop asking yourself, is he looking at me differently to everyone else? Am I looking at him in a different way?

And even if you weren’t, you had suddenly woken up again to how handsome he is. To his broad shoulders. To that perfect jaw. To those devastating blue eyes. It’s not that you had ever really forgotten, of course, but now it was so distracting.

You often linger for a chat after evening briefing. You should have lingered to thank him again for letting you host the dinner party. Your eyes even met over the lightning table… But you made sure you left with the crowd.

So when Sullivan wanted someone to train some junior officers whose shooting scores were low— Well. You’re good at shooting. You volunteered.

You spent the next couple of days by turns teaching, coaxing and cajoling junior science and a few operations officers to shoot. Most of them didn’t want to be there, struggling with a skill they didn’t find intuitive or natural. You know they can be better, but your usual methods aren’t quite cutting it.

Still if teaching means you don’t need to go to briefings, don’t need to spend time on the bridge, don’t need to think about how you’re looking at the captain, and how he’s looking at you… if you don’t have to think about things like what you want… then that’s fine.

“How’s it going?” Sullivan asks at lunchtime on day two. You’re eating a protein bar in the security office for efficiency’s sake. You don’t like them really, but sometimes the mess hall can be… a waste of time.

“It’s going. The officers are making progress; It’ll be hard, for Ensign Orlova especially, but they should all make the grade… I just think they need to change the associations they have with shooting. I mean, yeah, sure, it’s something they’re examined on, and something they can only expect to have to do for real in a stressful situation, but it can be fun as well and I don’t think they see that. And if they don’t, we could be right back here in six months, struggling again.”

Sullivan’s eyes warm. He knows you have something you want to try. “And?”

“Velocity tournament. I’m thinking two on two. We can do group stages so each pair gets a decent number of games regardless of skill, and if enough people want to do it, no one will feel like they’re being picked on or singled out.”

“And at worst it should be fun. Yeah, that’s a good idea, Commander. I’ll run it by the captain. Are you going to the movie tonight?”

You meant to go to the film. There’s an unwritten rule that says that ship-wide entertainment like that always falls to the junior security officers. Your projectionist skills are nothing to write home about, but you did your time setting things up in the shuttle bay of the De Milo over a decade ago, and if nothing else you like to support your junior colleagues.

Suzuki had been talking up this evening’s movie, a 20th century classic, he said, called Singing in the Rain, for days. You had to hand it to him; pretty much everyone on alpha shift and a good few on gamma were planning to attend. You weren’t sure if the captain would be there, but if he was… it would be dark. He wouldn’t see you.

However, by the time you’d spent the last of your patience on Orlova, there was no way you were going to be able to sit still for more than an hour watching a musical. Normally the target range would be a place you would go to calm down, but not this evening. Anyway, you hadn’t had a proper cardio session for a couple of days. So, punching.

The gym is empty with everyone at the movie, but that suits you fine. As you stretch, then run through some basic katas, your mind is working. You’ve been avoiding thinking about what Tehrani and Anderson said for long enough; it’s time to face up to things.

You weren’t meaning to be dishonest when you said you didn’t want to be with him, but… the way you’ve been feeling these past few days… the way you’ve felt like you needed to avoid Chris to maintain your equilibrium… the way you’ve avoided your friends… maybe they were right. Maybe you do want more.

You move on to skipping, getting into a rhythm, getting your heart rate up.

If you want more, though… what does that mean? You can’t have more.

He’s still the captain, and he’s been clear in the past about not wanting a relationship with a subordinate. But if you can’t look at him just as a friend…

“Hey, I hoped I’d find you here.” Pike is walking toward you in an ENTER tee to match your own, perfectly fit to highlight his muscles, carrying a water bottle. And it’s all you can do not to trip over your rope.

“Captain, you’re not at the movie?” You say, once you’ve disentangled yourself as gracefully as possible.

He shrugs. “I’ve seen it before. I need a workout. I’ve not seen you for a day or two; I wanted to catch up with you, see how you are. And ask you to partner me in the velocity tournament.” He grins. “Thought I’d better get in there before you get a better offer.”

You stare at him, blank for a moment, before remembering your voice. “So I… I guess Sullivan asked you, then?”

“He did, and I think it’s a great idea. We can always use a little friendly competition. What do you say?”

You should say no. You shouldn’t partner him. For so many reasons. “Yes. I’d be happy to.”

“Excellent. Do you want to practice tonight?”

You shudder, and shake your head. “I spent all day on the range. I love shooting, but I can’t vouch for what I might do if I get a phaser in my hands again so soon.”

“Ensign Orlova was that bad, huh? Sparring then, after I’ve warmed up? Unless you think you were wrong?”

“Excuse me?” You frown.

“You said you could take me. At that gallery. Starbase—Starbase 90. Still think that’s true?”

This is another terrible idea. You should make an excuse, and leave. Instead you tilt your head and shrug, nonchalant. “I guess I’ll give it a go.”

You circle each other, gloves on, hands up in a guard position. The goal is to get your opponent to the mat, and your desire to win is currently overriding any other… desires… you may have.

On the negative side, the captain is taller than you, stronger than you, and has a longer reach. Plus, you’ve never seen him fight.

On the positive side, this is your job, and you’re used to opponents like him. You know he’ll likely be better than most of the people you face; he’s not a renowned tactician for nothing, and he clearly spends time on his physique. But you know the training he’s had inside and out. And he’s never seen you fight. He’ll guess that you’re faster than him, maybe more flexible, but he doesn’t know by how much.

It’s tempting, as you circle each other, you trying to get a feel for how Pike will move, how he will attack, to just try to stay out of reach and attempt to tire him out. But he’ll have seen that tactic before. So you step in and test his guard, letting him make contact on the counterattack, even as you lean away from the pressure of the blow.

You step into his range again and he goes on the offensive. But again, while he connects, you’re ready. You don’t hit back, this time, but you know you could have.

“You’re holding out on me,” Chris says as you circle each other again.

The corner of your mouth raises. “A little? Not anymore.”

And then it’s real. You’re moving together and it’s almost like that nightclub on Risa, almost like a dance, but this time when either of you miss a step you get punished. You were right, you think ruefully, as you circle him – he is good. He attacks again and you dodge just a fraction late and save yourself – just – by leaning right back, one hand touching the floor, before you duck under his next blow and send him off balance. Then you’re back at it again, jab, weave, duck, circle.

Finally, you see a weakness you can exploit. You kick, high, slightly off target, and he tries to come after you with his fist on the counterattack again. But you bring your leg back down and kick again, low, tangling his legs as he moves forward. He tries to save himself but it’s too late: he’s falling and you should be stepping back, celebrating your victory, but somehow he hooks your leg on the way down and you’re falling too.

They air is pushed out of your lungs as you land hard right on top of him. You gasp air back in, somehow unable to move, feeling his body all along yours, feeling his heavy breathing matching your own. You stare to the side, trying not to look at him.

You should get up. Get away. You knew you shouldn’t have said yes to sparring; being this close is doing things to you, and you shouldn’t have let yourself get into this situation at all. But before you can gather yourself, he raises a hand and touches your face, so gently. You gasp softly at the feeling, and drag your gaze over to look into those deep blue eyes.

Those deep blue eyes darkened by desire.

He must see that same desire in your eyes, too.

“We—we should talk,” he manages, finally. “The ready room? Or… my quarters.”

You appreciate that he’s the sort of person who gives you the choice. That you could answer ready room, and tell him that trying to be friends didn’t work out, so you should both go back to a professional distance until it’s a good time for you to transfer off the ship.

But if he weren’t the captain, and if you weren’t a senior officer, you wouldn’t be able to resist kiss him then and there. You push up off the floor and stand, then offer him your hand.

“Your quarters?”

You do stop by your quarters to shower and change into civvies. You hope that taking a little time would quell the fluttering in your stomach, help calm your beating heart. It does neither of those things, but you force yourself not to rush too much to give Chris a little time, too.

The lights are low and Chris stands looking out the window at the stars rushing by, but he turns as you come through the door.

“Hi,” he says, something satisfied in his smile, and you should stop, you should talk, work out exactly what this is going to be between you, but you’re walking into his arms and he’s holding you tight and kissing you.

You knew he could light you up. But you feel like you’re glowing, as bright as one of the blurry strands of warp starlight outside. You kiss him back, hungry, lips parted, your hands rising to touch his chest. Yet somehow, as light as you feel, you also feel grounded. The tension you felt, worrying about whether you could have this is gone; it’s being replaced by a new tension, starting somewhere low.

“We really should talk,” Chris says between kisses, and you know he’s right, but it’s hard to stop. Gradually your kisses gentle, though, and you stand there breathing, foreheads leaning together for a few moments, before he takes your hand and leads you to the couch. You sit, and he doesn’t let go.

“I missed you, these past couple of days. And I thought about why that might be, and I realised...” he takes a soft breath. “I may be the captain, and you may be a subordinate, but I trust you, and I want more. Not just physical, although what we had on Risa, that was a lot of fun, but a relationship. Is that what you want too?”

“I didn’t come here for a one-night stand… that’s not enough for me either. I was avoiding you, because part of me had realised I couldn’t be happy just be friends with you anymore.” You look up into his eyes. “I trust you too, and… I want to be with you, Chris.” You bite your lip, barely able to hide your smile.

Chris smiles back, eyes warm. “There will be challenges. I should tell the admiralty about us, as a courtesy,” he says, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I’ll give Admiral Cornwell a call tomorrow. I’ll ask Number One to keep an eye on my decision-making, too. And,” he tilts his head and his mouth quirks a little. “I’m the captain. I have a responsibility to the ship and the two hundred and three souls aboard. There will be times when I can’t put you first.”

You nod, serious. “I know. I wouldn’t want you to put me before the Enterprise or her crew.” You shrug. “You—you wouldn’t be you if you did. But also… you can’t try to shelter me. If I’m the right person for a mission, you have to let me go. Even when it’s risky, when it’s dangerous. And…”

“And…?”

 “If this doesn’t work out, you get the Enterprise. I’ll leave on Lizzie.”

“Let’s not plan the ending before we begin, shall we?” Chris smiles that crooked half smile, the one you can’t resist. And as you lean in to kiss him you realise you no longer have to.

This kiss is different again from the ones you’ve shared before. You feel your desire building, but you have time now. Time to make out on the sofa, getting your hands on each other as you climb into his lap. Time to touch those firm muscles, that jawline, that little bit of stubble signifying the end of the day. And then when you’re ready, time to move to Chris’ bedroom.

The sex is different too. You take your time reacquainting yourselves with each other, the things you know you both enjoy, but it’s more intense somehow. The highs are that much higher having this relationship, as new as it is.

And afterward, he pulls you in close. “Stay here tonight. Stay with me.”

“I want to,” you reply, softly. “But I can’t leave here in civvies in the morning.”

“I’m not the captain for nothing. We can synthesise a new uniform. Stay.”

You kiss him, lingering, enjoying the feel of his warm body against yours. “I will,” you murmur into his skin.

You and Chris sit on the couch, coffees and PADDs in hand. You feel fresh in a newly synthesised uniform, and Chris has transformed back into Captain Pike. But you still find yourself touching, making the most of this last bit of intimacy before the day starts properly. He offered to make you breakfast, and you were sorely tempted, but your friends will be expecting you – you can’t avoid them any longer.

Tehrani will have a huge ‘I told you so’ moment when you tell her about you and the captain. And Penny—

You laugh.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know how you feel about telling other people, whether you want to keep us between us for a while, but I was picturing telling Penny. And how she’s going to take credit. If she hadn’t stood me up that day, you would never have spoken to me. We— None of this would have happened.”

Starbase 52 is large. The largest base you’ve docked at personally, you think, as you hail station control and wait to get an approach vector assigned. It’s tall, grey, and circular, bulbous in parts, in orbit of a gas giant. There are rings of windows round the station, and nebulous plumes of green-blue gas gently flare against it every minute or two, making the shields sparkle orange.

Normally you would enjoy a view like this, watching the other ships flying round the station too, but today you just want to get docked. You’re on your first leave since you got your commission, and you’re due to meet your best friend Penny for a catch up. And you’re going to see Space Sister together, the coolest band in the quadrant. Your fellow junior officers on the De Milo had been so jealous. There were attempted bribes. People volunteering to take your duty shifts if you would take them with you. But this is yours and Penny’s special thing. You watched bootleg holos of them when you were teens, before you joined the academy, and she got her own little cargo ship. You know all their songs by heart.

“Starbase 52 to Shuttle Lizzie Bennet. You are cleared to dock at port 35 on the third ring. Please follow the vector assigned.”

“Acknowledged,” you reply, pressing buttons to route the course transmission to your navigation computer, flipping switches to activate it. Soon you’ll be with Penny, at the concert, having the time of your life.

