Fic: "Et in Arcadia est terra monstrum" (2/2)
Title: Et in Arcadia est terra monstrum
Summary: Pike and One go to visit the Pikeparents in Suburbia. Murder and mayhem ensue.
Pairing: Pike/One
Rating: NC-17
Content Advisory: Some violence.
Word Count: 11,900 (split into two parts) (or try all as one on AO3 here)
Notes: This fills the "the suburban episode," "threesome: pike/manpain/one," and "sex: we're not dead!" squares on my PikeOne bingo card. And with that, I have a line, but I'm going for a blackout so it doesn't matter. Thanks to boosette as usual. I actually wrote this back in December or something but it took a while. No, I don't know where it came from or why it's so blasted long. It happens about three years after Claimed and two or so years before Starting Over (or the barroom scene in the movie), although you don't need to have read either.
Back to part 1
"There aren't any more azalea bushes across the street," Chris remarked at lunchtime.
"Hm," his mother said.
"What, does it offend your sensibilities?" Josh asked, and snorted.
"No," Chris said, struggling to keep his tone even. "I would have thought the HOA wouldn't be happy with it."
"Well, these things do happen," Mina said. "Pass me the bread?"
One handed it to her. "What are the rules surrounding non-native flora and fauna around here?" she asked, obviously trying to redirect the discussion.
Unfortunately, Josh had to get one last shot in. "You're getting soft in your old age, son."
That was it. Chris stood. "I am not soft," he said, dangerously quiet. "I broke the counterinterrogation specialist at Starfleet Academy. And if I were soft, if I did have compassion, it would only make me a better captain and a better human being." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.
As usual, the only thing he could do was leave, and he headed straight out the front door and marched down the street. On his second circuit around the block, he saw One sitting on the curb outside his parents' house, he slowed down as he passed her, and she stood.
"I know," he said. "I know my father is insanely hyper-competitive, and I know he picks fights with me because I respond, and I know it's stupidly juvenile to respond, and-" He sighed. "I just can't stop myself."
"He's also mad because you're so different from him, and yet you've beaten him by every possible objective metric."
Chris frowned at her.
"What, did you think your mother and I were only talking about sex?" she asked. "No. She thought I ought to be warned about something like this happening."
"I don't even know anymore," he said, and dropped to sit on the curb.
One sat next to him, a few inches separating them, but didn't say anything.
"I never beat his time for the 'Fleet Marathon," he said, after a few moments of silence.
"I know," she said. "I did, though. Come on, let's go."
* * *
As it turned out, there was a city park not too far away from the development, and they walked in companionable silence on the sandy path.
"The other thing," Chris said eventually, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, "is that my mother is approximately twice as smart as my father. She just . . . isn't competitive, and doesn't have his ambition. I guess it's the only way they can work."
"Another way in which you and your father differ," One said. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't seem to have a problem with misdirected competitiveness."
"What, you mean you?" Chris said. She nodded, and he grimaced. "Be glad you didn't know me when I was younger."
"I asked Phil about it once," she said, surprising him. "He confirms-the only person you compete with like this is yourself."
"It's not even myself," he said bitterly. "It's the shadow of my father."
"I know," she said.
* * *
He'd calmed down somewhat by the time they left the park, but seeing his father enthroned in his leather chair when they returned to the house heated his blood back up, and he hid in the bedroom for the rest of the afternoon.
Coward. He could hear his father's voice, even though it was only in his own head.
* * *
They left to take a hovercab to the Thai place at 1840, and Chris clenched One's hand until she stroked his wrist. He backed off the pressure immediately. "Sorry," he said, with a half-smile.
She leaned over and kissed him, gently at first, but as he responded, she opened her lips against his, touched her tongue to his own, and teased him with gentle nips until he could think only of her mouth and hands. When he felt his shoulders relax, she pulled away and looked at him, obviously concerned.
"It worked," he said, and she nodded and tucked herself into his side until the trip ended. He buried his face in her hair and deliberately thought of nothing. By the time they left the car, he at least felt competent to act the part of the successful, happy captain.
Dinner was good, the company better, and by the end of the meal, Chris was stuffed and vaguely sleepy and happy. He kissed Dana on the cheek and said, "If for some reason we can help in any way with the investigation, feel free to call."
"Of course," Dana said, and shook Number One's hand. "Lovely meeting you. Keep Chris out of trouble, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
* * *
They got home around 2200, and by then, Josh Pike was snoring in his chair. Mina put her finger to her lips as they walked in, so as not to wake him, and tiptoed into the kitchen. "Computer, mute kitchen sounds to the outside."
"Confirmed," the computer replied.
Chris and One exchanged a quick look, and he definitely stored that piece of information away for future reference.
"How was your dinner with Dana?" Mina asked.
"Good," Chris said. "That's a damn fine Thai place you have out here."
"Yeah, your father likes it as well. I prefer the Sawatdee, but we're in San Francisco enough that I can get my fix. Chris . . ." The look on Mina's face told him where she was headed next.
"Mom." He held up his hand. "I don't really want to talk about it. Dad's not going to change."
"He loves you, you know."
"Yeah, well. It's late." He made a show of yawning. "See you tomorrow morning, Mom." He leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and headed for the stairway.
One came upstairs a few minutes later; he figured she and his mother had talked but didn't want to know what about. "Hey," he said from his position on the bed.
"Hi," she said, and stopped at the foot of the bed. "Am I correct in guessing you don't want to talk about any of this?"
He nodded. "Not yet," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"You didn't exactly sign up for-this-" He gestured all around him. "-when you said you'd come meet my parents."
She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "No, I did. For better or for worse."
Chris started. There was no possible way she didn't know that was part of the old Terran Christian marriage rites. "One-we're not-I mean-"
"I know," she said. "But it's not for lack of feeling on either of our parts."
"No," he agreed. "Not in the least." He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, holding out a hand to her. "Let me undress you?"
"Okay," she said, and stood.
Chris took her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, sensuously, until she trembled beneath his fingers; he pulled away just as slowly and watched her shoulders heave. Next he knelt at her feet and stripped away her shoes and socks, letting her rest her hands on his shoulders for balance. Sliding his hands up the outer seams of her jeans, he reached her waistband, undid the button and fly, and pulled them over her hips and down her legs, sinking back to his knees and letting her step out of the pooled fabric, one foot at a time.
He looked up at her, and her eyes were wide and dark. Wisps of hair were starting to come out of her braid, and his heart gave a leap in his chest. God, he loved her.
