Chapter Text
“Yeah, he’s gonna have to stay overnight,” T’Ana evaluated, pulling back the medical tricorder.
Both officers’ faces fell. “Seriously?” Carol demanded.
“It’s just a broken arm, Doc,” Alonzo agreed. “Can’t you just, you know, wave a regenerator over it or…?” He trailed off hopefully, but T’Ana’s flat expression made it clear she was having none of it.
“I wish,” she scoffed, tapping on the tricorder’s screen to overlay his bioscan on top of the X-ray. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “That’s multiple comminuted fractures and a shredded tendon; the broken bones are no problem, but your soft bits look like someone tried to make sashimi with a buzssaw.” The couple collectively winced at this colorful description. “Lucky for you, I assumed someone was going to have a drunken accident tonight, so I’ve got the private room already prepped with a regenerator cast.”
“We weren’t–” the captain said with exasperation, but the doctor cut her off.
“Don’t know, don’t care, not my business. You can post up in the lobby for a few minutes until I’ve got everything situated.”
Realizing that it wasn’t worth the effort to be indignant (and besides, what was she supposed to do, tell T’Ana the truth?) Carol gave her husband a tired wave as he was led away, and then headed out of the doctor’s office down the narrow hallway to the medbay’s small waiting room.
To her surprise, it wasn’t empty when she arrived. “Beckett?”
Her daughter, who had been bracing her head against her hand, looked up. “Oh. Hey, Mom.”
“What are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Boimler?”
Beckett nodded back towards the medbay; ah, so that was why T’Ana had said that she had an “emergency” to deal with first and the broken arm would have to wait. But given that Beckett looked tired, not jittery and panicked, Carol could safely assume that the situation was under control.
“So, kiddo,” she sighed, sitting down next to her. “Long day?”
Beckett snorted unhappily. “Yeah. You could say that.”
Her mother glanced over at her out of the corner of her eye and bit her lip. “You, uh…wanna talk about it?”
Mariner looked at her, surprised; for a moment the captain thought she’d brush her off, but then her daughter sighed with a rueful smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Accidentally sent my best friend into anaphylactic shock. You?”
Carol blinked and then snickered despite herself and leaned her head back against the wall. “Broke your father’s arm. Guess I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”
“Oh, gross, Mom, I don’t need to know about your sex life–”
“Oh please, we were in the turbolift, nothing happened. Unfortunately,” she sighed.
“Mom!”
The captain repressed another chuckle and closed her eyes, exhaustion settling over her shoulders; had it really only been that morning that she’d spoken with Sonya and all this had started? Feels like ages ago… the evening was obviously shot at this point, she may as well say goodnight to Zo and just go to bed–
“Mom?” an uneasy voice interrupted her musings, and she opened her eyes, surprised. “...Were you ever scared?”
Of all the questions Beckett could have asked her right now, she hadn’t been expecting that. “What?”
“About…you and dad.” Like Carol herself, her daughter was staring up at the ceiling, not meeting her eyes. “Didn’t you ever worry that you’d screw it all up, and then he’d be out of your life?”
Oh. So, that’s what this was about. “Sure,” she agreed. “Sometimes I…guess I still do.”
“Really? But you guys have been together for, like, ever.”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Beckett.” She softened. “It sure doesn’t feel that way, though. Sometimes it feels like I met your father just yesterday.” She laughed under her breath despite herself. “Well, maybe not yesterday; I mean we hated each other at first.”
“Wait—you did?” Beckett straightened up in surprise. “But I always thought you guys fell in love at the Academy.”
“Hm? Oh, that’s true,” her mother said, waving a hand. “We got assigned to a bunch of projects together; he thought I was a hotheaded, shoot-from-the-hip loudmouth, and I thought he was a west-coast slacker from a respectable family who didn’t have to try. But, then we got to know each other, became close friends, realized the other had their reasons…and one day I saw him coming into our old bar and he smiled at me, and that was it. I don’t know why, it just was.”
“So he just walked in the door and what, you fell in love?” She nodded, and was surprised to find her daughter studying her face very intensely. “But why then, how did you know?”
Carol shrugged. “I just realized I couldn’t live without him.” She smiled wryly, adding: “And thank god, I’ve never had to. No matter where we are in the galaxy, your father and I…we’ve got each other’s backs.” And somehow, as soon as she’d said it, all the stress and anxiety of the last few hours felt like nothing more than a fading bad dream.