You love your little ship, the Lizzie Bennet. You had to get special dispensation to keep her with you in Starfleet, but she was your inheritance, in a way. A gift from your parents who still hoped you’d join them in the family freight business. She’s small – shuttle sized – but sturdy, engines well able to keep up with the average shuttle, even in the fleet, but she’s older. You need to update her synthesisers, and there is absolutely no chance of cooking fresh food in that tiny space. So your first priorities on docking are finding food, and finding Penny.

You’re in civvies, something stylish but comfortable. Wearing them helps you drop your Starfleet posture and disappear into the crowd. That, and doing your hair. You’ll put it back at the end of your leave but for now it’s pale pink, the same colour as the band’s bassist, Rosa Nebula, and out of the utilitarian style you have it in for work. Penny hasn’t seen it like this yet – you’re hoping it’ll make her laugh.

You have your PADD in a cleverly disguised pocket where you can feel it, make sure it’s not going to be lifted by any of the pickpockets you’re sure must work the promenade. Your eye for this kind of thing has been honed as a security officer, but you’ve been around places like this all your life. You can see the people, all different species, pretending to be busy, but actually eyeing up the passing foot traffic.

And there is a lot of foot traffic.

A few Starfleet officers in navy uniforms, walking around purposefully, clearly at work. Groups of Starfleet officers wearing civvies, on downtime – you can tell by their bearing, the way they always act so confident, as though they own the place, that that’s what they are. Civilians: a mix of traders, diplomats, and just regular people here in transit or here for the concert. At least four other people with the same colour hair as you in this section alone.

And the shops. Even you have to take a moment to admire the store displays on either side of you. Holo-mannequins showing off the latest clothes, in all styles, traditional for various different cultures and the latest fashions. A colourful store with bright lights selling toys. Understated displays of luxury goods – jewellery and perfume from across the Federation and further afield. And of course, food places.

Your directory told you that fine dining is on the upper promenade (and for those well enough off, there’s another more exclusive tier after that), but even on this level… your stomach grumbles as you go past an Andorian fast food place. Your mouth waters as you smell Kohlanese stew wafting out from a different cafe as you pass.

But your goal, the first place you eat on any Starbase that has one, and the place you will meet up with Penny, is Miller’s Sandwiches. You heard your grandfather might have known the Mr Miller that started it, but it’s one of those places, with an unassuming front, that if you know, you know.

Even inside it doesn’t look all that different from any other sandwich shop, with its counter taking up one wall, and tables and chairs and booths in the rest of the room. But their food is all fresh. Their supply chain boggles your mind (and is one of the reasons you went into Starfleet rather than the family business), but wherever you go to a Miller’s you get perfect fresh baked bread, never more than a few hours old. Crisp salad leaves which taste as though they came straight from the market garden this morning. Sharp cheeses. Perfectly cooked meats. Charcuterie transported across the quadrant from Earth. It isn’t fancy, and it’s odd to call it a taste of home because Earth isn’t your home, not really. But nothing is synthesised and everything is real, and it’s the kind of food that you would make for lunch, if you had a kitchen on Lizzie Bennett, or on the De Milo.

You scan the tables. It’s late for lunch, station time, and there are plenty of spaces. Penny isn’t here yet, but you had expected to be the first one to arrive. You smile at the server as she prepares your sandwich. You’ve had plenty of time to work out what you want; you thought about going for something more elaborate than usual, and you even tried to prepare yourself mentally for them not having your favourites – fresh food is never guaranteed. But as you take your sandwich and mug of Earl Grey to a table with a good view of the entrance you feel satisfied. This is exactly what you’ve been looking forward to. You inhale, smelling the bread, and it tastes just as good as it smells as you take a bite. You and Penny will probably have fancier food while you’re here, but this is a perfect start.

You get your PADD and communicator out when you’ve finished the first half of your sandwich. You rigged them up together so you could take video calls; station comms in general and in public areas in particular are a bit dodgy. You look up as someone comes through the door; a tall, handsome someone, dark haired, wearing a plain grey shirt and black trousers but with an upright, Starfleet bearing. Not Penny, for sure. She’s short, slight and blonde. You wonder where she is. You return your attention to your PADD, and check your messages. There’s one from Penny, five minutes ago.

“I’m so sorry. I tried, I really tried, but an ion storm hit us in the Carrera sector. Factor 5. Came out of nowhere and took out all our primary systems. I’ve only just got enough on comms back to send this message; I feel awful that I can’t even call you live.” Penny shakes her head, blonde hair messy and tangled, face streaked with grease and dirt, jumpsuit ripped. “When I have propulsion up I’m going to have to go to straight to Gamma Gemini IV or I’ll lose this shipment, and… I know you understand. I’ll call you when I can. I’m sorry to miss the concert but I’m even more sorry to miss you, I—well. I’ll call you. Love you babe.” She waves with a half-hearted smile before the screen goes dark.

You sigh, tears welling up in your eyes despite yourself. You hadn’t realised how much you were counting on seeing a friendly face after all this time. You chose Starfleet, and you’re doing what you want to do, but it is hard, being the most junior, learning the ropes, and the thought of seeing your friend had got you through the last month or two.

You stare down at the other half of your sandwich. Suddenly it doesn’t seem appetising anymore. You pick a little bit off the bread and put it in your mouth, but before where it was savoury and delicious, now it tastes of nothing. You should really recycle it. You think about the tickets to the show later… is there even any point in going if you can’t be with your friend?

“Excuse me?” Your pity party is interrupted by a deep voice, and you look up into the handsome face of the man you noticed earlier.

“Yes?” Your voice comes out unfriendly, but you’re past caring.

“Can I—?” He motions to put his tray down, and you stare, obviously, at all the other empty tables he could have picked, before returning your gaze to him.

“I’m not going to stop you,” you say, and thumb off your PADD, going to return it to your pocket. He sits, and… yeah. You might as well leave. “I’m going now anyway, so sure. Have the table.” You move to take your tray.

“Wait, are you just going to recycle your sandwich? Come on. This is Miller’s. You know that’s a waste.” He smiles a little – only a wisp of a thing – but it’s charming somehow. You know he’s right, and you put the tray back down. “I knew you’d make the right choice.” He picks up his black coffee and takes a sip. “I’m sure a girl like you gets unwanted attention all the time, and I wouldn’t usually add to that. But… when I came in, you were happily eating, yet by the time my food was ready you were almost in tears. I know it’s none of my business, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want to, but I have to ask: are you okay?”

You look into his wide blue eyes. You like to think you’re pretty good at reading people, and you know you can handle anyone if they cross the line. You study him and you just see sincerity there. You frown a little. Maybe you would feel better if you talked.

“My best friend… we were supposed to go to the concert later.”

“Space Sister? Figured you were here for them—your hair. But that’s a hot ticket. What happened?”

“She had to bail. An ion storm hit her ship. Factor 5.”

He winces. “Is she okay?”

“Her ship’s in one piece, but she can’t make it here now. Cargo.” He nods, expression sympathetic, and suddenly you just want to talk. “I miss her, you know? We grew up together and I never see her, and I was looking forward to it so much, and now who knows how long it’ll be? I can’t reroute to meet her; my next stop is in the opposite direction. And I’m thinking I’m just going to go back to my ship and leave.”

He nods. “You could do that. But would your friend really want you to give up your treat here because she has to? I don’t know her – I don’t know you – but… even if it’s not what you hoped, I’m sure you can find a way to have a little enjoyment while you’re here. You could start with that sandwich – if you leave, when are you going to get another one that’s as good?” He raises his brow at you, and you shrug, pick up the sandwich and take a bite. And while it may not taste as good as it did when you were full of happiness and excitement, it’s still pretty good. Despite yourself you sigh, satisfied.

“I guess you’re right,” you say when you’ve finished your mouthful.

“Not the enthusiasm I was looking for, but I’ll take it,” he says, starting in on his own sandwich. “I’m Christopher, by the way. Chris. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

You introduce yourself, and get to chatting over your food. And it isn’t the same as being with Penny, but as you talk about the band, and your favourite songs by them (you’ve yet to meet anyone who didn’t like at least some of their music), and your sandwiches and the difficulty of cooking in space, you find yourself feeling better.

“Hey so… are you doing anything later?” You ask as he finishes his coffee. “It’s just I seem to have this spare ticket and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste…”

He smiles, but it goes a little rueful. “I really wasn’t trying to pick you up, you know. I’m free; I’m only here until tomorrow, when I have to—not important. I’m not saying I’d never pick up a cute girl in a sandwich shop but… It’s not normally my style and I don’t think that’s what you need.”

“You’re right. I don’t need a date. But… I could use a friend. How about it?”

“Yes. I could be your friend. I’d love to come.”

“Cool. Do you want to meet back here before it starts? Half an hour before?”

“Well, if I’m going to be a substitute for your friend, what would you have done with her this afternoon?”

You skip the clothes shopping; you’re not ready to get opinions on dresses from a virtual stranger. But although you would really like to update your synthesiser, you know you need to replace your aft starboard plasma manifold, because manoeuvring into your dock was an… interesting experience. And that’s how you end up buying starship parts with Chris.

“You should try microfusion thrusters. They’re much more reliable,” he says, a sleek-looking assembly in his hand.

“Do I look like I’m made of credits?” You laugh. “Yes, I’m always replacing thruster manifolds, but I don’t even know how the microfusion ones work. The only thing I know about them is that they can explode. And they’re like… ten times as expensive?”

“They’re worth it, though. I worked with them in a shuttle design I tested and they handle like a dream. No explosions in thousands of hours logged through the project.”

“So you’re a test pilot?”

“Not anymore. But it was a fun assignment.” He hands you a component you don’t recognise. “A nano-manifold resonator. Not as expensive as a microfusion thruster, but it pre-filters the plasma so the manifolds should last longer, even if you don’t get the handling benefits. Easy to install, too, the engineers tell me.”

You turn it round in your hands. It seems straightforward; you can see how you’d fit it into the thruster assembly.

“All right, I’ll try it. But I’ll send the bill to you if it burns out.”

“Deal.”

The afternoon passes quickly; Chris is good company. After starship parts you move on to alcohol. Real drinks – not synthehol – are always popular on the De Milo, you’ve found, and you figure if you have some you should increase your popularity on the ship. Chris is knowledgeable on them too, steering you toward Antarean brandy and whiskeys distilled on Earth.

“This your ship?” Chris looks at Lizzie Bennet with a practiced eye as you return to her to stow your acquisitions. “What is she, a cargo corvette? Class 2? Class 1? Bet she was fast in her day.”

“Class 1b. She can keep up now. And she can give you at least second degree burns with her phasers, so y’know. Be careful.”

He laughs. “Noted.”

“I’ll just dump my stuff then we can get going… I’d ask you in but it’s pretty cramped inside.”

He gives you a small smile, understanding, and you step in. You stow your acquisitions in a storage bin, and fire off a quick message to Penny.

“So sad you can’t make it. Totally understand, I hope your cargo is okay and you get paid. Still going to go to the concert but it won’t be the same. Even found someone else to go with — will tell you all about it when we can have a proper comm. Take care babe.”

The concert is magical. The hall is huge, and they’ve installed screens on the walls, ceilings, and floors – every flat surface, it seems like. And from the first chord you’re transported to another world. You sing at the top of your voice, and on the most popular songs Chris does too, the energy of everyone enjoying themselves, singing and dancing, buoying you up.

“Thank you so much for today.” you tell Chris over a late dinner of perfectly cooked steak and béarnaise sauce. You savour it; as much as you love to cook when you get the chance you’ve never made this; you know how hard it is to do right. “Cheering me up, the concert, this dinner, which—you’re right. This is the best steak in the sector. In multiple sectors.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I took pity on you, too. I would never have gotten tickets otherwise.” He winks, smiling that wide, warm smile. “But seriously. It’s good to make a new friend.”

You nod. “It is.”

“Who is he?” Penny’s hair is back in its usual neat braid, her ship looking… shipshape.

“Excuse me?”

“The guy you took to the concert. Who is he? And did you… you know?”

“I didn’t—”

“We’ve known each other all our lives. I can read between the lines of your cryptic messages. Did you?”

“It wasn’t like that, Penny. He was genuinely just a friend for the day. We didn’t do anything; you know that’s not my style, and I don’t think it was his either. I’ll never see him again, anyway.”

Starbase 114 has parts you need for Lizzie Bennet, your little ship. And that’s really the only thing it has going for it. You can’t even get a good sandwich – there isn’t a Miller’s here. You’re not sure why, because it’s not one of the older bases, but everything is a bit grim and rundown. No one seems to want to be here.