Retracing his route up the sides of her legs, he slid his hands under her shirt and pulled it over her head, discarding it off to one side. Her bra hooked in the back, and he undid it one-handed, just to prove that he could. She smiled, and he brushed the straps off her shoulders and the cups away from her breasts. The bra fell to the floor, landing on top of his foot, and he flicked it aside with a quick motion.
Kneeling for a third time, he dotted kisses over her hipbone, hooked his fingers in her underwear, and pulled them down slowly, keeping up the line of kisses down her thigh, just above the band of the underwear, finally ending with a kiss to the top of her foot. She lifted one foot and then the other, freeing herself from the cotton and elastic; he dropped it on the pile of the rest of her clothing, and stood, his body mere inches from hers. "I love you," he said.
"I love you, too," she said, and he was momentarily distracted by the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. "Although I somehow think this still isn't going to end in sex-"
He shook his head no, lips twisting. "Sorry."
"-let me undress you?"
"Please," he said, and dropped his hands to his sides.
She started by tugging the tails of his shirt out of his jeans, and then unbuttoned it slowly. He had an undershirt on-actually, one of his uniform undershirts-so he couldn't feel her fingers on his skin yet, but she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and went for the black fabric next. It was stretchy and pulled over his head with a snap, and they both laughed.
Sweeping her hands down his chest, she scratched gently through his chest hair and made short work of his belt and the fastenings of his jeans. He'd kicked his shoes off when he first got to the room, so after she pushed the pants off his hips, they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them and toed them to the side. She knelt as she dragged his boxer-briefs down his legs, and helped him out of them and his socks quickly.
Standing up, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed close. "I'm impatient," she murmured in his ear before biting his earlobe.
"That was still fun," he murmured back, and she laughed.
* * *
Sometime later, Chris woke up and sat up straight in bed, his body apparently having decided to go from a dead sleep to fully awake without consulting him in the meantime. On the other hand, One was awake too. "Did you hear that?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe." He slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and said, "Computer, second pane on the right-full transparency." It obediently cleared, and he looked outside.
Their room faced the street, and-something was wrong. "Computer, what time is it?"
"It is 0230."
There was a light on in the house across the street, in what was probably the dining room if the house had the same interior as his parents' house. More importantly, though-"One, come here."
She did, and stood next to him. "What is it? Oh-the house across the street doesn't have a lawn anymore."
"It had a lawn earlier, didn't it?" he asked.
She nodded.
He heard a crash, and something came flying out of one of the upstairs windows across the street. "Shit," he said, and went to pull on his clothes. One did as well.
While he was struggling into his shirt, he grabbed his comm unit and told it to contact Dana Fox. She answered as he ran downstairs, stomping his feet into his shoes. "Dana, Chris Pike here. There's something happening at the house across the street from my parents."
"You should call the regular police," she said.
"The lawn is missing," he said, stopping to pull the back of his shoe into place.
"Oh. Shit," she said. "I'll be right there. Don't leave your house."
"Yeah, I'm not sitting inside and waiting, Dana," he said, and hung up. He turned, and One was right behind him, pulling on her left boot.
"What's the plan?" she asked.
"Do you have your phaser?"
"No," she said.
"Shit. Well, I guess we just look right now." He went to the front door; it slid open, and they looked across the street.
Silhouetted in the front door of the house across the street was-something. Something large and not even remotely human, it was a lumpy shape against the faint kitchen light. Its head flew up a moment or so later, and it let out a roar and started charging across the street.
"Fuck!" Chris yelled; they ducked back inside, and he said, "Computer, lock all windows and doors and any possible way in or out of this house and do not release to anyone but emergency personnel!"
"Confirmed," the computer said.
"Where does your dad keep his weapons?" One asked.
He didn't ask why she thought his father might have more than a phaser, just said, "They were in the basement at the ranch."
One headed for the basement door, and Chris followed, but they ran into Josh at the foot of the stairs. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"There's something going on out there, and it's coming this way," Chris said, pointing towards the front door. "I don't have my phaser. Dad, you should-"
"What should I do, son?" his father asked, voice deadly. "Hide? Because there's something scary out in the dark?"
"Or you should get a fucking weapon," Chris said. "I don't have time to fight with you right now. I'm going to the basement because last time I checked-" He grit his teeth. "-you kept the good stuff down there."
"It's mostly projectile weapons these days," Josh said.
"I don't care," Chris said, shifting his weight, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "We need to get them quickly."
"I need to make sure your mother's safe," Josh said, and turned to go upstairs.
Chris sighed in frustration and took off, jogging, only pausing long enough to let the basement door open. In the basement, behind the pool table that he irrelevantly wished he'd known about earlier, he found a familiar-looking cabinet with an old-fashioned combination lock; spinning the dials to 413, his mother's birthday, he popped it open and started sorting through the contents.
"That one's pretty powerful," Josh said over his shoulder, pointing at a gun.
Chris pulled it out, looked at it, and threw it to Number One. "I can't use it, Dad; it's keyed to righties."
"You're right-handed?" Josh asked One.
"She's Ilyrian; she can outshoot both of us with either hand. Where are the bullets for this?" He held up a twenty-second century 9mm semi-automatic.
"On the bottom."
Chris found the ammo box and flipped both the bullets and the gun at One, who started loading it. "Don't you have any phasers?"
"I have three," Josh said, and showed him one of them. "I left the others with your mother."
Chris rolled his eyes. It was probably a good idea, overall, but he would have felt much better with at least one energy weapon he could have himself.
As they sorted through the guns, they heard a crashing noise upstairs. "Shit," Chris said. He ran upstairs, where the-whatever it was-had just managed to get what looked like an arm through the front door. "Shit shit shit! STAY BACK!" he yelled; naturally, no one paid any attention to him.
Chris fired off the entire clip from a different, more modern semi-automatic that he'd used for target practice as a kid; it severed the arm, and he felt a quick jolt of relief-that disappeared as the arm regenerated. One shot the arm five times, in rapid succession, and nothing happened-the holes filled instantly. She dropped that particular gun-the 9mm-and fumbled for a different weapon. Josh fired his shotgun, loaded with something a little more interesting than buckshot, as it exploded a hole in the arm; unfortunately, as before, the arm regrew almost immediately. It tore out a portion of the wall, and the house's alarms started shrieking.
"Computer, shut the fuck up!" Josh shouted, and the alarm silenced, but now they had a good portion of the monster, dripping some sort of dark fluid on the floor, inside the house. He switched to the hand phaser, and shot blast after blast, ineffectually, at the monster.