“So that’s love?” Beckett repeated, and her strangely upset voice drew her mother back to the present. “You’re just— best friends with a person, and think they’re kinda cute or whatever, and then you realize you can’t live without them—and that’s love?”
“Well I mean you’ve gotta put the work in, but yeah, Beckett, what else did you think?” Carol chuckled. “It’s not like in the holonovels, you know, it’s a lot simpler than that.” Her daughter’s face had scrunched up in what looked like irritated consternation, and suddenly it dawned on her: “Uh– Beckett, is there someone you–”
“What? No. Psh, no, of course not,” Beckett said quickly, looking away—but her eyes flickered back again and she saw her mother giving her a knowing eyebrow-raise, and sighed, leaning her head back against the chair.
“You know the stupid thing?” she mumbled. “I wasn’t even scared he’d say no.” Mariner looked up at the medbay ceiling and blinked hard against the tears pricking in her eyes; she wasn’t sure why she was telling her mother this—telling anyone this, really. “I was…scared he’d say yes.”
Carol pursed her lips. She remembered that feeling, or at least, she remembered a similar one—the reluctance to believe, after eighteen years of getting kicked around, looked down on and treated like a burden, that something as cliché as love could really last. That she herself wouldn’t somehow fuck it up, and prove she didn’t deserve it. She’d long suspected that whatever had happened to Beckett during the war had combined with Carol’s own poor modeling of emotional vulnerability in some unfortunate ways, but to see so clearly the same self-doubt she’d once felt—alright, fine, still felt—on her daughter’s face like that… well, she couldn’t just let it stand.
“Beckett, look,” she said, turning to face her. “Love is…a risk. I’m not going to pretend it’s not, and I’m not going to tell you whether you should take that risk, that’s up to you.” Her daughter glanced over at her, biting her lip. “But if someone forced me to do the last thirty years all over again, with no guarantee it would all turn out the way it did the first time—I would still choose your father. Because even the chance of a life with him…it would be worth any risk.”
“Even the risk of losing him?” her daughter said, a touch bitterly. But Carol just nodded.
“Mm-hm. Even that. Listen, nothing in life is certain, but if you don’t ever take any chances then you’ll never see how good it can be. Sometimes you’ve just got to, I don’t know–”
“Let me guess, take a leap of faith,” Beckett sighed.
“Well, yeah. Not just faith in Mr. Bo– in this other person, but in yourself too,” Carol said ruefully, surprising her daughter. “You’ve gotta try, even though you’re scared you’ll mess up. And you’ve got to keep trying, over and over again. That’s what marriage is, Beckett, taking that risk and choosing each other over and over for the rest of your lives.”
“Well uh, I don’t know about marriage yet, but…thanks, Mom.
Both looked over as the doors slid open, and Dr. T’Ana appeared, jerking a thumb back over her shoulder. “They’re asking for you. Try not to kill them for at least the rest of the night, wouldja? I’ve got some reports I’d like to finish in peace. ”
Chastened, the pair slunk past the doctor into the medbay and broke off, with the captain heading towards the rarely-used private suite at the end of the ward and Mariner making her way over to a prone figure in a nearby biobed. Carol caught sight of a shock of purple hair peeking over a mini-Padd (seriously, was the man ever not working?) before the doors to the suite slid open and she ducked inside.
Alonzo was sitting with the back of the biobed raised and his arm suspended in a sling, a white regenerator cast (complete with a glowing blue touchscreen and emitting the comforting whirr-beep of Starfleet medical instruments) encasing the broken bones. He was also out of his uniform and in a set of Starfleet standard-issue pajamas, dashing the last lingering hope that he might not have to stay the night. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he greeted ruefully, lifting the fingers of his good hand in a halfhearted wave as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“How’s your arm?”
“Fine. Can’t even feel it now; the cast’s got some sort of local anesthetic in it.”
“Small blessings, I guess.” She shook her head. “We really screwed the targ on this one, huh.”
Alonzo shrugged. “Could be worse. Remember that time we-“
“Tried to have sex in a turbo lift at a work gala?” she suggested dryly.
He chuckled. “Alright, fair enough.” His eyes crinkled. “Just one more adventure, right?”
Despite hereself the captain felt her mouth quirk upwards at that. “Hnh. I guess so.” She leaned down to kiss him, slower, and then deeper. When she pulled away it felt too soon, and she could see the same in his eyes, their noses only a few inches apart.
Yellow alert, a voice in her head said dryly, and she sighed and stood up. “I’ll be in my quarters, comm me if you need me. And get some rest, you know regenerator casts take it out of you.”