But you won’t be here for long. There is one other thing in this base’s favour: it’s only a few hours from Risa. Lizzie needs fuel – deuterium and dilithium – and a couple of components that you couldn’t fabricate on the Cooper to renew her space-worthiness certificate. Work is well in hand, and soon she will be re-certified and you will be sipping a Risan mai-tai, watching the suns set.

You love the Cooper, your crew there and the work you do. Exploration is your favourite part, even though that isn’t often, but you enjoy other missions too. You’re often in the background while command and science officers do the real work, but occasionally you get to take the lead. You love it so much you haven’t taken leave in quite a while – just a couple of days when you were able to meet up with Penny and Cameron on her new ship when the Cooper was at Ardana, and an afternoon with your parents on Starbase 83.

All work and no play makes you a dull girl though, and the stress of trying to keep other people safe mounts up eventually. You’ve even wound up in sickbay several times in the past few months. You don’t mind; injury comes with the territory, and much better you than someone else. But you’re ready for a break from that for a little while.

You’re sitting looking out of the slightly dirty viewport of a large observation lounge, watching the stars and ships as they approach or leave the station. There are all sorts, mostly small: Starfleet and civilian ships from different planets.

And as you sit your eyes light on your reflection: you take in your hair dyed a cool silver, your pale blue tunic, the silver chain round your neck, and you see a normal person. Someone who isn’t responsible for anyone around her. Someone who has laid that weight aside. You need this. Risa has a bit of a wild reputation, but there’s lots to see and do. And while you’re not looking for wild, per se, you can handle yourself and… it’s been a while since you were with someone. You’re not seeking anything out, particularly, but if an opportunity finds you, you won’t complain.

You finger your silver star pendant as you look out at the stars and ships again, and wonder vaguely what Chris might be up to these days. Whether he’s exploring somewhere new.

But your attention is pulled by a civilian transport that has just dropped out of warp. It’s long, grey, and boxy; you always think they look a bit awkward, but something about this one seems off. It’s approaching too fast, and definitely on the wrong vector – it’s much too close to that little Starfleet shuttle ahead of it, which is already being tractored on its final approach to a docking bay. You frown. Cameron could steer it better, even with the awkward shape, and he’s only eight.

Is there something wrong with the thrusters? Jets of gas are firing off too brightly in orange and blue on the starboard side; they must be trying to compensate for something, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You find you’re standing to get a better view as the transport’s speed slows, but not enough, with the shuttle caught in the beam, powerless to do anything. Why doesn’t the station tractor the transport?

The hum of chatter around you has quieted; everyone is watching in horror as the transport tries one last burn to course correct. You think it’s going to work; you can see the thrusters firing, but at a much lower level. The transport straightens up, almost back on the correct course. But suddenly the thrusters flare bright, much too bright, and it’s spinning, crashing silently into the shuttle. Your hands fly to your mouth – the transport, with its thicker hull, will likely be fine, but did the shuttle pilot beam out? A tractor beam fires, finally, securing the transport, and—

Force fields. You can see force fields protecting the cabin of the shuttle. You breathe out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and a ripple of relieved applause flows across your fellow travellers: the shuttle pilot will be okay.

Show over, you sigh and sit back down with your PADD in hand. You’re glad that most of the work on Lizzie will have been done by now, but two damaged ships coming in mean things will be delayed. You imagine all the engineers the on the base will want to take a look, at least. You’ll read a book for a bit while you wait to hear how much longer Lizzie will be.

You’ve been walking round the promenade, looking for somewhere to eat—get a drink— something— for a while now. Starbases do have a day, but incoming ships are often out of sync with it, so as well as drab looking shops and run-down cafés, you’ve walked past bars with loud music and restaurants serving synthesised dinners. None of them appealed, but the worst was the one where you could hear a loud, flat, karaoke rendition of what was one of your favourite Space Sister songs as you went by. You quickened your pace to get out of earshot.

You try to think if you’ve had any recommendations for anywhere on this base, but most people you know wouldn’t have a reason to stop here. But eventually you find a little bar that’s not too dark and not too loud, with a couple of people in fleet uniforms sitting at various tables. It’s a bit early for a drink for you, but, you figure, you’re on holiday.

The bartender gives you a friendly smile as you walk in. “What’ll it be, love?” She asks as you take a stool. You scan the bottles behind her, and you see one you recognise.

“Hanrian—no. Hin—”

“Hinarian white gin, please. One for the lady and one me.”

That deep, assured voice. It can’t be. But it is. “Chris! I never—It is so good to see you!”

You jump down from the stool, turning to face him.

“We did say Starbase 114,” he quirks a crooked smile, shrugging slightly, and you laugh as you step into a hug, enjoying the contact. His hands are still holding your shoulders gently as you separate, and you take in his appearance. He’s as handsome as ever, although his perfectly styled hair has a couple of threads of silver in it.

“I thought you were going to stand me up. I was thinking about you earlier, actually. But I imagined you on the frontier somewhere, making discoveries…”

“No, I’m—You’re wearing it,” he says softly. Your confusion must show on your face because he clarifies: “The necklace. You’re wearing the necklace I gave you.”

He moves his hand across to touch the star at the same time you reach up to the necklace, and just for a second there’s a spark as your fingers touch his warm ones, before he drops both of his hands down by his side.

“Oh, um, yes.” you feel the cool points of the star on your fingertips. “I like it. I wear it often… it’s special. And… we did say Starbase 114.”

“I’m glad,” he says, blue eyes warm. You sit back on your stool, and Chris sits next to you, arm brushing yours as he reaches for his drink.

“How are you? How’s the Enterprise? I didn’t see her on the docking list?”

“The Enterprise is great. She’s in dock for refits; we’re between five-year missions. I’m actually set to re-join her soon… as her captain. Still can’t quite believe it,” he adds, shaking his head.

“Congratulations!” You raise your glass, clinking it with his. “I can. Four pips on your badge?”

“Stripes on my wrist — we’re getting new uniforms. Think I’m going to miss the blue, though. But how are you? How’s the Cooper?”

“The Cooper is good. Very good, actually. I made full Lieutenant a few months ago. But it was time for a break, and Lizzie needed maintenance… I thought I’d be gone by now, but there was that accident with the transport and a shuttle, so things are a bit delayed. Glad I’m not, now you’re here,” you add, taking another sip of your drink, enjoying the spice.

“So… er… that shuttle?” His tone makes you turn sharply.

“No. You were not the pilot. My gosh are you okay? I was watching through a viewport; my heart was in my mouth…” You examine him again, trying to see if there’s any evidence of his ordeal on view that you missed.

“They checked me out in sickbay and the base commander lent me some quarters to get cleaned up, get a fresh uniform,” he says, seeing you study him. “I wasn’t even due to dock here – I got hit by a nano-meteor in subspace and it damaged the warp engines, so I had to reroute to get them fixed. And then the transport. They’re still assessing whether the shuttle’s worth fixing, or if it’s just going to be scrapped.” He sighs.

“I thought it looked bad, but scrapped? Wow.”

“Yes. The two things together caused a lot of damage. Today isn’t my day. Originally I was en route to Casperia to meet up with friends – you remember Leland? But he called to say they can’t make it now. Classified.” He shrugs, and takes another sip of his drink.

“I’ll get a transport back to Earth, celebrate with Tango and Mary Lou instead.” He shakes his head. “But enough of my bad day; plenty of good ones to come. And even today has a silver lining.”

“I have a ship.” The words are out of your mouth before you really think them through, and you look down at the bar for a second while you gather your thoughts. But… Yes. You like him as a person, and he’s always behaved like a gentleman toward you. You trust him. You know becoming captain of the most prestigious ship in the fleet is not a hundred percent guarantee of character, but you also know you can protect yourself. And there’s always been that spark…

“I have a ship, and… I’m going to take leave on Risa for a week. If you aren’t wedded to your Earth plan, would you like to come too? There’s a lot to see and do on the planet, I could just take you there, let you make your own arrangements, but…”

You take a breath, and look up, into his eyes. “I don’t know if there’s anyone in your life; there’s no one in mine. I like you and… if you would like to spend your leave with me, or even just the first night, you would be welcome.”

The moment holds – you’ve clearly taken him by surprise, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing, that you’ve managed to spoil this—this friendship that you’ve developed, over the years.

“There isn’t anyone. There hasn’t been for a while.” He smiles a little, looking sidelong at you as he raises his glass again. “Yes, I would like to come to Risa with you.”

“Would you mind if I—”

“Do you want to—”

You both laugh as you speak at the same time. You’re heading into Lizzie’s little cockpit, you having got your certificate, fuel and parts, and Chris having got his luggage, which thankfully survived the crash.

“You first,” Chris says, gesturing for you to continue.

“I just wondered if you’d like to take Lizzie out? Ensign Umer –  pilot on the Cooper – said it’s important to get back to flying after a crash so you don’t build it up in your head.”

“That, and she looks like she’ll be fun to fly. That was what I was going to ask. Thank you.” You open the door and take the co-pilot chair. “Is there anything I need to watch for?” He asks as he begins going through the pre-flight checks.

“Yeah, I remapped the thruster control switches. I just find they’re easier to handle this way.”

You reach across him to a bank of red buttons, brushing against his hand as you do. You smile a little at the contact, and how it makes you feel.

“Port and starboard, fore, mid, and aft. I think it’s easier this way round. See what you think. Oh and the computer’s wake word is Lizzie.”

Chris laughs at that. “Of course it is. Did you name her? Commander Pike to ops, clearance for shuttle Lizzie Bennet to leave the station, please?”

“I think one of my grandparents was the Jane Austen fan, originally. Not sure. My parents’ ship is the Pemberley, and they named Lizzie to continue the tradition. Elizabeth Bennet was always my favourite Austen heroine, though.”

“Ops to Commander Pike, clearance granted. Please follow the vector assigned. Ops out.”

“Probably a good thing they named her really because I don’t know what name I’d have picked at eighteen.”

“Hmm. I’m going to go with Rosa Nebula,” Chris fires the thrusters. “Hearing that karaoke bar on the lower promenade…”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. You’ve known me too long—hey! Gently!” You exclaim as Lizzie jerks into motion.

“Sorry, didn’t expect that,” he says, adjusting the controls. “Ships this age don’t usually respond this well.”

“It’s your fault, you know. Microfusion thrusters. They really made a difference to her handling.”

He smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “You listened.”

“Of course.”

Once the course is set to Risa you retire to the cabin. There are lines you won’t cross in the little ship, not when you’re headed to Risa, but you’re touching at every chance you get. You bump into each other as Chris steps round you to change out of his uniform in the tiny bathroom. Your fingers brush against him as you show him where the synthesiser is. You feel that desire building. Even while eating the chicken tuna sandwiches that he makes, which are… not as bad as you expected.

“So does Lizzie have a transporter?” Chris asks as you drop out of warp into orbit of the planet.

“Yes, but it can only handle one person at a time. I never use it. Do you want to bring her into land? I have the co-ordinates…”

Risa looks beautiful, and you feel relaxed as Chris steers you through the atmosphere, away from the blue-green sunward side into the dark. You keep half an eye on the sensors, but it isn’t necessary; Chris may not have been a test pilot for a long time, but those skills haven’t gone away.

He lands Lizzie in the exact centre of the shuttle pad, with only the tiniest bump to let you know you’re on solid ground.

Outside is dark and warm, the moons glowing in the sky, and you can hear the soft lap of waves on an ocean you can’t yet see. You can smell the ocean, too, but mixed with earthy and floral scents from plants that are still dark shadows. The shuttle pad is edged in tiny lights which lead toward a path, the dark silhouette of your villa at the end of it. You and Chris head in that direction, cases in hand.

You don’t get far before you hear footsteps approaching, and a Risian man approaches, smiling warmly.

“Welcome to Risa, we’re delighted to have you. I am Curmal,” he clicks a control, “and this is your villa.” The building you could almost see in front of you lights up, revealing a large bungalow, roof sloping down to large French glass doors, with warm light spilling out over what you can now see is a garden surrounding a little pool with a fountain playing.

Chris whistles. “Fancy… I was expecting a hotel.”

“But this way I get private shuttle parking.”

“Please, no need to carry your bags. If you’ll allow me?” You and Chris place your cases where Curmal indicates, and he puts a fob on them before pressing his control again. They disappear in a sparkle of blue transporter energy.

“You will find your luggage in your closet. Please step this way.” He leads the way along the path toward the back of the bungalow, and you take Chris’ proffered arm and follow.

“Privacy is assured, madam,” Curmal continues, “and all the amenities of a hotel are available to you just a short walk away, sir. The full resort guide is on the computer, but we have a spa, restaurants, bars. And anything you require can be brought here, or transported, entirely at your pleasure. You can also ask the computer for anything you need in the villa.” He steps up to the French window. “The villa is programmed for your access already, madam, but sir, if you could—”

You step away from Chris as he and Curmal program his finger and voice prints into the villa’s computer. You’re feeling… you’re not sure. You have a few nerves; you’ve had casual encounters in the past, and most weren’t especially fulfilling. But with Chris… the attraction is not just to his looks or his body, as handsome as he is. It’s the man he’s shown himself to be.