"Computer, call Dana Fox, tell her that the fucking monster is in the house with us now!" Chris bellowed, and the computer beeped in response. He fired mechanically, round after round, severing as many pieces of the monster as he could. He could hear One and Josh doing the same thing, but it kept coming, kept heading towards them, even as they backed into the kitchen. But they couldn't let it get upstairs, couldn't let it get to Mina.
A moment later, though, from behind them, he didn't quite hear some sort of subsonic boom, and the monster froze, outlined in blue, before exploding in bits of what felt like dirt mixed with-was it blood?-all over the foyer and the three-no, four-occupants.
Chris turned around slowly, saw that One was apparently unharmed other than being coated in mud, saw that his father appeared to be the same, and then turned to see his mother standing on the stairs. "Well," she said. "That was unexpected."
"What the hell is that?" Chris asked, looking at the enormous, rifle-like weapon in her hands.
"It's a compression phaser rifle," Mina said, matter-of-fact.
Chris turned to his father. "Those are experimental! Why on earth do you have one in your house?"
His father looked smug. "That 'experimental' weapon just saved your life, Chris."
"I know, but-"
"FEDERATION SECURITY!" yelled a woman outside, and the door-or what was left of it-slid aside, to reveal Dana, flanked by seven or eight fellow officers in full battle gear.
"It's dead!" Chris called, waving at her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"You see the mud all over the place?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Dana took in the room, slowly, and finally lowered her phaser. "What the hell did you shoot it with?"
"A compression phaser rifle," Mina said.
"Never mind that," Chris said. "What in blazes was it?"
"We're not even sure," Dana said, "but some of the scientists seem to think that the lawn is actually the immature version and the dirt monster is the adult version."
"Oh. Oh dear," Mina said. "Josh, I think we're going to be moving soon."
"Don't worry," Dana said. "The HOA has agreed to pull out and replace all the lawns in the next day. They'd agreed to that this afternoon; we just had no way of knowing that one was going to mature tonight." She winced. "I'm sorry about your neighbors."
Josh shook his head.
Dana and her team took their statements, took samples, and downloaded security footage; two hours later, they finally left, and Chris, Josh, Mina, and One stared at each other blearily.
Chris stood from where he'd been sitting on a plastic tarp, and held out a hand to his mother. "Mom, you saved our lives. Thanks are inadequate, but . . ."
"I know," she said. "You're welcome." She smiled at him. "Now go shower. You're a mess."
"I am," he agreed. "Dad, I have never quite been so grateful for your gun-hoarding tendencies."
Josh let out a roar of laughter. Chris shook his head, gave his dad an ironic salute, and headed upstairs.
He saw One follow him, but didn't hear her excuse; after they were both inside the bedroom, he heard her say, "Computer, mute all sounds in this room and the attached bathroom and lock it against everyone, security code Pike Alpha two three seven."
He turned to her even as the computer said, "Confirmed." The heat in her eyes stole his breath and lit a fire in his midsection; a moment later, he was pinned to the wall, wrists in her hands, and she was kissing him as if there were no tomorrow.
Which, actually, there almost hadn't been. "We almost died," he said in between pants, when she'd finally let him up for air.
"I'm not interested in psychoanalysis, Chris," she said in his ear. "I'm interested in you, me, and that shower in the other room."
"Yes, oh, yes," he said, and she released his wrists, only to push his shirt over his head.
He hadn't bothered with socks or underwear, and neither had she, so they stripped in record time and raced into the bathroom, trailing mud and dirt all over the floor. She hit the button to turn on the water, gave it a cursory temperature check, and pulled him under the spray after her.
The mud came off easily, but he still soaped his hands and ran them over every single inch of her body, head to toe, kneeling to wash her calves, ankles and feet. He bent down, ignoring the muddy water running in his face, to place a kiss on top of her foot, tasting water and clean skin and the faintly-lemon-flavored shower gel. "Mmm," he said, and licked a trail up to her ankle, up the inside of her leg, past her knee, before she stopped him.
"Not while you're still filthy," she said, reaching behind her for a bottle.
"I thought you liked it when I'm filthy?"
"Hygienically filthy," she said, grinning, and rubbed shampoo-coated hands over his head.
He ducked and laughed, and let her wash his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tips of her fingers until the foam started dripping onto his shoulders and chest. Then it was her turn to dump shower gel on her hands and wash him carefully, paying special attention to his hands and his erection, where it stood out from his body, bobbing faintly. He let her play for long moments before it became too much, and he stilled her hands with another laugh. "You first," he said.
He stepped back under the shower spray, rinsed himself off quickly, and sank back to his knees, kissing her hip and lifting her leg over his shoulder. She leaned against the wall, grabbing a hold of the rail along the wall with one hand and his hair with the other, and sighed in obvious pleasure.
She tasted faintly of salt and lemon and her, familiar and still so incredibly arousing. Normally he would slide his tongue into every single fold and hollow of her body, but now-now, he wanted to see her come as soon as physically possible. He flattened his tongue over her clit, rubbing briefly before he started sucking, and sank two fingers inside her.
He knew her well enough-he'd cared to learn her body well enough-that he felt her orgasm start even before she clenched her fingers in his hair, even before she said, "Chris," in that tone. He spread his knees just a little wider and clamped his hand on her hip as she shuddered and came, her knees almost giving out on her. Standing, he pulled her into his arms before she fell over, and she buried her face in his neck. "You're so good at that," she said, slurring with pleasure and probably exhaustion.
"Thank you," he said, gently, and steered her under the spray to rinse off the last of the suds in her hair. When he was satisfied that her hair was clean enough, he shut off the water with one hand, still holding her against him, and then grabbed a towel to wipe them dry.
She'd roused enough to help by that point, and dried off certain parts of him enough to make sure that they were very, very dry-and very, very hard-and he stole the towel from her to rub it over her breasts, making the nipples stand up in hard points.
Of course, then he just had to taste them, getting them wet again, which necessitated another towel rub, and she gasped again, pulled the towel out of his hands, dropped it on the floor, and said, "Down."
When she gave him directions in that particular tone of voice-a slightly throatier version of her command voice-he could do nothing but obey. A moment after he sat on the bathmat-fortunately oversized, thick, and mostly dry-she straddled him and pushed his shoulders until he was flat on the floor and shoved a wadded-up towel under his head. "Hands, where?" he asked.
She ground down against him and he groaned. "My breasts," she said, and he rushed to obey, filling his hands with her breasts and rubbing the bases of his thumbs against her nipples. God, he loved it when she took control.