He waved his good hand. “I know, I know.” She raised her brows, and he rolled his eyes. “Aye, Captain.”
“Uhuh, s’what I thought. Love you.” She turned to go, but suddenly Alonzo’s voice called out:
“On second thought, Captain Freeman, belay that course of action."
She turned back, surprised. Then she saw the look in his eyes, and her face burned hot; it didn’t take thirty years of familiarity to know what that silent communication meant. “Wh- are you crazy?!” she hissed, looking back over her shoulder. “What if T’Ana catches us?”
“You heard her, she wanted to finish reports in her office! Besides, from what you’ve told me about her and your security officer she wouldn’t exactly have any stones to throw…”
“The fact that those two do it anywhere there’s a flat surface doesn’t mean we can; I’m the captain, I’m supposed to set a good example! Q knows this crew needs one–“
“Alright, it was just an idea,” he said, raising his good hand in an acquiescing gesture. “If you don’t want to–”
“I never said that!” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she blushed even harder, pinching the bridge of her nose—but not without peeking one eye open at him. He smiled at her, warm and broad and every bit as handsome as it had been that night she’d fallen for him, over thirty years ago.
They had a bed. They had an empty room. Goodness knew they’d made do with less before.
“Oh, what the hell.” They were Starfleet, after all; damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.
“You’re supposed to be resting, lieutenant, not working; hand it over.”
Reluctantly, the junior officer logged out of the forum for creatively-transported goods. “I find work restful?” he tried as he passed the mini-Padd to the doctor.
“Great, you’ll have something to tell Migleemo at your next session,” T’Ana drawled, pocketing the device. “You can have it back once your discharged.”
Mariner waited until the doctor had retreated back into his office before turning to her friend. “Really, Brad? Working in a biobed? Even for you that’s a lot.” But the ruefulness in her voice and the half-wince made it clear she was apologetic, and Boimler just gave her a fond eye-roll in response. Although his breathing was back to normal and he no longer looked like he was being strangled from the inside out, his restrictive dress uniform had also been ditched in favor of the khaki undershirt, giving her a perfect view of the angry red hives stretching all the way from his face down to the tops of his hands. She had to stop herself from scratching her own skin at the sight.
“Just making sure our tracks are covered,” Boimler replied dryly. “Plus it was taking my mind off all the famous captains and admirals I could be talking to right now.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry man,” she exhaled, pulling out the little guest chair and sitting down. “I swear, I had no clue.” She quirked a bemused eyebrow at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with a peanut allergy before. How did I not know this about you?”
“I can be in the same room as them, I just can’t eat them,” he argued. “Besides, we work on a starship stuffed with biofilters and replicators, and alien planets don’t usually grow Terran foods; it’s actually less of a problem here than on earth.”
“Fair enough.” She eyed the scarlet welts on his hands and tried not to sink into the floor with guilt. “Do they hurt?”
Boimler shrugged. “Not really. They were itching pretty bad ten minutes ago, but Dr. T’Ana gave me a hypospray for that; she said I could leave once the redness goes down, but that could take a few hours.” He sounded mournful, no doubt thinking of missed networking opportunities. “Look I know you’re worried, but seriously, I’ll be fine; you should beam back down, enjoy the rest of the party.”
“What, and ditch you up here after I nearly killed you? What kind of friend do you think I am?”
“You didn’t know it could've killed me; I’m okay, Mariner, really–”
“Dude, I’m staying. It’s fine, I’ll keep you company.” She rearranged herself more comfortably on the chair to show she meant it, and he was unable to repress a smile.
“Okay. Well…since you’re staying, can I ask you a question?” She raised her eyebrows, and he continued: “Before I almost died, you were acting kind of strange. Everything okay?”
Oh. Mariner gulped; she hadn’t expected this to come up again so quickly, even despite her little talk (which she was already regretting, and would of course pretend had never happened) with her mom. “Yeah, just…” But Brad was looking at her with such genuine concern that she realized she wouldn’t be able to brush this under the rug. “Look, what we talked about earlier in the chute, it…kind of touched on some of my issues,” she admitted. “There’s stuff I want to tell you, but…I just can’t.”
“I get that, Mariner, but sometimes I worry about you,” he said firmly, taking her hand in a silent plea for her not to run away. “I'm your friend, I’d rather at least try to help than watch you pull away and get self-destructive again. If you can’t tell me what’s wrong, can you at least tell me why you can’t tell me?”