“One last thing,” Curmal says, picking up a small wooden statue from beside the door. “This is a horga'hn. Take it with you, if you wish to seek jamaharon.”

You meet Chris’ eyes, and he returns your knowing smile; clearly he’s heard the stories too. “I don’t think we’ll need it. But thank you,” you say as Curmal hands it to you.

He bows slightly. “It would also make a good decoration. I will leave you now, but if you need anything, please let me or another staff member know.”

He walks a little way along the path as you press the control for the door, but you barely register the whine of the transport because as soon as you put statue down Chris takes you in his arms, door closing behind you.

The kiss tastes different to your first one.

Then you were saying we wish we could have this.

This time, you both know you can.

It starts gentle, but you’re both hungry for it. Your lips part and your tongues tangle, and you feel that light, that burn again as his hand slips down your back. But this time, as you touch his face, run your hand through his perfect hair, you can fan it to flames.

“Your shots up to date? Mine are,” he murmurs against your lips when you finally pause for breath.

“Yes. Want this,” you say, and you’re kissing again, almost desperate. You had planned to offer him champagne when you got here, drink a toast to celebrate his promotion. You had thought you’d at least have a look around the villa, maybe see more of the outside. But he’s backing you through the open doorway to the bedroom, and you’re more than happy to go.

You’re down to your underwear, yours and Chris’s clothes in an inelegant jumble on the floor, and you pause for a moment, just breathing. The light in here is soft and warm, just bright enough to highlight Chris’ muscles. You take him in: hair mussed from your fingers, blue eyes hot, kissed lips and the barest hint of stubble along his jaw. It’s bright enough for him to see you, too, and you can feel his gaze like a caress, desire written clearly across his face.

Then you’re together again, skin to skin, and you can’t wait for more as he drops to his knees.

You stretch as you wake, feeling comfortable, content, and warm. Warm from the body snuggled against your back. From the arm holding you close.

You think back to last night, and how Chris had made it his mission to find out what turns you on, what makes you gasp, how to make your body sing for him. How he had shivered at your touch. And how it felt when you came apart together.

You don’t think it’s been quite this good with anyone else.

Tiny beams of bright sunlight are escaping round the edges of the curtains, promising a beautiful day outside, but you turn away from them toward Chris, who is blinking his eyes sleepily.

“’Morning,” he says, voice gravelly from sleep, and he smiles as you reach out and touch his lips.

“Hi,” you say, soft, as he kisses your finger, and tightens his arm around you. You feel desire stirring within you again, and really, you think, as you press against him, replacing your finger with your lips, what better way to start your first day on the planet?

Wearing Chris’ shirt is a cliché, but it was on top of the pile of clothes, the fabric is soft, and it smells of him.

You’re part exploring, part in search of coffee.

“Computer, open the curtains,” you say, twirling around, trying to take the view out of both sides of the large room in at once as the white fabric pulls back. You can see the garden you came in through last night, flowers in reds, yellows and pinks looking vivid in the sunlight, and on the other side, a wide deck and then the ocean.

You can see the room better too. It’s spacious, light, with a corner sofa on one side, where you can sit and watch the ocean, or the screen on the wall. There are chairs and a table on the other side near the ocean window, and two stools and breakfast bar by the kitchen area, which, as you investigate further, seems surprisingly functional. There’s a synthesiser, of course, but also a coffee machine, a hob, and an oven. You vaguely remember the brochure when you booked the place saying you could have a chef come and cook Risian specialities.

You open all the cupboards and find some coffee beans, and you put them into the machine, which starts grinding them quietly. You perch on one of the bar stools while you wait, enjoying the coffee scent as it fills the room. There’s a computer screen here, and you tap through the breakfast options before you find something perfect. You smile, satisfied.

“Do I smell coffee?” Chris pads in from the bedroom, looking good in just his boxers. You manage to clear the computer screen before he comes round behind you, putting his arms round you, bending to kiss your neck.

“It’s brewing. There’s a real coffee maker. The whole kitchen is real, actually – I’ve just been having a look. It’s meant for a staff chef, but I haven’t cooked in ages. I was wondering if I could order some ingredients.”

“I have a kitchen in my quarters on the Enterprise. The synthesiser’s good, but it’s not the same. Ask Curmal; I sure he’d be happy to get raw ingredients for you.”

“Yeah, maybe I will. I ordered breakfast already, though. They’re beaming it out onto the deck in about half an hour. Time for coffee and a shower first…?”  You twist round to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Sounds like a plan. And nice shirt,” he adds with a small smile, sliding a hand under it.

It seems incredibly decadent to be sitting either side of a wooden table, suns in the sky, ocean softly lapping beside you, with the sound of distant seabirds carrying over the water, while you wait for breakfast to literally materialise in front of you.

But it’s not like this is your everyday life.

In your everyday life you don’t have sun loungers, or a large, heated pool recessed into the deck right outside the French doors from your bedroom, which feels like it’s an extension of the ocean. You don’t have palm trees. And you don’t have a small flight of wooden steps leading down to your own private section of a pristine white sand beach.

Even so—

“Champagne?” Chris asks with a smile, as a bottle in an ice bucket on a stand materialises by you, and a crisp white cloth appears on the table.

“Champagne breakfast,” you say, as the flutes and food materialise. There’s fruit – bowls of berries: strawberries, blueberries, and other fruit we you don’t recognise. There’s French toast dusted with cinnamon sugar. Stacks of mini pancakes. Muffins and pastries. Eggs Benedict. Little quiche-like bites, and some other Risian specialities. “I wanted to toast your promotion… I thought we could do that when we got here, but we were… too busy last night.”

You take the bottle and pop the cork, then pour the drinks.

“To Starfleet’s newest captain. May the solar winds fill your sails, and may all your landfalls be expected.” He grins as you clink glasses, and you take a sip, enjoying the bubbles. “How are you feeling about it? Being the one in charge?”

“Ready,” he says, after a moment. “It will be a challenge… and I know that people will be watching. But the Enterprise… she’s the best ship in the fleet. The best crew. And getting to be the person that leads them… I couldn’t ask for anything more.” He picks up a small plate. “Is this caviar?”

“I did see that on the menu…”

You don’t see much of Risa, at least to begin with. Besides the sex, definitely the best you’ve had in… forever, you both need time to relax, and you have space to do that here. Space for soaking up sunlight on the deck. Watching – trying to watch – a film together on the sofa. Enjoying a double sunset with a glass of wine in the pool.

Eventually, though, you do venture out. You dive a reef in Suraya Bay, and swim with the Risian equivalent of dolphins, followed by fresh caught seafood for dinner from the restaurant boat moored just off the beach. You dance at one of the nightclubs, enjoying the energy all around you, but knowing who you’ll be leaving with at the end of the night.

You skydive, loving the rush – it’s not the first time, for either of you, but it’s so much different doing it just for fun rather than for a training exercise. You love how it feels like flying, high up in the air in freefall, and the view after you’ve deployed your parachute, over forests and the sea, is stunning. You love the satisfaction of landing perfectly on your feet, and you try not to look too smug as you offer Chris a hand up after he misses his footing. Later you sneak a kiss in the subterranean gardens beneath a tree that glows.

You do enjoy doing those touristy things, but you enjoy the calm of the villa, just being together, more.

“I used to pop a conduit open on the Pemberley, and brown these with the plasma,” you say one evening, wielding a torch over the crème brûlées you made for dessert.

“No you didn’t,” Chris says, brow raised, mouth quirked in amusement. He hasn’t shaved since he got here, and while you do like the clean cut look on him, the slightly rugged look of his stubble definitely does something for you too.

“Yes I did. Okay—once. And it did brown… well. Blacken. And then the ramekin shattered, and I cut up my hands so badly I couldn’t hide the bleeding from my parents. These are much better.” You smile, admiring your handiwork.

Chris shakes his head before pouring out the dessert wine. “There’s something to be said for a kitchen on a planet. You can still have accidents, but…”

“I suppose you can’t be quite that reckless. But on the other hand, you can’t eject your cooking fails out an airlock… Mmm. I’ve missed these.” You close your eyes, savouring the smooth sweet vanilla flavour, and the crunch of the caramel.

You had chosen to make ravioli for your main course – Curmal had provided all the ingredients, and you enjoy the process of making pasta. When you’d had the chance to cook in the past it had mostly been alone – once you were old enough to be trusted in the small galley on the Pemberley your parents left you to it, and you didn’t have anyone to cook with in your little kitchen on Starbase 58. But Chris had come in from outside, looked at the recipe and got stuck in. Weighing out ingredients, chopping. Working with him felt so natural, as you passed things back and forth, and chatted about how best to adapt the filling to the local ingredients you had. The results are delicious, and you love getting to eat outside in the warm Risian evening, too.

“There’ve been a few things I’ve made on the Enterprise that I’ve wanted to recycle. Airlock seems a bit extreme, though. You ever cook on the Cooper?”

“Not often. Only if I’m on Alpha and I can’t sleep – the galley is usually pretty quiet during Gamma. But I’ll bake something easy like oatmeal cookies, then whoever’s around can have them as a post shift snack or an early breakfast.”

“Perhaps we can bake some here before we leave. I have my eye on the grill too, though.”

“I’ve never had a cookout. I’ve spent almost all my life in space,” you add, at his shocked expression.

“Not even at the academy? I’m remedying that.”

You spend your last afternoon laying on a lounger on the deck, the feel of the suns on your skin, the calm of the ocean waves and a gentle breeze through the garden lulling you into an almost meditative state. This is your happy place, you think, trying to memorise details like the feel of the fine cotton of the cushions. The smell of your sunscreen. This is where you will come to when things get stressful.

“The shuttle’s a write-off,” Chris says, handing you a drink as he comes to sit on the other lounger. “But there’s a transport to Earth tomorrow at 10:00. I’ve booked a seat. I looked up where the Cooper is; going by Starbase 114 would be out of your way now, anyway.”

“Thanks,” you say, taking the drink. “I would’ve been happy to drop you off. But yeah, I’m not surprised they gave up on the shuttle, it’s a shame but it was pretty mangled.”

You settle back on to the lounger. “I’m going to miss this,” you say softly, taking a sip of your drink, the icy cold juice providing a welcome contrast to the warm air. “I’m going to miss—”

You stop yourself.

I’m going to miss you.

You knew, in your head, what you were getting into when you invited him to Risa; you knew it would just be a temporary fling. But this thing between you… it’s been much more special than you imagined it could be. You knew you liked him as a person. You knew you were attracted to him as a man. But you wonder, if you lived different lives, had different callings…

But you can’t say that. You don’t want to make things weird.

Chris looks at you, though, blue eyes thoughtful, and… perhaps you don’t need to say it.

He grills that evening, and you think maybe one day you could settle on a planet. If you could eat perfect steak like that on a regular basis.

And then that night… the last early morning that you spend in his arms…

Starbase 90 is good for art. There’s a large gallery and museum, over a few decks: about half given over to a permanent exhibition, and half for temporary installations.

Starbase 90 is also good for sheltering from ion storms.

You’re on your way back to the Cooper from Casperia Prime, where your parents celebrated a big wedding anniversary. Penny and Cameron were there too, with Penny’s parents and other family friends. You had a lovely time playing beach games, swimming, hiking, and occasionally getting to sunbathe with a book. You even got to stop by Starbase 58 on your way back, and had fun catching up with some of your old colleagues, congratulating Garcia on her promotion to base commander.

You had a little too much fun, actually; you had the storm forecast, but you missed the window between storms that you were hoping to hit. But you don’t mind; an ion storm is a great reason to extend your holiday a day longer.

You’ve been to the permanent part of the gallery a few times before, so today you’re in an exhibit called Living Gothic, which bills itself as an ‘exploration of Terran Romanesque and Gothic architecture through the lens of the natural world’. You skipped the rest of the artist’s note when you got to the word synergy, but you’re surprised how much you like the feel of walking through the evenly spaced trees which draw your eye up into a holographic vaulted canopy. Nature and design are juxtaposed, with branches fanning out, splitting, and crossing with perfect evenness, but still retaining their natural look somehow. Some of the trees are carved in spiral and criss-crossing patterns, and the lower branches between them meet in pointed arches. Even the arches are carved into detailed patterns: zigzags, tiny loops and swirls, even stylised versions of natural shapes like leaves and petals.

You’ve never been to a real Gothic building, but you think, as you walk, enjoying the feeling of simulated sunlight filtering through the trees, that perhaps next time you’re on Earth you might transport to Europe and see one of the few that are left.