Apparently so did she, because she was humming deep in her throat as she leaned over to nip at his collarbone. He tipped his head back, giving her more access, and she took advantage, biting at the tendon and tonguing the mark she left. His hands slipped from her breasts to clutch at the bathmat; she grabbed his wrists and pulled them over his head.
He pushed against her grip, testing her, and she bit the other side of his neck, somewhat lower. "Vampire," he said.
"You love it," she said, and swirled her tongue in the hollow of his throat.
"I love you," he said, and she chuckled. "And your vampire-like tendencies," he added. She chuckled again, and squirmed, causing him to gasp, until the head of his erection was right at her entrance. "Are you ready?" he asked. He knew she probably was, trusted her enough to know her own body as she trusted him to know his, but . . .
"You can check if you like," she said, releasing his left wrist.
. . . he wanted to check. Pressing his hand between them, he found that--oh God--she was wet, slippery against his fingers with more than just leftover bathwater. Even though he'd done it just minutes ago, he wanted to taste her again, wanted to feel her pulse under his tongue. Maybe later, he thought, and withdrew his fingers, licking them as she watched. "Yeah, I think you're ready," he said, one eyebrow raised, and she shook her head with a smile.
"Are you?" she asked, and he nodded vigorously. "Good." She reset herself and, with a twist of her hips, took him inside her.
Shit. They'd done this hundreds of time over the last thousand days or so-hell, the very first time had been something like this, although on his bed rather than the bathroom floor-and still, every single time, the tight, wet sensation of her enveloping him, especially from above, drew a gasp from him and the fastest mental recitation of Starfleet regulations surrounding biohazards in first-contact situations imaginable.
Of course, the more he tried not to think about his imminent orgasm, the worse it got, and One knew it, too. She deliberately tightened as she raised and lowered herself, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
She rode him as he desperately tried to maintain control of himself at least long enough to let her finish again, but it crossed over from "almost impossible" to "completely impossible" when she sat up, licked her first two fingers, and started rubbing her clit herself. "Oh, God," he said, sitting up just far enough to see himself disappearing into her body, mere centimeters away from her fingers. He made one last desperate attempt to distract himself with statistics, and fell back to the bathmat, surrendering to the inevitable and pouring out what felt like his heart, his brain, and his soul inside her.
He vaguely felt her collapse on top of him, panting, a few moments later, and he wrapped his arms around her. As he came back to himself, so did the events of the evening, and he started shaking, although not with cold. We're fine, he told himself, and repeated a few times in his head for good measure.
Maybe it was the words, and maybe it was the warmth and weight of the woman he loved resting on top of him and absently stroking his arm, but he managed to relax a few minutes later, shoulders and neck and back unknotting. "I love you," he said into her hair. "With my body, I thee worship."
She huffed a quiet laugh. "That you do," she said. "I love you too, Chris."
They disentangled themselves, rinsed off quickly, and curled up in the bed, Chris spooning One. "I love you," he murmured again in her ear, licking a stray drop of water from her skin.
She turned enough to kiss him, did so, and said, "And I love you. Sleep. Everyone is safe and sound."
"Yes," he said, and buried his face in the back of her neck.
* * *
Later that morning, they went down for breakfast-or perhaps brunch-around 1030, and found Josh Pike attempting to repair one of the small cleaning robots. One immediately went over to help him, and Chris stood back with his mother, watching.
It only took thirty seconds or so before Josh realized that One knew a hell of a lot more about electronics than he did, and he shoved the whole mess, including his screwdriver, at her. She smiled and bent her head over the counter, deftly untangling wires.
"Chris," Josh said, "can I have a word with you?"
Chris shrugged. "All right, Dad."
Josh led the way into Mina's study, and when the door shut, paced the length of the small room. Chris sat in his mother's desk chair and waited. "Your mother says I should apologize to you, but she won't tell me why."
"That usually means you're supposed to figure it out yourself," Chris said.
"I know that." Josh frowned at him. "I can't figure out if I'm supposed to apologize for being who I am, or for pushing you when you were a kid, or for being 'rude' in front of Number One-" Josh did the air quotes, despite his tone quite clearly indicating that he had no idea when he might possibly have been rude. "-or what."
"Yeah, well." Chris spun himself from side to side. "Implying that I'm less than you constantly, especially in front of Number One, that's pretty rude. Implying-no, saying straight out that I'm soft-oh, that's pretty rude, too."
"What?" Josh said, and to his credit, he did actually look startled. "It's just teasing, Chris. You've broken all of my records at the Academy and afterward-except my marathon time, of course-and you know I'm proud of you, right?" He coughed.
"No," Chris said. "It's pretty hard to know that you were proud of me when all I ever heard was 'not good enough.'" He looked away. "You know, just once, maybe sometime before my fortieth birthday, it would have been nice to hear this."
Josh looked so stricken that he relented a bit. "Well, all right, I did know you were proud of me because you told Captain April when I made captain and he told me. But other than that, every time I did something good, the next thing you did was remind me that you'd somehow done it better. You're hypercompetitive, and I know that, and I don't expect you to change, especially now, but-" He sighed. "Can you at least not imply that I'm not man enough in front of my girlfriend, who can actually kick my ass at pretty much everything? My ego's taken a hell of a blow this week, between you and my mother having to save me . . ."
His father laughed, as he was supposed to. "Your mother was pretty impressive back there, wasn't she?"
"Yeah, but it was a really big gun."
"True," Josh said. "Still."
"Still," Chris agreed.
His father rubbed the back of his head with one hand. Despite the fact that it was the wrong hand, Chris recognized the gesture like a blow to his gut, and said, "I know you think I'm nothing like you since I don't look like you, Dad, but-"
"I know," Josh said, interrupting. "It's-" He sighed, and dropped into a nearby chair. "It's a little difficult when you realize that your own child is smarter than you are before he turns two."
Chris didn't know what to say to that-he hadn't, until that moment, been sure that his father knew that Chris was the smarter of the two of them. He also never realized how much it bothered his father not to be in control, not to be the best. Some genius he was. "I'm certainly not going to apologize for that," he said.
"I know," Josh said. "You shouldn't. And I shouldn't care, but . . ." He spread his hands. "I'll try not to insult you anymore."
"I'll try not to snap when you do."
It was the best he could expect.
* * *
Later that night, after they muted the rooms and checked to see if bathroom sex was just as awesome the second time-turned out yes, it was, if not more so-Chris rolled over, looked at One, and said, "If we ever retire, no planned communities, okay?"