Mariner hesitated, sensing the danger—the threat of even glancing back at the monsters she always pretended weren’t chasing her, of looking down into the bottom of the glass and having to face what exactly she’d been drinking. But…maybe the time had come, to take a chance. Come on, a little voice whispered, that sounded a lot like her mother’s. Be brave. Even if she couldn’t fully throw herself out into open air, maybe she could take a step closer to the ledge. One little step. She could do that, right?
“Sometimes, it’s like I’m…standing, at the edge of this dark pit,” she began uneasily. “And I don’t know what all is down there, but I know it’s bad.” She swallowed and looked down at their linked hands, hating that her eyes were starting to sting again. “Honestly, Boims, I don’t know that if I step off that edge I won’t fall right back into everything I worked so hard to climb out of. And…I don’t want to drag you down into that either, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt by whatever’s down there at my rock bottom.”
“Mariner, you’re my best friend,” he insisted, squeezing her hand so that she looked back up at him, tight-lipped. “If there’s stuff in your past you’re afraid will scare me away, I swear, I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“You don’t know that, you don’t even know what it is! I don’t even know what it is, that’s the whole point of repressing stuff!”
“You’re right, I don’t know. But I do know a lot about being terrified and not running away from things.” At her exasperated look he added, “Listen, I’m not saying that tonight’s the night for that. But…if you’re afraid I’m going to bail on you again, or that learning what happened to you will hurt me, then I’m not and it won’t, alright? I’m not that fragile. –Y’know, metaphorically,” he finished with an annoyed glance down at his hive-ridden body.
Mariner smirked despite herself, and then blew out a breath. “Okay. Someday, maybe.” And she had to admit it to herself, too, even if it felt like chickening out and taking the easy way: “But not tonight. I can’t deal with all that tonight.”
He shrugged and nodded. “That’s okay. I can wait.”
And of everything he’d said to her that night, every little quirk she’d pretended hadn’t been so perfectly familiar, so perfectly him, that it was a turn-on just by virtue of being his, somehow this was the thing that broke her. I can wait. Mariner tried to swallow again, hard, and found that the lump in her throat was too big; damn it, Bradward. How dare he say that and actually mean it; how dare he give her that hope. She looked down again at their gripped hands—when had they started holding each other so tightly?—and felt the burning in her eyes threaten to brim over; fuck, she really could not do this right now–
And then they heard simultaneously her saving grace, or possibly damnation: the muffled but sultry tones of their captain emanating from the private suite.
Both froze. Both had the vain hope that perhaps they’d misheard. Their feeble wish was dashed a moment later by the admiral’s not-quite-muted response; clearly, unknown to her parents, the private suite was not automatically soundproofed. “Oh shit,” Mariner hissed, looking back at the biobed as she worked out what the next half hour would for her unfortunate friend.
Boimler’s eyes had gone wide with terror. Don’t leave me! he mouthed.
There was another chuckle and the sound of indistinct but very flirty tones from the suite, and his hand grabbed around hers like a vice. “Okay, okay!” Mariner whispered back, looking around the sickbay for a solution. “I’ve got an idea, move over.” He obediently shuffled sideways on the biobed and she darted across the room to the medical replicator, returning a moment later with a set of earplugs. His face lit up in understanding as she pulled a set of wireless earbuds and her own mini-Padd from her uniform pocket and clambered in next to him, squinching herself onto the thin strip of blue vynil mattress.
They split the earbuds and plugs evenly and then let out simultaneous exhales of relief as the laughtrack of Will They, Won’t They drowned out the more amorous sounds coming from the suite, before glancing at each other. Mariner felt her face go hot as she realized that, in a bid to comfortably fit together on the single-person biobed, they’d ended up pressed together, so close that they were nose-to-nose on the single pillow whenever they turned their heads. Boimler’s face had gone pink, too; he gave an awkward shrug and half-wince that seemed to communicate “What else can we do?” and she rolled her eyes back in a way that answered “It’s fine, you dork.”
He looked like he was going to answer before something that sounded far too much like their captain saying “oh god yes” managed to get past the headphones, and Mariner hastily turned the volume up. They shared another glance, let out awkward snickers, and leaned back against the pillow—their laughter fading (not that either could see each other in their position) into fond, sheepish half-smiles.
The pair—one angry, one very intentionally not angry—pushed open the doors to the ballroom and looked around. The sea of white-uniformed officers in front of them offered no clue as to the thief’s identity. “Damn it,” George huffed, running a hand through graying blond hair and surveying the room, the other hand planted angrily on the waist of the unflattering goldenrod jumpsuit. T’Pyl glanced over at him, let out a soft huff through her nose, and then turned forward again, pressing her lips tightly together.