You’re alone in the exhibit; the gallery is large, and this is by a young artist you’ve never heard of before. In the main hall, a deck above, there’s a retrospective of the famous Andorian artist Thurev which is attracting most of the visitors, and that’s fine by you. The quiet is peaceful.

Holographic blossom is falling around you along with a few green leaves, and you find yourself smiling dreamily as you watch it. The temperature has warmed since you got into the room, you can hear birdsong and see movement in the canopy, and you think the exhibit must be getting toward spring.

“We have got to stop meeting like this.” You turn, and there’s Chris, with the corner of his mouth lifted in that expression that’s so familiar, so him, even though you haven’t seen it in a long while. Your smile turns into a grin.

“Randomly on starbases? I’ll promise never to visit another if you won’t.” You step up and give him a hug, relishing the closeness, the feel of his strong arms around you, however briefly.

“Deal,” he says, as you step back and examine each other. You notice the pips on his badge; he is a full commander now. He looks good – he always looks good – but he looks settled. Happy. Not like the last time you met. “I like the blue on you,” he says, touching your hair briefly. “So, you’re avoiding the ion storm too?”

“Thanks. It was darker, but the sun on Casperia – it faded. And yeah, missed the window… I’m not risking Lizzie in it. How about you? How’s being a commander?”

“Rewarding. The Enterprise is halfway through a five-year mission. Being out there, on the edge of known space… there’s nothing like it. But she’s undergoing maintenance at Deep Space 4, and Captain April insisted I take leave. I’m en route to Earth to visit my horses.” He winks. “And parents.”

You chuckle. “I’d ask you to give them my best, but—”

“My mom knew, you know.” He offers you his arm and you take it, walking together through the trees. “You aren’t a science officer. My ex was.”

“Damn. I hope you didn’t get in trouble.”

“No, she understood. She liked you.”

“In that case, do pass on my good wishes. Shall we?” You gesture along a path leading to another room.

“That one’s called Arachnophilia. No thank you.” Chris shudders theatrically.

“Ugh. Yeah, I’m not a fan of spiders either. I should really check what the exhibits are ahead of time, but I quite like just finding things.”

“You saw the Thurev, though? Stunning work. I was there until it closed for environmental re-normalisation.” Chris guides you along a different path, between two rows of trees, just wide enough for you to walk abreast, joining in semicircular arches over your head. The falling blossom is gone, but in its place holographic flowers are blooming on the path and at the base of the trees, and fresh green leaves are unfurling on the branches.

“Not today, but the Cooper actually delivered the exhibit to the base a couple of months ago. We got to see it after it was all set up. The environmental requirements… my quarters are two decks above the cargo bay, but I was freezing the entire time we were carrying it. I think that might have coloured my perception but it’s not my favourite work. I do get it, though. The open landscapes? I understand why they’re so highly regarded.”

“I always forget that you’re an officer. I don’t—that’s not an insult, by the way. I’m sure you’re good; I just struggle to picture it.”

The corner of your mouth lifts. “I had you pegged as Starfleet from the moment I first saw you. You were in civvies but… the bearing. You had Starfleet written all over you. That’s not an insult, either.”

You turn out of the narrow aisle you’re in into a larger one, with what looks like an ornate stained-glass window at the end, branches forming different sections. But when you look closer you realise it’s actually a viewport out onto the ion storm, which is sparkling in blue and purple filaments, with the occasional orange flash when the storm hits the station’s shields. There are smaller holographic windows on the wall, but around them trees appear to stretch out indefinitely.

“Why are you—”

You both freeze. There, outside, silhouetted against the storm, is someone in an EV suit, climbing past the edge of the viewport. And before you can properly react there’s a bright flash, the lights go out, the holos switch off, and emergency lighting switches on. You hear the bang of the doors shutting, and you lose gravity.

When you were a child, you secretly loved when the gravity generators went out. You loved floating around the ship, like you were flying. That love became less secret the day you got caught messing with them, though, and it was the last time you did because being on cleaning duties for a month after that was no fun at all.

You still feel that exhilaration now though, as you take a slow breath in, then blow out sharply, sending you and Chris floating back toward a tree.

“Computer, status? What happened to the gravity?” Chris says, sounding very much the commander.

“Starbase 90 is experiencing technical difficulties as a result of the ion storm. Some artificial gravity generators are offline. Please make your way to a safe area and wait for gravity to be restored. A safe area is one—”

“Computer, cancel. Did you recognise that EV suit? It didn’t look like a Starfleet design to me.”

“I only caught a glimpse, but it might have been one from a civilian ship? It was a similar colour to the ones Lizzie came with, but it looked newer.”

You grab hold of the tree now you’re close enough, breaking a few twigs free which float away into the shadows. The gallery has well and truly lost its magic without the holo effects, bare trees looking stark in the dim light.

Chris lets go of you, grabbing a different tree. “Either way, I don’t think losing grav was a coincidence. Commander Pike to ops.”

“Communications are offline.”

“That figures. Computer, reroute through the backup data network and retry.”

“You are not authorised to make that request.”

“Computer, try communication through the backup ODN. Authorisation Pike rho delta phi.”

“You are not authorised to make that request.”

“It’s not going to let you, Chris. Museum systems won’t accept anyone’s authorisations now, apart from commanders and above assigned to the facility.”

“Why the hell not?” You don’t think you’ve heard him annoyed before, and you’re glad it isn’t aimed at you.

“There was that heist at the Museum of Lunar Exploration in New Berlin… about three years ago? The identical twin of a fleet officer got her command codes, and the computer couldn’t tell that it wasn’t the officer herself using them, even though she was on the other side of the quadrant at the time. After that they updated the computer in places like this so it’s on read only mode for everyone. It’s in case something like that happens again, or if an officer gets disgruntled with the fleet…” You pull out your communicator, to see if there’s anything you can do with it.

“And now we can’t inform ops that there are intruders on the station.”

“Yeah… that was an oversight. None of the channels I can use on my comm are working, either, but I can’t tell if that’s the ion storm.” You sigh. “I just hate to think whoever’s out there could get away with important artworks on our watch, especially after I protected them on the Cooper. Station sensors wouldn’t have the resolution to detect someone out there. Not with the storm, and not if they didn’t even know to look.” You shove your communicator back in your pocket, nearly missing and losing it in the zero-G. Station security on the base is good, you’re sure, but they’ll be blindsided with the main gallery closed already.

“We might be able to send a message if we could get to one of the ODN nodes directly. Tip off station command.” He frowns. “I hate zero-G. Makes me feel ill after a while.”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll handle it – I’ve always enjoyed when the grav was out, ever since I was a kid. Morse code should work.”

“Will you be able to open the panel? I’ll wait on the ground.”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t be a problem.” You push off, and you can’t resist showing off a little: you execute a slow somersault through the air. The freedom feels good though, and you judge your angle almost perfectly, easily grasping the panel you need. It’s a quick job to pop it off but you sigh a little regretfully as you have to let it float away; you hope it won’t damage anything when gravity is restored. It’s harder to work with the components of the ODN sub-processor in with no gravity to hold you down or push against, but you access the backup signal processor and send your message.

You push off from the wall above the closed door, and it’s like flying as you arc toward where you can just make out Chris at the base of a tree overlooking the viewport. He’s chosen somewhere sensible for when the gravity comes back on, you think, as you manoeuvre yourself to join him.

Now there’s nothing left to do but wait.

“All done?”

“Yeah. They should have received the message… I’m sure station security will be all over it.”

“I thought if we wait here we might be able to see something but… it’s a long shot. At least we’ve tried.”

“Yeah.” You try to adjust your position, to get comfortable. It’s hard, just having to hold on, but you need to maintain a position near the floor. Chris seems to be doing a bit better.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Chris’ eyes are curious, his face highlighted blue by the ion storm outside.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I’ve never seen you in uniform. Even though whenever we meet it’s on a Federation starbase. Why is that?”

You tilt your head, feeling your brow furrow as you try to articulate your reply. “I chose Starfleet,” you say, after a few moments. “I believe in Starfleet. And…” you shrug. “I’m in security. It’s not impossible that I will give my life for it before I’m done, and that’s fine. But I think it started because… it was them and us, when I was a child. The fleet, versus merchants, civilians. On bases especially. So when I was on leave, meeting with civilian family and friends, I wanted to be on their side. Part of their us.”

You smile, softly. “I used to have to make a conscious effort to drop my Starfleet demeanour, you know? That first summer, at the end of my first year of the academy, I still thought I was all that, but I really wasn’t, and my friends let me know it.” You remember how special you’d felt, being a cadet, and then how badly you’d been ribbed for it.

“But now… it’s a reminder, as much as anything else, that Starfleet is not all of who I am. If I get injured, if all of this goes away… There’s still a me under the uniform, and it would be hard, but I would be fine. When I’m on leave I want to reconnect with that part of me. Does that make sense?”

Chris looks thoughtful. “Yes, it does,” he says eventually. “Nearly everyone I know off Earth is in the fleet or thinks of me as an officer first. But on Earth… Well. Even a lot of people on Earth. But in a bar in Mojave… yeah. I’d be in civvies there.”

You nod. “You get it. So, your leave: bar in Mojave? Or will you spend your entire time riding and eating chicken tuna sandwiches?”

“You remembered,” he says, surprised, blue eyes locking with yours in the dim light. The moment stretches, and you find yourself wanting to reach out to him. Then he grins, breaking the spell. “But why do I get the feeling you think the idea’s disgusting?”

“I haven’t tried them… but also, I’m not going to. I’m particular.”

“Oh now that’s fighting talk…”

“Fighting is literally my job, you know. I can take you.”

“Can you,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a question, but before you can think you’re slipping the short distance down to the ground.

“Oof. Gravity is a good sign, I guess,” you say, dusting bits of tree bark off your hands.

“Yes, I think so.” Chris is looking very Starfleet as he walks over to the viewport to take a look out. “Commander Pike to ops.”

“Commander Sevik here, Commander.” Something relaxes inside you as you hear the reply.

“Did you get our message? Did you detect intruders in the gallery?”

“Yes, we did. We have apprehended a team of four would-be thieves, and they are secure in our brig. We have disabled the device they used to disrupt gravity and communications, and expect to have main power back online within the next three minutes. Thank you for your assistance, Commander.”

“That’s very good to hear. Pike out.” He turns to you. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

The station is busy like it always is during a storm, but you detect an extra frisson in the crowd today. An extra excitement, with the gravity having failed. As you wend your way along the promenade, following Chris’ lead, you pick up scraps of conversation. People speculating about what might have happened. No one saying anything about an attempted heist yet though.

He turns off into a bar full of Starfleet officers, mostly in uniform. You think some of the crew of the Cooper were talking about this place when you were here with the Thurev paintings, but you’d stayed on duty on the ship because you knew you had a longer leave coming. It’s busy, but there’s breathing room.

“The storm special,” Chris says, carefully placing two glasses of a clear liquid on the small table and sitting on the stool opposite to you. “You have to come here during a storm to get it, and they don’t even advertise it at other times. I think you’ll like it.”

“What’s special about it?”

“Try it,” he says, raising his glass and watching as you mirror him. Flavour bursts across your tongue: bright notes of lemon-lime citrus and mint.

“Nice,” you say, putting your glass back down as he does. “Refreshing.”

“Now here’s the special part.” He flicks a nail against his glass, and the liquid changes, purple and blue tendrils spiralling out through the whole drink.

“It’s just like the storm,” you grin, pleased.

“Your turn,” he says, raising his glass to his lips, taking a sip. You tear your eyes away from his mouth – how did you get so distracted? – and you flick your glass. The effect is just as pretty for you, but your eyes widen as you taste it. Now it’s warm and fruity, blueberries and burnt sugar. A completely different drink.

“That’s—wow. You’re right. I do like it,” you watch as your drink goes clear again. “Thank you.”

It’s all too easy to drink, too. You get a couple of refills as you talk about space weather and the worst storms you’ve seen. You tell Chris about the time your parents were carrying perishable medical supplies when you were ten and you braved a level seven ion storm in the Pemberley. He tells you about a storm rolling in over the Mojave Desert, striking a tree and spooking Mary Lou enough that she bolted.

“We were lucky she wasn’t injured. I had to go to school the next day, but dad had her checked out by the vet. She was fine. Mom was mad that she was able to get out in the first place. We hadn’t had her all that long.” Chris smiles at the memory.

“Speaking of your mom I meant to ask, how’s your cousin? Still happily married?”

Chris grimaces a little. “I don’t know about happily… that’s not really Charlotte’s style. But I—she’s satisfied. She feels important, and I think that’s enough for her. And Matthew… well. He loves her, and you know what it’s like in the fleet. He knows he’s lucky to have a partner.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “So… has there been a partner for you? Since Alice?”