She laughed. "Okay."
Summary: Pike and One go to visit the Pikeparents in Suburbia. Murder and mayhem ensue.
Pairing: Pike/One
Rating: NC-17
Content Advisory: Some violence.
Word Count: 11,900 (split into two parts) (or try all as one on AO3 here)
Notes: This fills the "the suburban episode," "threesome: pike/manpain/one," and "sex: we're not dead!" squares on my PikeOne bingo card. And with that, I have a line, but I'm going for a blackout so it doesn't matter. Thanks to boosette as usual. I actually wrote this back in December or something but it took a while. No, I don't know where it came from or why it's so blasted long. It happens about three years after Claimed and two or so years before Starting Over (or the barroom scene in the movie), although you don't need to have read either.
Back to part 1
"There aren't any more azalea bushes across the street," Chris remarked at lunchtime.
"Hm," his mother said.
"What, does it offend your sensibilities?" Josh asked, and snorted.
"No," Chris said, struggling to keep his tone even. "I would have thought the HOA wouldn't be happy with it."
"Well, these things do happen," Mina said. "Pass me the bread?"
One handed it to her. "What are the rules surrounding non-native flora and fauna around here?" she asked, obviously trying to redirect the discussion.
Unfortunately, Josh had to get one last shot in. "You're getting soft in your old age, son."
That was it. Chris stood. "I am not soft," he said, dangerously quiet. "I broke the counterinterrogation specialist at Starfleet Academy. And if I were soft, if I did have compassion, it would only make me a better captain and a better human being." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.
As usual, the only thing he could do was leave, and he headed straight out the front door and marched down the street. On his second circuit around the block, he saw One sitting on the curb outside his parents' house, he slowed down as he passed her, and she stood.
"I know," he said. "I know my father is insanely hyper-competitive, and I know he picks fights with me because I respond, and I know it's stupidly juvenile to respond, and-" He sighed. "I just can't stop myself."
"He's also mad because you're so different from him, and yet you've beaten him by every possible objective metric."
Chris frowned at her.
"What, did you think your mother and I were only talking about sex?" she asked. "No. She thought I ought to be warned about something like this happening."
"I don't even know anymore," he said, and dropped to sit on the curb.
One sat next to him, a few inches separating them, but didn't say anything.
"I never beat his time for the 'Fleet Marathon," he said, after a few moments of silence.
"I know," she said. "I did, though. Come on, let's go."
* * *
As it turned out, there was a city park not too far away from the development, and they walked in companionable silence on the sandy path.
"The other thing," Chris said eventually, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, "is that my mother is approximately twice as smart as my father. She just . . . isn't competitive, and doesn't have his ambition. I guess it's the only way they can work."
"Another way in which you and your father differ," One said. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't seem to have a problem with misdirected competitiveness."
"What, you mean you?" Chris said. She nodded, and he grimaced. "Be glad you didn't know me when I was younger."
"I asked Phil about it once," she said, surprising him. "He confirms-the only person you compete with like this is yourself."
"It's not even myself," he said bitterly. "It's the shadow of my father."
"I know," she said.
* * *
He'd calmed down somewhat by the time they left the park, but seeing his father enthroned in his leather chair when they returned to the house heated his blood back up, and he hid in the bedroom for the rest of the afternoon.
Coward. He could hear his father's voice, even though it was only in his own head.
* * *
They left to take a hovercab to the Thai place at 1840, and Chris clenched One's hand until she stroked his wrist. He backed off the pressure immediately. "Sorry," he said, with a half-smile.
She leaned over and kissed him, gently at first, but as he responded, she opened her lips against his, touched her tongue to his own, and teased him with gentle nips until he could think only of her mouth and hands. When he felt his shoulders relax, she pulled away and looked at him, obviously concerned.
"It worked," he said, and she nodded and tucked herself into his side until the trip ended. He buried his face in her hair and deliberately thought of nothing. By the time they left the car, he at least felt competent to act the part of the successful, happy captain.
Dinner was good, the company better, and by the end of the meal, Chris was stuffed and vaguely sleepy and happy. He kissed Dana on the cheek and said, "If for some reason we can help in any way with the investigation, feel free to call."
"Of course," Dana said, and shook Number One's hand. "Lovely meeting you. Keep Chris out of trouble, okay?"
"I'll do my best."
* * *
They got home around 2200, and by then, Josh Pike was snoring in his chair. Mina put her finger to her lips as they walked in, so as not to wake him, and tiptoed into the kitchen. "Computer, mute kitchen sounds to the outside."
"Confirmed," the computer replied.
Chris and One exchanged a quick look, and he definitely stored that piece of information away for future reference.
"How was your dinner with Dana?" Mina asked.
"Good," Chris said. "That's a damn fine Thai place you have out here."
"Yeah, your father likes it as well. I prefer the Sawatdee, but we're in San Francisco enough that I can get my fix. Chris . . ." The look on Mina's face told him where she was headed next.
"Mom." He held up his hand. "I don't really want to talk about it. Dad's not going to change."
"He loves you, you know."
"Yeah, well. It's late." He made a show of yawning. "See you tomorrow morning, Mom." He leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and headed for the stairway.
One came upstairs a few minutes later; he figured she and his mother had talked but didn't want to know what about. "Hey," he said from his position on the bed.
"Hi," she said, and stopped at the foot of the bed. "Am I correct in guessing you don't want to talk about any of this?"
He nodded. "Not yet," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"You didn't exactly sign up for-this-" He gestured all around him. "-when you said you'd come meet my parents."
She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "No, I did. For better or for worse."
Chris started. There was no possible way she didn't know that was part of the old Terran Christian marriage rites. "One-we're not-I mean-"
"I know," she said. "But it's not for lack of feeling on either of our parts."
"No," he agreed. "Not in the least." He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood, holding out a hand to her. "Let me undress you?"
"Okay," she said, and stood.
Chris took her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, sensuously, until she trembled beneath his fingers; he pulled away just as slowly and watched her shoulders heave. Next he knelt at her feet and stripped away her shoes and socks, letting her rest her hands on his shoulders for balance. Sliding his hands up the outer seams of her jeans, he reached her waistband, undid the button and fly, and pulled them over her hips and down her legs, sinking back to his knees and letting her step out of the pooled fabric, one foot at a time.
He looked up at her, and her eyes were wide and dark. Wisps of hair were starting to come out of her braid, and his heart gave a leap in his chest. God, he loved her.