George looked down in surprise. His wife’s face was a mask of utter placidity as she watched the swaying couples. “Was that a–?” T’Pyl’s eyes flickered ever-so-briefly to him and then away again. “I heard that,” George insisted. “You just laughed, I heard it!” She didn’t answer, but it was her misfortune that in the beam of the briefly sparkling-white spotlight that shone above them before shifting blue and purple, it was clear that her cheeks had gone just slightly green. Even Vulcans couldn’t hide a blush. “And it’s not even pon farr,” he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder in the way they’d come.
“You do not have to rub it in,” she said curtly, and he rolled his eyes.
“I wasn’t–” But then he paused, noticing her face. The blush was deepening; she really was embarrassed. “...I wasn’t rubbing it in,” he said earnestly. “Really.” She looked at him again reluctantly, and then her own face went a touch less stern around the jaw. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? “I’m such an idiot,” he said, almost to himeslf.
“…You are not alone,” T’Pyl admitted. “Perhaps we…have behaved illogically, by considering this separation.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. And I know I embarrassed you in front of our friends, I’ve been an ass.” T’Pyl’s brows rose slightly, but she didn’t contradict him. “You were right, I’ve been– I don’t know, trying to get under your skin.”
“I assumed as much,” she said, a bit sharper than was probably warranted, but then continued in a more measured tone: “But I fail to understand your motivation.”
“Because, T’Pyl, at least if I got a reaction out of you it’d be a sign you care about this marriage, care about something!” He immediately regretted it as he saw her eyebrow arch. “Look—that’s not how I meant it to come out. But sometimes it seems like you care more about what people think of you than you do about me. And that– that just hurts, alright?" His shoulders slumped as he looked away. "Maybe that's not logical, but it does."
She stared at him, eyes wide; the music pulsed around them, but in that moment, everything seemed silent between the pair. When she stepped forward and took his hand, George’s eyes widened too, startled. You have always meant more to me, t’hy’la, she said firmly in his mind, the words echoing across the telepathic bond, and he pursed his lips. “But in public, there are things I cannot say–” or feel, “–without injuring my reputation,” T’Pyl finished aloud. “You have always understood this before; what has changed recently?”
“What’s changed is that we’re never alone now. It’s hard to feel like you even know your wife anymore when the only time we talk is for work calls.”
Realization dawned on her face. “A reasonable assessment. It is customary for Vulcan couples to spend periods of their marriage apart—but you are not a Vulcan.”
“No, I’m not,” he said quietly, his mouth tight, but not with anger. She nodded.
“Clearly, our situation as established is not ideal for our marriage.”
“You’re right about that. So, I’ve been thinking.” He exhaled and straightened the jumpsuit with a nod, the telepathic bond weakening as their hands separated, but not breaking; already she had a sense of what he was intending. “I’ll put in a request tonight to transfer to your ship. I don’t care if I’m scraping biofilters, I’ll take it.”
Her brows furrowed. “But your project in the Capella system is not yet finished.”
“It’s just work. You’re my wife.” His mouth quirked ruefully upwards as he reached into the jumpsuit’s pocket and pulled out his mini-Padd. “How’s that for logic?” But a hand appeared overtop the screen, much to his surprise.
“It can wait until tomorrow,” T’Pyl said quietly. Her dark eyes met his, and across the bond he felt the hesitation and then determination as she said aloud: “Perhaps we should just…enjoy tonight.”
George blinked, and then grinned, stowed the device, and offered her a hand. As they began to sway back and forth to the music, T’Pyl hesitated, and then let out a quiet breath and leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to the raised brows and curious side-eyes of the other Vulcans. George’s grin softened—and then he shot a very stern Look at the observers, who quickly found other things to be “fascinated” by.
The astrometrics center was a hive of activity as the scientists broke off into smaller teams to brainstorm: chairs had been pushed together, snacks of every culture and species replicated, unhealthy amounts of glowing green and caffeinated beverages consumed, as beyond the viewscreen the two planets moved off on their diverting trajectories and the flood of data began to abate. “Maybe there’s some sort of Energy Being in the core?” Rutherford posed as the trio debated their findings.
“I don’t know, the data didn’t really look to me like the energy fluctuations were the result of a consciousness.” Tendi tapped the side of her chin with her stylus, musing: “If we can conclusively prove that there isn’t a higher life-form in the core, then the astrophysics team won’t have to waste time chasing down something that’s not there.”