Chris swirls his drink, turning it purple. “No. I… I’m not going to try long distance again. And I outrank nearly everyone on the ship; not that there is anyone there, but even if there were it wouldn’t feel right. My captain makes it work, but Sarah is the chief medical officer. She can relieve him of duty if she needs to. There is this gorgeous girl that I’ve met a few times, now, but…” he tilts his head. Is he talking about you? But he continues. “Is there someone for you? On the Cooper?”

 “I’m pretty much a nun these days.” You list off on your fingers. “It’s either you say you’re going to make it work but distance and career choices kill it;”—Chris nods, he knows that one—“or you’re in each other’s pockets the whole time, things move too quickly and next thing you know he’s planning to ship you off to Earth or somewhere to have his babies while he stays in space having fun; or it ends badly and you’re trapped together in a metal bubble in the unforgiving vacuum of space and you can’t get away from each other. I’ve seen friends with benefits work for other people, but I’ve given up. Almost.”

“Almost?”

The alcohol makes you brave, but there are some things it’s worth being brave about. “Well, it could also be a really hot guy that you like and respect and think you could have a bit of fun with, but you only see him once every few years and the timing hasn’t worked out…” you tip your drink to him, making eye contact as you drink a mouthful, relishing the caramel fruit flavour.

“Fun, eh?” Chris raises a questioning eyebrow, but before you can reply—

“Pike? Is that you? How’ve you been?” You turn, and there’s an officer there, same rank as Chris, with dark receding hair cropped short, smiling widely. Something about him strikes you, though you’re not sure quite what. Something about how he stands, how he looks in his uniform… is different, perhaps.

“Leland! What are you up to? What was it, Cassia II last time?”

“We were finding those drill bugs for weeks afterward. Did a number on our plasma conduits. But who’s your friend? Let me buy you a drink. What are you—”

Chris makes introductions, darting you an apologetic glance as Leland shakes your hand then launches right back into a reminiscence from a previous meeting. Your communicator makes a noise.

“Ops to the pilot of the Lizzie Bennet,” a harassed voice says – it wasn’t your job but you’ve had to do this in a pinch on Starbase 58 before; you know the tone that says there isn’t time to look up names. “The ion storm has cleared, and your assigned departure window is in half an hour. It is important you leave within this window; other ships docked in your section are waiting for you to clear in line with ion storm protocol. If you need to stay longer, please enter a new request for a docking assignment.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you, ops.” You cut the connection and turn to Chris. “Did you catch that? I’ve got to go… I was one of the last in before the storm hit so I have to be one of the first out.”

“I’ll walk you to your ship. I’ll be back for that drink, Leland, I—”

“Sure. Neat scotch, right? I’ll have it waiting. Nice to meet you,” Leland nods.

“Wrong time again,” Chris says, corner of his mouth lifting, as you reach Lizzie’s dock. Your walk back was quiet, but once you were out the bar he reached out and tucked your arm into his. There’s no one around; the ship before yours has just gone but you’re not on the clock quite yet.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. Maybe I shouldn’t have said… I didn’t think I’d be leaving so soon.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” He turns, facing you, and you stare up into his eyes as he reaches out, brushing your cheek with his finger. And then he’s leaning in and so are you and his kiss is soft, almost questioning, but it lights you up. You reach up and run your hand along that perfect jawline, memorising the feel of his body gently pressing into yours, his skin under your fingers, his lips sliding across yours. Memorising the feel of him.

All too soon though your communicator chirps, and he pulls away with a small smile. “So I’ll see you at Starbase… 114 next time? I don’t even know where that is.”

Starship Enterprise is proving to be a challenge.

The ship is at warp on the way to study some kind of spatial phenomenon; you’ve reviewed the scans and there’s no planned security involvement in this mission, but you’re still a few days away. You’re on the bridge, early for the start of your shift.

You know, in your head, that getting to be on the secondary security station on the bridge is a good thing. It shows Andre Sullivan, the new security chief, trusts you. He’s strong but compact, with brown skin, short wiry curls, and a neat short beard. His dark eyes, his whole presence, is calm and thoughtful, but you’ve seen him fight, and he is formidable. You warmed to him straight away; you don’t think he’ll make the same sorts of mistakes as his predecessor. And you’re enjoying your work, too. It’s challenging but in a good way, and so far the work is everything you hoped it would be.

“Captain on the bridge!”

You focus on your station as the captain walks across to his chair to relieve Lieutenant Jayasuriya who had the gamma shift conn. You listen to her update, but only to make sure there’s nothing important going on that you don’t know about.

Really you’re waiting. You’re waiting out the half hour or so that it takes for Pike to come and check in with Sullivan, and by extension, with you. You’re waiting for what will probably be your only interaction of the day.

Time ticks by very slowly, but eventually he gets up and heads over. You steel yourself a little.

“Lieutenant Commander,” he tips his head in acknowledgement of you, and it’s not unfriendly, just… formal.

“Captain,” you match his tone, polite.

“Sullivan, we’ll talk about the invacuation drill schedule but I have to ask... did you enjoy your dessert last night? What was it, ice cream sundaes?”

Of course the captain would know about the incident in the mess hall last night. You, Sullivan, and a couple of others had been ordering drinks from the synthesiser to go with your meal, but a synthesiser glitch turned your iced tea into a whole roast turkey, and Sullivan’s water had become twelve ice cream sundaes. Chef took the turkey saying he’d use it for sandwiches or soup, but most of the sundaes went to a group of science specialists who had just been finishing their meals as you arrived.

“You should ask Garison. I didn’t have any of them, but he had a chocolate fudge one. For ’analytical purposes’, he said.”

“So what were the results of your ’analysis’ Garison? Synthesisers working again?”

You focus on your console, trying to tune out the rest of the chat – You know Pike won’t draw you into it. At first you wondered if it was because you were new, but he’s cordial with Sullivan and Nhan. It’s only you that he barely talks to. And while you see him every day, you miss him. You miss having him as a friend.

You try not to shake your head at the thought, and bring up the timetable for the drills on you console. You are making friends on the ship, like Lieutenant Laleh Tehrani who you spoke to in Engineering that first day. Louvier assigned her to take a look at Lizzie, and you hit it off over ideas for upgrading the warp plasma manifolds, enough that she invited you for girls’ night with her friends Lieutenants Anisa Lestari from operations and Selina Anderson from stellar cartography. You get on well with the security crew, and you can always count on one of them to be there for squash, tennis, or velocity. And the chef… you wouldn’t say you’re friends, quite yet, but he has given you permission to use the kitchens as long as you record the ingredients you use and don’t get in the way of major mealtimes.

And it’s not like you and Pike were ever much more than acquaintances, not really. Acquaintances who had some fun together that one time.

That’s the challenge, you think, as you focus on your work. To manage how you feel about the captain. To learn to move on. It’s more difficult on a quiet shift. But, being the Enterprise, it doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“We’re getting a distress signal, Captain, from the science station on Beron III.”

“On screen, Nicola.” You turn to watch the screen, seeing Pike stand from his chair.

“I’m having some trouble with the signal, sir. There’s interference. I’m trying to clear it up.”

The star field on the view screen blinks off, and in its place you can just about make out an officer in a navy fleet uniform. You catch yourself thinking old style, like you hadn’t been wearing one just a few weeks ago. The picture is jerky, staticky. Freezing every now and then. And what you can see is not good: the officer is dishevelled, people are running about behind her, and as you watch a console in the background explodes in a shower of sparks.

“Enterprise to Beron station, how can we help?”

“This is Commander Chung. We need an evac, now. We’re here to study the atmosphere, but it’s undergoing some kind of inversion. Electrical storms are increasing; we’ve lost main power, but before we did we modelled a chemical reaction which is making the air unbreathable. We’re sending you our latest models and scans, but we can only last a few more hours.”

“Tyler, what’s our ETA?”

“At maximum warp? Three hours, sir. Course laid in.”

“Number One, hit it. Spock, do you have the data?”

“Yes, Captain.”

 “Chung, hang in there – we’re on our way. Enterprise out.”

He sits back down, and you turn away.

“Looks like there are only six staff members assigned to the base, sir,” you say quietly to Sullivan who’s next to you at the primary station. “The planet is uninhabited, and it’s not thought to be of tactical interest to any other race.”

“Captain, I am analysing the data we have received, and I believe we have a problem.”

“What is it, Mr Spock?”

You turn again as Spock brings a graphic up on the screen.

“It will not be safe to beam through the atmosphere. The model shows that the interference will be too great for the targeting scanners to achieve a lock.”

“Can we send a shuttle?”

“The station only has six crew. A shuttle would be able to accommodate them.” Sullivan says.

“And I could pilot it,” Number One turns her chair to face the captain.

“The electrical discharges preclude the use of a shuttle, Captain.” Spock changes the view on the screen, showing simulations he has run of a shuttle in the atmosphere. Ten simulations play at once; the shuttle is destroyed in the lower atmosphere five times, destroyed during landing twice more, and crashes but remains at least partially intact on the remaining three. “Even with your skill, Number One, the odds of a successful landing are negligible. And once you were on the surface, returning to the Enterprise would be equally as unlikely.”

“Options? Can we reinforce the shuttle’s shields in some way? Improve the targeting scanners?” Pike stands. You can’t see his expression, but you imagine a frown as he steps closer to the screen, as though willing a solution to appear.

“The shuttle’s engines attract the discharges, sir. Modifying the shields would not help.”

“If they had pattern enhancers, would we be able to lock onto them then?” You hear the note of eagerness in Number One’s voice.

Spock turns to his station. “Yes, we would, however, the station lacks transporters, so they would have no need of enhancers. And their power is offline, so they would not be able to synthesise them.”

“But if we could get enhancers to them?”

“What are you thinking, Number One?”

“The storms are in the lower atmosphere. None of the shuttles took any damage before they reached the lower stratosphere. We could fly a shuttle down there, then someone can skydive the rest of the way.”

“Would that work?”

“The plan is not without risk; however it seems to be our only logical choice.”

“Good. Nicola, alert the station, tell them that’s what we’re going to do, and to prepare themselves primarily and anything else they wish to bring in one location. I’m going to go suit up.”

You see Number One frown in disagreement, and you feel Sullivan taking a breath next to you ready to object. But you’re quicker than both of them. You’re standing already.

“Captain, let me go. I have the best exodive accuracy scores here. And you’ve seen—you know I can do it.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you, for the first time since your first day here. His blue eyes meet yours, and you can’t read his expression, but you hold his gaze, not backing down. He smiles, rueful.

“Point taken, Commander. Do what you need to get ready.”

“I’m sorry if I was out of line back there, volunteering myself,” you say to Sullivan in the turbolift on the way to the shuttle bay. You’ve never worn a red flight suit before, and you feel conspicuous. Although any flight suit is conspicuous, you suppose. Your bronze one was.

“You weren’t. Your instinct was the right one, and I want you – all my staff – to feel free to speak up. You never know when you can save a life.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He waves your thanks away. “We all need to be ready to step up.”

You walk past Lizzie on the way to the Kepler, the shuttle you’ll be jumping from. You brush your fingers along the hull, glad you’re not risking her in the atmosphere.

“Nice suit,” Tehrani says, looking you up and down.

“Oh gosh don’t start – I almost feel like a candy cane.”

“You won’t once I attach these.” She holds up the pattern enhancers. “There are six. You only need three, really, but we thought it’s better to be safe.”

She straps them to your front; they feel awkward, and your freedom of movement is a little impaired, but they’re secure, and they shouldn’t unbalance you as you fall.

“Not like a candy cane now,” she winks. “Come back safe, Commander.”

“Aye, Lieutenant.”

Number One arrives then, and you get into the shuttle. You’re glad she’s the one piloting you; in the few weeks you’ve seen her fly you’ve come to trust her. But while you like her, too, you do find her a little intimidating still.

And once you’re making your descent, the questions start.

“What were you going to say?”

“Excuse me?”

“On the bridge. You stopped yourself from saying something to the captain. What were you going to say?”

You shift in your seat, trying to get the pattern enhancers into a slightly more comfortable position – they’re digging in.

“I was just saying he knows I did well in my exodive scores. I prepared a report for Sullivan last week with everyone’s scores on that, diving, moving and stationary targets, half marathon… and Sullivan passed the security staff results to the captain, specifically, so he knows who best to assign to different away missions.”

The look she fixes you with is withering.

“I have worked with Captain Christopher Pike for four years now as his first officer. I know him. I know how he reacts to people – how he treats them. Then you come along, and there’s this—this distance between you, which I’ve never seen before. Maybe only with crew he’s had to reprimand.” She shakes her head as she turns and checks the console again, making minor course adjustments.