Retracing his route up the sides of her legs, he slid his hands under her shirt and pulled it over her head, discarding it off to one side. Her bra hooked in the back, and he undid it one-handed, just to prove that he could. She smiled, and he brushed the straps off her shoulders and the cups away from her breasts. The bra fell to the floor, landing on top of his foot, and he flicked it aside with a quick motion.
Kneeling for a third time, he dotted kisses over her hipbone, hooked his fingers in her underwear, and pulled them down slowly, keeping up the line of kisses down her thigh, just above the band of the underwear, finally ending with a kiss to the top of her foot. She lifted one foot and then the other, freeing herself from the cotton and elastic; he dropped it on the pile of the rest of her clothing, and stood, his body mere inches from hers. "I love you," he said.
"I love you, too," she said, and he was momentarily distracted by the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed. "Although I somehow think this still isn't going to end in sex-"
He shook his head no, lips twisting. "Sorry."
"-let me undress you?"
"Please," he said, and dropped his hands to his sides.
She started by tugging the tails of his shirt out of his jeans, and then unbuttoned it slowly. He had an undershirt on-actually, one of his uniform undershirts-so he couldn't feel her fingers on his skin yet, but she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and went for the black fabric next. It was stretchy and pulled over his head with a snap, and they both laughed.
Sweeping her hands down his chest, she scratched gently through his chest hair and made short work of his belt and the fastenings of his jeans. He'd kicked his shoes off when he first got to the room, so after she pushed the pants off his hips, they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them and toed them to the side. She knelt as she dragged his boxer-briefs down his legs, and helped him out of them and his socks quickly.
Standing up, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed close. "I'm impatient," she murmured in his ear before biting his earlobe.
"That was still fun," he murmured back, and she laughed.
* * *
Sometime later, Chris woke up and sat up straight in bed, his body apparently having decided to go from a dead sleep to fully awake without consulting him in the meantime. On the other hand, One was awake too. "Did you hear that?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe." He slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and said, "Computer, second pane on the right-full transparency." It obediently cleared, and he looked outside.
Their room faced the street, and-something was wrong. "Computer, what time is it?"
"It is 0230."
There was a light on in the house across the street, in what was probably the dining room if the house had the same interior as his parents' house. More importantly, though-"One, come here."
She did, and stood next to him. "What is it? Oh-the house across the street doesn't have a lawn anymore."
"It had a lawn earlier, didn't it?" he asked.
She nodded.
He heard a crash, and something came flying out of one of the upstairs windows across the street. "Shit," he said, and went to pull on his clothes. One did as well.
While he was struggling into his shirt, he grabbed his comm unit and told it to contact Dana Fox. She answered as he ran downstairs, stomping his feet into his shoes. "Dana, Chris Pike here. There's something happening at the house across the street from my parents."
"You should call the regular police," she said.
"The lawn is missing," he said, stopping to pull the back of his shoe into place.
"Oh. Shit," she said. "I'll be right there. Don't leave your house."
"Yeah, I'm not sitting inside and waiting, Dana," he said, and hung up. He turned, and One was right behind him, pulling on her left boot.
"What's the plan?" she asked.
"Do you have your phaser?"
"No," she said.
"Shit. Well, I guess we just look right now." He went to the front door; it slid open, and they looked across the street.
Silhouetted in the front door of the house across the street was-something. Something large and not even remotely human, it was a lumpy shape against the faint kitchen light. Its head flew up a moment or so later, and it let out a roar and started charging across the street.
"Fuck!" Chris yelled; they ducked back inside, and he said, "Computer, lock all windows and doors and any possible way in or out of this house and do not release to anyone but emergency personnel!"
"Confirmed," the computer said.
"Where does your dad keep his weapons?" One asked.
He didn't ask why she thought his father might have more than a phaser, just said, "They were in the basement at the ranch."
One headed for the basement door, and Chris followed, but they ran into Josh at the foot of the stairs. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"There's something going on out there, and it's coming this way," Chris said, pointing towards the front door. "I don't have my phaser. Dad, you should-"
"What should I do, son?" his father asked, voice deadly. "Hide? Because there's something scary out in the dark?"
"Or you should get a fucking weapon," Chris said. "I don't have time to fight with you right now. I'm going to the basement because last time I checked-" He grit his teeth. "-you kept the good stuff down there."
"It's mostly projectile weapons these days," Josh said.
"I don't care," Chris said, shifting his weight, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "We need to get them quickly."
"I need to make sure your mother's safe," Josh said, and turned to go upstairs.
Chris sighed in frustration and took off, jogging, only pausing long enough to let the basement door open. In the basement, behind the pool table that he irrelevantly wished he'd known about earlier, he found a familiar-looking cabinet with an old-fashioned combination lock; spinning the dials to 413, his mother's birthday, he popped it open and started sorting through the contents.
"That one's pretty powerful," Josh said over his shoulder, pointing at a gun.
Chris pulled it out, looked at it, and threw it to Number One. "I can't use it, Dad; it's keyed to righties."
"You're right-handed?" Josh asked One.
"She's Ilyrian; she can outshoot both of us with either hand. Where are the bullets for this?" He held up a twenty-second century 9mm semi-automatic.
"On the bottom."
Chris found the ammo box and flipped both the bullets and the gun at One, who started loading it. "Don't you have any phasers?"
"I have three," Josh said, and showed him one of them. "I left the others with your mother."
Chris rolled his eyes. It was probably a good idea, overall, but he would have felt much better with at least one energy weapon he could have himself.
As they sorted through the guns, they heard a crashing noise upstairs. "Shit," Chris said. He ran upstairs, where the-whatever it was-had just managed to get what looked like an arm through the front door. "Shit shit shit! STAY BACK!" he yelled; naturally, no one paid any attention to him.
Chris fired off the entire clip from a different, more modern semi-automatic that he'd used for target practice as a kid; it severed the arm, and he felt a quick jolt of relief-that disappeared as the arm regenerated. One shot the arm five times, in rapid succession, and nothing happened-the holes filled instantly. She dropped that particular gun-the 9mm-and fumbled for a different weapon. Josh fired his shotgun, loaded with something a little more interesting than buckshot, as it exploded a hole in the arm; unfortunately, as before, the arm regrew almost immediately. It tore out a portion of the wall, and the house's alarms started shrieking.
"Computer, shut the fuck up!" Josh shouted, and the alarm silenced, but now they had a good portion of the monster, dripping some sort of dark fluid on the floor, inside the house. He switched to the hand phaser, and shot blast after blast, ineffectually, at the monster.