“Yeah, but how would we do that? Proving a negative’s pretty difficult.”
“Indeed,” said T’Lyn. “Merely that Cel’toan scientists have never receive any response to their hails doesn’t imply there’s not an energy-based entity inside the planet’s core; perhaps it simply did not wish to make its presence known.”
“But the data just doesn’t seem right for that,” Tendi argued. “The the energy fluctuations just felt too regular to be generated by a conscious entity. Oh!” She gasped, grabbing hold of the engineer’s arm. “Rutherford, what if we–”
“Took some brain scans of the rest of the crew and analyzed the reports from my implant–!”
“And compared it to the data for the planet’s energy fluctuations! If the data doesn’t match the thought patterns of any other conscious life-form, then we can show the astrophysicists it’s probably not an Energy Being that’s responsible!” Tendi leapt to her feet, grabbing his hand and dragging him unresistingly out of his chair. “Come on!”
They ran off—leaving T’Lyn behind them, apparently forgotten. She raised her eyebrows and then stood up; as she approached the next group, Lt. Sh’Nara and the others stifled sympathetic chuckles. “Are they always like that?” the Andorian asked as the Vulcan sat down.
“Usually they are not so excitable. I believe this bout of hyperactivity is temporary.”
“Too much raktajino,” one of her new teammates suggested, to general amusement. But T’Lyn studied the Orion and the human for a moment, evaluating the evidence as the pair began running tricorder scans on an intrigued Bolian scientist a few desks over. The beaming smiles, the lights dancing in their eyes, the glances of silent communication that signified, for the non-telapathic races, the meeting of the minds. Yes, there was only one conclusion.
“Rather, lieutenant,” she said, turning back to her work, "I think the behavior is attributable to the fact that they are in love.”
T’Ana was a fraction of the way through the frankly bullshit amount of paperwork she had to send to San Francisco (seriously, how the hell did she keep letting it pile up like this?) when the call app on her leftmost screen trilled with the familiar icon of the ship’s chief of security. “Shaxs, you’d better not be calling to tempt me with a good time,” she growled ruefully as she started on another form.
“How’d you guess?”
“Call it feline intuition,” she said dryly. “That, and since practically the whole ship is planet-side I’m guessing the holodecks are nice and open right about now.”
“If you’ve got a couple hours free…?”
“Hah, I wish. But I’ve got a sickbay full of redshirts and I’m the only one on-call,” the doctor said with a roll of her eyes. “Figured I may as well get all the charting off to HQ since I’m stuck in the office the rest of the night.”
“Hnh. Too bad.”
“Yup.” She hit submit on the form, and then felt her will to live decrease a little more at the sight of thirty-odd more to do and repressed a hiss. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s a no-go. Roundhouse a couple Robin Hoods for me, huh?”
He shrugged. “Actually I’d rather stay on the call with you, if it’s all the same.”
“Really?” T’Ana paused her box-checking to look over at the video feed, surprised. “You sure; it’s boring stuff.”
“Sure, I’ve got some incident reports to file myself,” Shaxs said easily. “Besides, I know doing paperwork is hell on you; thought you could use the company."
T’Ana blinked, speechless for a moment, and then cleared her throat and glanced away. “Well, uh– it’s your night, do what you want.” But then she glanced back at the video feed and saw his knowing grin, the light on his face turning blue as he began to presumably pull his own reports, and softened. “…’Preciate it, Bigs. Thanks.”
Beyond the windows of the CMO’s office, the two redshirts on the biobed laughed quietly at some running gag of the show, and then looked up as the lights dimmed to the Delta-shift standard. As the flickering glow from the Padd washed over their faces, they shared a glance; maybe it was just the dim lighting or the awkward situation—or more likely the hives still flushing his skin—but Mariner thought that Brad’s face might have been dusted with pink as he grinned at her.
He’s your best friend. He’s kinda cute. And maybe someday you’ll have the guts to admit to yourself you can’t live without him. Mariner grinned back, and then they looked forward again, breaking into snickers at the sitcom characters’ latest blunder. She squeezed his hand, still clasped between them, and he squeezed it back, reassuring her he was there. He’d said he wasn’t going anywhere, and despite herself, despite everything she was afraid to face, she found herself wanting to trust in him.
And I’m sure this big revelation has nothing to do with the fact platonic friends don’t usually hold hands, her mind teased, but it sounded kinder this time. Maybe that was progress. Well, what the hell; if this really was love she was falling into, Mariner mused as she leaned back against the pillow and rested her head beside his, then at least they were falling together.