“I couldn’t account for it until today. But the way you spoke to him… you have history together, don’t you?” She looks at you, sidelong. “Are you his ex?”

“I—” you pause, remembering Risa. But what you’d had together… it was just a fling. “I’m not.  But we—we do have a… past. And before you say anything,” you raise a hand to silence the question you can see she’s about to ask. “I didn’t come here for him. I’d been looking for a posting on a Constitution class ship for months. I wanted to move into exploration, and when this came up… You know the Enterprise is the best in the fleet. Pike and I were a long time ago. And I wouldn’t even have considered applying if we hadn’t been on good terms.”

Number One tilts her head, then turns back to the controls. “The Talosians would’ve had a field day with you,” she mutters, but before you can ask who they are, an indicator flashes on the console.

“We’re at altitude. Are you ready?”

You stand. Everything else can wait. “Yes, Commander.” You activate your helmet, checking its cam uplink to the Enterprise and the integrity of your suit, and walk to the back of the shuttle. She activates a forcefield behind you.

“Good luck.” She opens the shuttle doors, and you step straight out into nothing.

Skydiving on Beron III is nothing like it was on Risa. You’re higher up and the atmosphere is thin. You concentrate on holding your pose as you plummet; you can’t afford to go into a spin as you get close to the speed of sound.

You watch the clouds as they approach, gradually taking up more of your field of view. From orbit the planet had looked a flat pale pink, but as you get closer you see variation, clouds undulating through more peachy and more mauvy colours. As you watch you begin to be able to discern individual storm cells, some with patches of mint green bursting through. You can’t see the ground at all, but you know you’re on track thanks to the display you can see overlaid on your visor.

The colours are a bit unsettling, possibly you’ve never seen an atmosphere like this before, but as you watch you start to appreciate its beauty. And it occurs to you that you’re the only person who has ever seen the planet like this. Possibly the only person who’s ever had this view of this type of atmosphere. You smile. This feeling of privilege and awe is a big part of why you’re out here.

“Status?” Captain Pike’s voice cuts through your reverie.

“Status nominal, Captain. Slowing from maximum velocity. I’m ready to deploy the drogue before I hit the troposphere.”

“Acknowledged. We’re getting your video and telemetry, but keep this line open.”

“Aye sir.”

You don’t really feel nervous until you start to see the electrical light. It’s subtle; you think it must be generated from some way beneath the surface of the clouds, but you see more and more little lights flashing faintly blue.

But there’s no backing out; these people need you. And you’re in a gravity well. There’s no way out but through.

“Activating drogue,” you say as you press a control with your right palm. You can feel it as the tiny parachute fires; it won’t slow you down, but it will help stabilise your fall. And you can really feel the atmosphere now; it’s thickening as you speed through it. Being able to feel a charge in the air must just your imagination because your suit insulates you from the outside world, but the hairs are standing up on the back of your neck.

“Entering the troposphere.” You work to keep the quaver out of your voice, as you plunge into a what you can only describe to yourself world of electric cotton candy.

Diffuse sunlight is filtering through, as you fall through pink, green and purple cells, one after the other. Parts of it feel like falling through fog, but there are gaps within the clouds, and at times you almost feel like you’re hurtling through caves. But as you go deeper, more and more of the light is blue flashes of lightning. Sometimes you can even see the webs of electricity lighting up the clouds; majestic, but terrifying.

Then you hit the turbulence. You’re grateful for the drogue, even as you feel your body taking a hammering you know it’s helping you stay on target. You’re glad, too, that Tehrani wrapped the pattern enhancers securely and gave you extras. But after you’re done counting your blessings you grit your teeth and focus on the altimeter.

“Approaching the bottom of the storm layer. Preparing to activate main—”

Suddenly everything goes white. Then black. Your entire body spasms for a long moment. You feel a sharp pain in your left leg as your vision and sensation fades back in.

“Commander? Report!” You can hear a little tension leaking into Pike’s voice.

“I’m—I’m fine. Hit, but not badly. We thought this may happen. Systems still read—read mostly nominal, but I lost the drogue. Activating main parachute now.”

You feel relief as you deploy your main parachute; you’re at the part that feels like a normal skydive, even if Beron III is not a normal place for it. Below the clouds the world is tinged pink, with smooth rolling hills. It’s barren, though. There is some plant life trying to grow, you think, but you can see marks where lightning has left round scorch marks on the local grass equivalent. As you fall lightning strikes and strikes again, close, and you’re glad for your emergency secondary parachute.

And finally, you can see the base. You pull your cords, adjusting your descent. The building has clearly had more than its fair share of strikes. The roof is scorched, and part of the building has clearly burned, but as you try to focus on it, your eyes start to water. You see blue forked lightning hit yet again through your blurred vision.

You cough. There must have been more damage than you thought.

But you blink and your vision clears, enough to see the main door of the building. Enough so that you can float in to land on your feet right in front of it. You stumble a little as pain lances up your leg, but you grit your teeth and stand.

“I’ve touched down safely. Entering the base now.”

You touch a control to release your parachute and press the door panel just as lightning hits just metres away. You topple forward into the waiting arms of Commander Chung.

“Oh thank god,” she says, pulling you in, and the door shuts behind you. Her face is marked and her uniform dirty, even given the dark colour. “This way.” She doesn’t wait around, and you follow her through the dark corridor, lit with emergency lights that flicker every time the building is struck. And it seems to get struck a lot.

“The strike frequency is increasing exponentially,” Chung answers the question you were about to ask. “Our lightning rods melted a couple of hours ago. Not sure if the atmosphere or the lightning would have taken us out first, but you’re here now. This is what’s left of the control centre.”

The other five members of the crew are in the middle of the room, and you get the pattern enhancers set up round them and the equipment they’re bringing quickly. A couple of them are in respiratory distress; you wonder if they had been in one of the more damaged sections.

You step back, out of the range of the transporter. “Enterprise, six to beam up.”

You watch as they are enveloped in golden light, and relief floods through you. You’ve done your job. Time to go home. You step between the enhancers.

“One more to beam up when ready, Enterprise.”

Blue lightning strikes just as you feel the beam take you, and you see pink and green sky above you as you’re transported away.

You sit in a bio bed as Doctor Boyce and a nurse examine your leg.

“We’re going to have to cut the suit off you.” Boyce says, and you sigh, which devolves into a cough. You hoped you would be able to get to your quarters and change before you went to sickbay, but Sullivan was waiting for you in the transporter room. And that was a good thing, apparently; the adrenaline coursing through you meant you didn’t notice that part of the suit had melted into your skin. “Better get those lungs looked at too,” Boyce adds, and the nurse nods.

You persuade a different nurse to give you a PADD while you sit propped up on the bed, waiting for your leg to heal. Deep tissue damage is not as bad as a broken bone, although it does itch a bit. But it still takes a while, so you wanted to pass the time productively and work on your report. You’re deep into it and don’t notice the captain approach until he speaks.

“Commander, how are you feeling?” Pike looks down at you, expression serious. But there’s warmth there, too.

“I’m fine, sir. Should be allowed to go soon.” You smile, a little self-conscious in your pale blue sickbay gown; it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. But then… he’s seen it all before, you think.

He nods. “Good. I wanted to say thank you. For taking the mission, saving those scientists. And… for not letting me go.” His eyes meet yours, and you see the sincerity there. The vulnerability. He’s still the captain, but you see something of Chris there, too. More than you have for the past few weeks.

Your voice is gentle when you speak. “I read through some of the logs from before I got here and… I think you were let down. I don’t want that to happen again.” You shrug. “And you know I love skydiving. If there had been horses involved…”

He laughs, and it sounds natural. “If we find horses out here, I’m not giving up riding them for anything.”

“I’ve still never ridden, you know.”

“Next time we’re on Earth we have to fix that. There’s really nothing like it; I’m sure Mary Lou would—”

But Doctor Boyce comes in then, brandishing a medical tricorder, and you can practically see the shutters fall on his expression.

“Commander, I’m glad you’re on the mend,” he says with a ghost of a smile, and he leaves, you and Boyce staring after him.

Dinner for the alpha shift is long finished by the time you make it to the mess hall, although there are a few people at tables, mostly chatting. You wave to your fellow security officers, Ensigns Suzuki and Corea, who are absorbed in playing some card game, and make your way to the galley.

 You debate leftovers vs the synthesiser, but the cold lasagne, topped with congealed cheese, really doesn’t look appealing. And as you program the synthesiser for a grilled chicken breast in tarragon sauce with vegetables, you can’t get your encounter in sickbay out of your mind. The way he warmed up. The way he shut down.

 And you think, as you settle down at a table, PADD in one hand, fork in the other, perhaps there’s something you can do.

You press the chime for the captain’s ready room; you hadn’t been surprised when the computer told you he was still here. Your pretext is your report. You could give it straight to the captain’s yeoman – you don’t think she likes you; as much as Pike has been keeping you at arm’s length it doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s nursing a crush on him, which makes you a threat – but sometimes a personal delivery is best.

“Enter,” comes the familiar voice, and you walk in. Pike is seated on the sofa, a stack of PADDs and a glass of something clear on the coffee table in front of him.

“Hey,” He stands as you approach. “I was going to ask you to stop by, but I thought you might want to have the evening to relax after today.”

That wasn’t quite what you were expecting. And you can’t help noticing the word he doesn’t say: Commander.

“Sir, I brought you my report… and some cookies I baked. A peace offering of sorts?” You take a breath. “I respect you, and if you need to keep keeping me at a distance, of course that’s fine; I’m not looking to cross any boundaries. But I wanted to say that I miss you. I miss my friend.”

“Think the cookies will go with Hinarian gin?” His mouth quirks into the smile that you’ve missed as he picks up the bottle and a glass from his bar cart, holding them out to you.

“No? But yes to the offer. Thanks.”

You put the PADD and the stasis container of cookies on the coffee table and settle into an armchair, taking the proffered drink. Pike resumes his seat on the sofa as you relish that icy first sip.

“I need to apologise,” he says after a moment. “I had some things I wasn’t aware I was working through, from a recent… encounter, and I took them out on you. I’m sorry for that.” He looks you in the eye, and you feel something settle inside you.

“Una – Number One – called me out, after I saw you in sickbay. She said if I couldn’t treat you like any other crew member, I should ask you to leave on your shuttle.” He sips his drink, and sighs gently.

“I won’t bore you with the details, and some of them are classified, but there were some aliens… they got in my head. Made me see things that weren’t real… think I felt things for a person that weren’t real… They made me question my reality, in a way I didn’t expect. It was hard to shake that off, even back on the ship, after we left them. And then you came along and…” He sighs. “I told myself maintaining a professional distance would be the right thing, but it wasn’t. And that wasn’t what I was doing.”

His blue eyes are disarming.

“I missed your friendship, too. And I realised I don’t need to deny us that.”

“Apology accepted, Chris. I—well, I don’t understand, per se, but I get that things can be strange out here. And that’s both why we’re here and the price we pay, I suppose.”

He nods. “So, top up? Or should I synthesise hot chocolate to go with the cookies?”

“Keep them for morning briefing.” You hold out your glass. “You know this is the only real alcohol I have in my quarters? That and whiskey. I did have some Saurian brandy, once, on Starbase 58, but probably the least said about that the better.”

“Boyce swears by martinis. I haven’t had to use it, but I believe he has a good hangover cure, in case you do over-indulge…”

Starship Enterprise is your favourite posting so far.

Your favourite for the work you’re doing and the places you’re getting to see; truly on the frontier now as you leave known space behind.

Security Chief Sullivan is continuing to show trust in you, letting you take the beta shift at the primary security station some weeks. Commander Nhan, another officer who’s a little older and more experienced than you, is willing to share her knowledge and help you be better. The rest of the security crew are hard-working, brave, and fun to be around.

You’re honing your poker skills at the bridge crew’s regular game. Your strategy isn’t quite there yet, but when you pretend to yourself the other players are miscreants on Starbase 58’s brig, your poker face is. You and Laleh Tehrani meet up at least weekly, either with Lestari and Anderson for a pampering night or 2-on-2 Parrises squares, or sometimes to work on Lizzie.

And the captain… You’ve been fortunate through your career that you’ve always had commanding officers who you’ve respected, and you respect Captain Pike, too, but… now he’s your friend. The friend who cheered you up when you were alone all those years ago. The friend who’s given you good advice, and who you’ve been able to help too.

Some days you chat after evening briefing, listening to his stories about horses and winning the Rigel cup, or sharing your ideas for mods you were thinking of doing to Lizzie. He flags articles in his briefings that he thinks you’ll be interested in, and if you bake you make sure to bring him a sample. He even asks after Penny. You still don’t know exactly what happened on Talos – though you’re well aware of General Order 7, banning contact with the planet – but you don’t see traces of that shadow Chris seemed to be under anymore. Or if you do, they’re fleeting. And, of course, there are… boundaries. You’ve never invited him to your quarters, for example. The attraction you felt four years ago hasn’t gone away, but you value your friendship more. You put it aside.