"Computer, call Dana Fox, tell her that the fucking monster is in the house with us now!" Chris bellowed, and the computer beeped in response. He fired mechanically, round after round, severing as many pieces of the monster as he could. He could hear One and Josh doing the same thing, but it kept coming, kept heading towards them, even as they backed into the kitchen. But they couldn't let it get upstairs, couldn't let it get to Mina.
A moment later, though, from behind them, he didn't quite hear some sort of subsonic boom, and the monster froze, outlined in blue, before exploding in bits of what felt like dirt mixed with-was it blood?-all over the foyer and the three-no, four-occupants.
Chris turned around slowly, saw that One was apparently unharmed other than being coated in mud, saw that his father appeared to be the same, and then turned to see his mother standing on the stairs. "Well," she said. "That was unexpected."
"What the hell is that?" Chris asked, looking at the enormous, rifle-like weapon in her hands.
"It's a compression phaser rifle," Mina said, matter-of-fact.
Chris turned to his father. "Those are experimental! Why on earth do you have one in your house?"
His father looked smug. "That 'experimental' weapon just saved your life, Chris."
"I know, but-"
"FEDERATION SECURITY!" yelled a woman outside, and the door-or what was left of it-slid aside, to reveal Dana, flanked by seven or eight fellow officers in full battle gear.
"It's dead!" Chris called, waving at her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"You see the mud all over the place?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
Dana took in the room, slowly, and finally lowered her phaser. "What the hell did you shoot it with?"
"A compression phaser rifle," Mina said.
"Never mind that," Chris said. "What in blazes was it?"
"We're not even sure," Dana said, "but some of the scientists seem to think that the lawn is actually the immature version and the dirt monster is the adult version."
"Oh. Oh dear," Mina said. "Josh, I think we're going to be moving soon."
"Don't worry," Dana said. "The HOA has agreed to pull out and replace all the lawns in the next day. They'd agreed to that this afternoon; we just had no way of knowing that one was going to mature tonight." She winced. "I'm sorry about your neighbors."
Josh shook his head.
Dana and her team took their statements, took samples, and downloaded security footage; two hours later, they finally left, and Chris, Josh, Mina, and One stared at each other blearily.
Chris stood from where he'd been sitting on a plastic tarp, and held out a hand to his mother. "Mom, you saved our lives. Thanks are inadequate, but . . ."
"I know," she said. "You're welcome." She smiled at him. "Now go shower. You're a mess."
"I am," he agreed. "Dad, I have never quite been so grateful for your gun-hoarding tendencies."
Josh let out a roar of laughter. Chris shook his head, gave his dad an ironic salute, and headed upstairs.
He saw One follow him, but didn't hear her excuse; after they were both inside the bedroom, he heard her say, "Computer, mute all sounds in this room and the attached bathroom and lock it against everyone, security code Pike Alpha two three seven."
He turned to her even as the computer said, "Confirmed." The heat in her eyes stole his breath and lit a fire in his midsection; a moment later, he was pinned to the wall, wrists in her hands, and she was kissing him as if there were no tomorrow.
Which, actually, there almost hadn't been. "We almost died," he said in between pants, when she'd finally let him up for air.
"I'm not interested in psychoanalysis, Chris," she said in his ear. "I'm interested in you, me, and that shower in the other room."
"Yes, oh, yes," he said, and she released his wrists, only to push his shirt over his head.
He hadn't bothered with socks or underwear, and neither had she, so they stripped in record time and raced into the bathroom, trailing mud and dirt all over the floor. She hit the button to turn on the water, gave it a cursory temperature check, and pulled him under the spray after her.
The mud came off easily, but he still soaped his hands and ran them over every single inch of her body, head to toe, kneeling to wash her calves, ankles and feet. He bent down, ignoring the muddy water running in his face, to place a kiss on top of her foot, tasting water and clean skin and the faintly-lemon-flavored shower gel. "Mmm," he said, and licked a trail up to her ankle, up the inside of her leg, past her knee, before she stopped him.
"Not while you're still filthy," she said, reaching behind her for a bottle.
"I thought you liked it when I'm filthy?"
"Hygienically filthy," she said, grinning, and rubbed shampoo-coated hands over his head.
He ducked and laughed, and let her wash his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with the tips of her fingers until the foam started dripping onto his shoulders and chest. Then it was her turn to dump shower gel on her hands and wash him carefully, paying special attention to his hands and his erection, where it stood out from his body, bobbing faintly. He let her play for long moments before it became too much, and he stilled her hands with another laugh. "You first," he said.
He stepped back under the shower spray, rinsed himself off quickly, and sank back to his knees, kissing her hip and lifting her leg over his shoulder. She leaned against the wall, grabbing a hold of the rail along the wall with one hand and his hair with the other, and sighed in obvious pleasure.
She tasted faintly of salt and lemon and her, familiar and still so incredibly arousing. Normally he would slide his tongue into every single fold and hollow of her body, but now-now, he wanted to see her come as soon as physically possible. He flattened his tongue over her clit, rubbing briefly before he started sucking, and sank two fingers inside her.
He knew her well enough-he'd cared to learn her body well enough-that he felt her orgasm start even before she clenched her fingers in his hair, even before she said, "Chris," in that tone. He spread his knees just a little wider and clamped his hand on her hip as she shuddered and came, her knees almost giving out on her. Standing, he pulled her into his arms before she fell over, and she buried her face in his neck. "You're so good at that," she said, slurring with pleasure and probably exhaustion.
"Thank you," he said, gently, and steered her under the spray to rinse off the last of the suds in her hair. When he was satisfied that her hair was clean enough, he shut off the water with one hand, still holding her against him, and then grabbed a towel to wipe them dry.
She'd roused enough to help by that point, and dried off certain parts of him enough to make sure that they were very, very dry-and very, very hard-and he stole the towel from her to rub it over her breasts, making the nipples stand up in hard points.
Of course, then he just had to taste them, getting them wet again, which necessitated another towel rub, and she gasped again, pulled the towel out of his hands, dropped it on the floor, and said, "Down."
When she gave him directions in that particular tone of voice-a slightly throatier version of her command voice-he could do nothing but obey. A moment after he sat on the bathmat-fortunately oversized, thick, and mostly dry-she straddled him and pushed his shoulders until he was flat on the floor and shoved a wadded-up towel under his head. "Hands, where?" he asked.
She ground down against him and he groaned. "My breasts," she said, and he rushed to obey, filling his hands with her breasts and rubbing the bases of his thumbs against her nipples. God, he loved it when she took control.
Apparently so did she, because she was humming deep in her throat as she leaned over to nip at his collarbone. He tipped his head back, giving her more access, and she took advantage, biting at the tendon and tonguing the mark she left. His hands slipped from her breasts to clutch at the bathmat; she grabbed his wrists and pulled them over his head.
He pushed against her grip, testing her, and she bit the other side of his neck, somewhat lower. "Vampire," he said.
"You love it," she said, and swirled her tongue in the hollow of his throat.
"I love you," he said, and she chuckled. "And your vampire-like tendencies," he added. She chuckled again, and squirmed, causing him to gasp, until the head of his erection was right at her entrance. "Are you ready?" he asked. He knew she probably was, trusted her enough to know her own body as she trusted him to know his, but . . .
"You can check if you like," she said, releasing his left wrist.
. . . he wanted to check. Pressing his hand between them, he found that--oh God--she was wet, slippery against his fingers with more than just leftover bathwater. Even though he'd done it just minutes ago, he wanted to taste her again, wanted to feel her pulse under his tongue. Maybe later, he thought, and withdrew his fingers, licking them as she watched. "Yeah, I think you're ready," he said, one eyebrow raised, and she shook her head with a smile.
"Are you?" she asked, and he nodded vigorously. "Good." She reset herself and, with a twist of her hips, took him inside her.
Shit. They'd done this hundreds of time over the last thousand days or so-hell, the very first time had been something like this, although on his bed rather than the bathroom floor-and still, every single time, the tight, wet sensation of her enveloping him, especially from above, drew a gasp from him and the fastest mental recitation of Starfleet regulations surrounding biohazards in first-contact situations imaginable.
Of course, the more he tried not to think about his imminent orgasm, the worse it got, and One knew it, too. She deliberately tightened as she raised and lowered herself, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
She rode him as he desperately tried to maintain control of himself at least long enough to let her finish again, but it crossed over from "almost impossible" to "completely impossible" when she sat up, licked her first two fingers, and started rubbing her clit herself. "Oh, God," he said, sitting up just far enough to see himself disappearing into her body, mere centimeters away from her fingers. He made one last desperate attempt to distract himself with statistics, and fell back to the bathmat, surrendering to the inevitable and pouring out what felt like his heart, his brain, and his soul inside her.
He vaguely felt her collapse on top of him, panting, a few moments later, and he wrapped his arms around her. As he came back to himself, so did the events of the evening, and he started shaking, although not with cold. We're fine, he told himself, and repeated a few times in his head for good measure.
Maybe it was the words, and maybe it was the warmth and weight of the woman he loved resting on top of him and absently stroking his arm, but he managed to relax a few minutes later, shoulders and neck and back unknotting. "I love you," he said into her hair. "With my body, I thee worship."
She huffed a quiet laugh. "That you do," she said. "I love you too, Chris."
They disentangled themselves, rinsed off quickly, and curled up in the bed, Chris spooning One. "I love you," he murmured again in her ear, licking a stray drop of water from her skin.
She turned enough to kiss him, did so, and said, "And I love you. Sleep. Everyone is safe and sound."
"Yes," he said, and buried his face in the back of her neck.
* * *
Later that morning, they went down for breakfast-or perhaps brunch-around 1030, and found Josh Pike attempting to repair one of the small cleaning robots. One immediately went over to help him, and Chris stood back with his mother, watching.
It only took thirty seconds or so before Josh realized that One knew a hell of a lot more about electronics than he did, and he shoved the whole mess, including his screwdriver, at her. She smiled and bent her head over the counter, deftly untangling wires.
"Chris," Josh said, "can I have a word with you?"
Chris shrugged. "All right, Dad."
Josh led the way into Mina's study, and when the door shut, paced the length of the small room. Chris sat in his mother's desk chair and waited. "Your mother says I should apologize to you, but she won't tell me why."
"That usually means you're supposed to figure it out yourself," Chris said.
"I know that." Josh frowned at him. "I can't figure out if I'm supposed to apologize for being who I am, or for pushing you when you were a kid, or for being 'rude' in front of Number One-" Josh did the air quotes, despite his tone quite clearly indicating that he had no idea when he might possibly have been rude. "-or what."
"Yeah, well." Chris spun himself from side to side. "Implying that I'm less than you constantly, especially in front of Number One, that's pretty rude. Implying-no, saying straight out that I'm soft-oh, that's pretty rude, too."
"What?" Josh said, and to his credit, he did actually look startled. "It's just teasing, Chris. You've broken all of my records at the Academy and afterward-except my marathon time, of course-and you know I'm proud of you, right?" He coughed.
"No," Chris said. "It's pretty hard to know that you were proud of me when all I ever heard was 'not good enough.'" He looked away. "You know, just once, maybe sometime before my fortieth birthday, it would have been nice to hear this."
Josh looked so stricken that he relented a bit. "Well, all right, I did know you were proud of me because you told Captain April when I made captain and he told me. But other than that, every time I did something good, the next thing you did was remind me that you'd somehow done it better. You're hypercompetitive, and I know that, and I don't expect you to change, especially now, but-" He sighed. "Can you at least not imply that I'm not man enough in front of my girlfriend, who can actually kick my ass at pretty much everything? My ego's taken a hell of a blow this week, between you and my mother having to save me . . ."
His father laughed, as he was supposed to. "Your mother was pretty impressive back there, wasn't she?"
"Yeah, but it was a really big gun."
"True," Josh said. "Still."
"Still," Chris agreed.
His father rubbed the back of his head with one hand. Despite the fact that it was the wrong hand, Chris recognized the gesture like a blow to his gut, and said, "I know you think I'm nothing like you since I don't look like you, Dad, but-"
"I know," Josh said, interrupting. "It's-" He sighed, and dropped into a nearby chair. "It's a little difficult when you realize that your own child is smarter than you are before he turns two."
Chris didn't know what to say to that-he hadn't, until that moment, been sure that his father knew that Chris was the smarter of the two of them. He also never realized how much it bothered his father not to be in control, not to be the best. Some genius he was. "I'm certainly not going to apologize for that," he said.
"I know," Josh said. "You shouldn't. And I shouldn't care, but . . ." He spread his hands. "I'll try not to insult you anymore."
"I'll try not to snap when you do."
It was the best he could expect.
* * *
Later that night, after they muted the rooms and checked to see if bathroom sex was just as awesome the second time-turned out yes, it was, if not more so-Chris rolled over, looked at One, and said, "If we ever retire, no planned communities, okay?"
She laughed. "Okay."