Starship Enterprise has been your favourite posting… up until today.

You had mentioned to Chris over blueberry muffins before briefing that you missed cooking, as opposed to baking, but you never got the chance because mealtimes were when the galley was in use, and you were touched when he offered you the use of his kitchen to host a dinner party.

Now you’re spending the morning going through crew security evals to flag up who needs recertification or additional training. And you are absolutely not mentally planning out dinner party menus, and who you would want to invite. You are entirely focused on your job. And you’re telling yourself that when Nicola announces that he’s picked up a distress call. You jolt back to yourself, closing out the evals and bringing up the sensor scans, before turning to the view screen.

“Greetings.” The alien speaking has charcoal black skin which glimmers as he moves; you get the sense that it’s hard for him to stop long enough to talk to you. “I am Medana, chair of the Naerol Confederacy, and we seek your help. Three days ago, a rogue Daramer terraforming device dropped out of subspace close to the Naerol system, and it is on course to land on our primary planet, where it will kill all life.” He subsides, looking to another alien of a different species.

“My people sent these probes out many, many generations ago, when we sought to expand our presence in the galaxy and subdue it. It is preparing the way for colonists who will never come. I am Le’av, of the Daramer Nomads. We are trying all we can to mend the errors of our ancestors, but we have so far failed to deactivate the probe and if we try to destroy it, the consequences will be catastrophic. Not just for the Naerol but for this whole sector.” They wipe a hand across a golden brow.

“We no longer have access to the technology which could control this device, but it remains on our former homeworld. Our ancestors saw the error of our ways and there was… a schism. We forsook our homeworld and our terraforming technology, and set out in convoy ships to explore. But lest any of our number change their mind in the long years to come, our ancestors fortified Daramer. Those defences are still active… we lost the ships which tried to land to retrieve the artefact we need.” They sigh heavily, brown eyes sad, and you wonder if they lost someone personally on a ship that went down. “But we heard via our web that the Federation had transporter technology, so we hoped that you would be willing to use it to access the surface directly. We are sending you data on our findings so far.”

You glance at Spock, whose screen has come to life; he is paging through the transmission, eyebrow raised.

Captain Pike is standing in front of his chair, and he squares his shoulders slightly. “Of course. Medana, Le’av, we will do anything we can. How long do we have?” You smile inwardly at the way the captain doesn’t think twice about helping aliens you’ve never had contact with before; that’s Chris all over.

You focus on your console. The computer has identified the Naerol planet, and the swarm of ships taking off from it; enough to evacuate some of the populace, perhaps a lot of their children, but… there are ten billion people living there. If you can’t help, most of them will die.

The staff meeting is done, the plans are made, the away teams are planetside. You are in a team with Ensigns Spock and Suzuki, but there are three other teams being led by the captain, Number One, and Sullivan. Your beam-down site is on the western continent in the remains of a large city, and you take a second to look around the tumbled down grey stonework, highlighted gold by the late afternoon sun, and to imagine what it must have been like when this place was alive with people. It’s still alive, of course, but now it’s with plants and trees, reclaiming the city a block at a time. As you watch a large white parachute-like seed pod drifts through a hole in a wall, dropping little motes that sparkle in the sunlight as it flies. The reclamation continues.

“The shielded area around the artefact is this way.”  Spock points, and you aim your tricorder in that direction. Your destination is a distance away, and you won’t have as far to come to beam out, but this was the safest beam-in point in the vicinity.

“We should proceed with caution. I’m detecting faint energy signatures, and we need to be on our guard for manual traps too.”

Spock and Suzuki nod, and you make your way into the ruins.

There are traps everywhere. Some are decayed with age; you can see where a laser emitter is supposed to be shining a light to trigger an energy beam, but both it and the beam emitter are dead. This looks like it might have been a residential block, but it’s dead silent apart from the faint rustle of leaves in the lightest of breezes; you wonder whether there is animal life on this planet, and whether over the generations it has learned to stay away.

“Spock, are you seeing the paving stone?”

“Affirmative, Commander. I will avoid it.” The silence is also broken by the three of you checking on each other, and the beeps of your tricorders. Although you know you don’t really need to check on Spock; the Vulcan is a picture of calm concentration, clearly aware of his entire surroundings down to the minutest detail.

Suzuki is doing well too, of course; the Enterprise is the best ship in the fleet because of her crew. You don’t know him well yet; even though he’s in security he’s been on gamma a lot, so your paths haven’t crossed much. What you have seen of him has been friendly and gregarious off-duty, but here he’s all business, eager to reach the target, to be successful.

The ruins change as you get closer to the shield, closer to the centre of the city. The buildings are larger, more spaced out, and everything curves. The walls, the way they reach into the sky… the only straight lines are where things have fallen.

“We have reached the edge of the shielded area,” Spock announces, and you can’t see anything different with your eyes, even as your tricorder confirms he is right. “Transport and communicators will cease to work from this point.”

“Thank you, Spock. Team three to Enterprise, we are at the edge of the shield. Are we go to proceed?”

“Enterprise here. You are the first to reach a shield. Please proceed, but be back in transporter range within three hours. If you are not within range and another team retrieves a controller before you, we’ll have to leave without you.”

“Understood. Team three out.”

You thought there were a lot of defences before. But this is a different level. Your senses are alert to everything. The tufts of soft green-yellow grass poking through the pavement you’re walking on, which bend almost without a sound. The large pale blue flowers that unfurl in the corner of your vision, catching your attention for a moment. But you don’t have time to think about flora, because—

“Suzuki!” He freezes. “Take one pace back, now to the right, and again—good. You were too close to that wire. One wrong move, and…”

“Sorry, Commander. I thought this might be a faster…” He shakes his head, refocusing. “It won’t happen again.”

Spock indicates a large, ornate building across a circular plaza, and you make your way there. This building is the most intact you’ve seen, dome- shaped with intricate carvings which although weathered are still detailed, still draw the eye along spiralling, confusing paths. “Based on scans and the information the Daramer shared, the artefact should be in there.”

“Agreed. And it doesn’t look like we have much choice in how we proceed; it seems that what power systems remain are concentrated here, and nearly the whole area is covered.” You pick up a stone and throw it to your right; it’s vaporised mid-air. “I know this is stressful but we’re doing well. Let’s keep our focus; people are counting on us.”

When you were a kid on the Pemberley and your parents needed to keep you quiet for a bit, they would sometimes sit you down in front of a PADD with various puzzle games. One was a maze where you had to tilt the PADD to steer the character through, and you could spend hours on it.

You can’t help but think of that puzzle now. The room you’re in is round, and still has power, at least partially. It’s part auditorium, with dusty rows of what used to be seats, covers rotted away, and part displays of transformations of barren planets to living ones, or living planets to planets more like this one, along with cases showing equipment and artefacts like rocks and bones. It would have been the final place where colonists met before leaving Daramer, according to your briefing.

And every step you take, almost every breath you breathe echoes round the room, coming back to you muffled, twisted. You pick your way through with care, spiralling closer to the middle.

It’s only taken you half an hour to get this far, through corridors looping round the building, and you’re so close, mere steps away. You can see the controller on its pedestal — tantalisingly close to touching distance. Spock scans it and confirms it’s functional, and that removing it won’t cause anything either mechanical or otherwise to trigger and kill you all.

The lethal bit is the final two metres between you and the artefact. One wrong step, wrong move, and you will set off one of ten sensors in a metre range of the pedestal. They probably aren’t all working, after all this time, but the Daramer briefing made it clear: it only takes one.

“It is not possible to reach the artefact from here. The layout of the traps means our probability of success is unacceptably low. However, I believe we will be able to approach from the south.” Spock brings up a schematic on his tricorder screen. “We must leave the room, make our way round the building, and re-enter from the other side. Scanning resolution is clearer here; I project it will take us another hour to reach the other side of the artefact, then a further hour to reach the beam out point. Well within our allotted time.”

“Agreed.” You stifle a sigh, frowning at your own tricorder; you don’t relish the idea of another couple of hours of this. “I don’t like it, but you’re right. We have the time, and there’s no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Let’s head back.”

“But we’re so close.” Suzuki sounds frustrated, and he bounces slightly on his toes. “I’m only a few steps away; there’s enough space between the sensor here and the wire there. If I just—”

“Suzuki, no!”

But it’s too late. He takes a step, reaches out, grasps the artefact then misses his next step back.

There are times when the Vulcans have it right. When you have to stop feeling to get the job done. And you have a job to do: get yourself, Spock, Suzuki and the artefact back safely. At least he’s still alive, for now – there is poison in his system, but he is breathing though he isn’t conscious.

The other Vulcan trait you’re grateful for is strength, right now, as Spock takes more than his share of Suzuki’s dead weight between you.

You don’t think. You don’t feel. You just analyse your surroundings moment to moment, staying in that perfect focus. Through the auditorium, along corridors, past sensors, lasers, more poison-laced traps, round curve after curve until you emerge into an alien twilight.

You stand in the corner of sickbay, still and unobtrusive. Years of guard duty mean that you can hold yourself in a way that says, I have a right to be here. I am here to keep you safe.

Even when it isn’t true.

Suzuki’s breaths on the bio bed are laboured, but every one is a victory. You overheard Boyce telling a nurse that if he makes it through the next eight hours he’ll likely make a full recovery, but the question is whether his body can fight off the toxin he was hit with.

And he is breathing on his own now, though the ventilator is set to pick up if he stops. You estimate he’s doing twelve breaths per minute; if he can make about five thousand, three hundred more he should be all right.

So you stand there, counting breaths, holding yours when his stutters, trying to work out what you could have done differently. Knowing that if it had to be someone, it should have been you.

You have counted one thousand, five hundred and eleven breaths when you feel the ship drop out of warp. At least now your vigil is for one person, not billions.

Medical staff come by to check on him occasionally, but for the most part you’re undisturbed. Until you get to three thousand, eight hundred and eighty-seven.

“Commander, how is he?” The captain is standing right beside you; you barely noticed him coming in.

“His breath… it still sounds so—so difficult for him.” You pause, listening as Suzuki takes in another shuddering breath in, then out.

“But Boyce said if he can push through for another one thou—uh—about two hours, now, I guess, he should recover.”

You feel Pike nod, and his voice softens. “And how are you?”

“I’m—” you cut yourself off. You were about to say fine. But Chris isn’t asking because he wants a platitude.

“It should be me, over there.” You jerk your head in Suzuki’s direction.

“Spock told me he recommended you take another route, and you concurred, but Suzuki jumped the gun.”

You snort. “He did not say that.”

Pike shrugs, waiting.

“I saw the impatience in him, the eagerness to get the job done. Maybe to be a hero? And I… I should’ve… checked him. Pulled him back before he got that far. We lose too many, as a fleet. I think I told you once before that I wouldn’t mind dying for Starfleet, and maybe I will one day, but… only if it’s necessary. Today it wasn’t, and I should’ve done better.”

Pike is silent for a while, and you go back to counting breaths. Another twenty-one go by, and then he leaves. But before you can really register his absence, he returns with two chairs.

His mouth quirks in response to your raised brow. “Might as well be comfortable. What have we got? About one thousand three hundred left?”

“Must be about that,” you say, stifling a groan as you sit; standing so still left you a little stiff. Pike’s chair is close to yours, and he reaches out to you as he sits, laying a hand on your shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze.

“Remember he made his own choice,” Pike’s voice is thoughtful. Gentle. “You did what you could, and after that, you need to let it go.”

“I know.” You shake your head, trying to shake the guilt you feel. “I’m trying.”

“It’s easier to say than to do, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite, offering you advice I don’t take... but perhaps we can work on it together.”

Suzuki’s breathing continues to be laboured for his next few hundred breaths, but if you didn’t seek absolution, at least you made your confession. And Pike’s presence, silent and steady, is comforting.

Then, finally, Boyce comes in, and you feel your stomach clench as he makes his examination. You stand, as does Pike.

“He’s going to make it,” Boyce says as he turns to face you both, and your relief is almost overwhelming. “I’ll need to keep him in here for observation for the next twenty-four hours, and light duties for a few more days after that, but he should be right as rain.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Put the chairs back, Pike. That’s all the thanks I need.” Boyce turns to you. “He’ll be asleep for a few hours longer, but by all means come and chew him out tomorrow afternoon.” he nods before closing his tricorder and leaving.

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you say as Pike returns, chairs gone. “I really appreciated you being there. And your counsel.”

“You are always welcome,” he says, and there’s something in the look in his eyes as they catch yours for a moment. “So, have you thought any more about the dinner party? I assume you have a menu by now…”