Reboot Fic: Shadowplay 9/9 (Draws XI) [Pike/Dael/Kirk/McCoy] NC-17
For warnings, see part 1
*** Act 3 ***
"Not as fast as we'd like it. His eyes are open but he doesn't react to external stimuli."
*
"No news from her yet. Maybe it's better, he wouldn't want her to see him like that."
*
He's floating, weightless and free. His thoughts are shining raindrops, evading when he reaches out for them. Endless shades of white, and maybe there's a fairy in the distance.
*
"We'll be waiting here for you when you wake up. I promise, Chris."
*
"I know the statistics myself, Leonard. We're doing our best but he's got to come around on his own."
*
"The apartment has been searched but it's absolutely clean. So far, we've got only his friend's statement that someone else has been living with him."
*
There are colors and sounds but it's as if they're behind a wall of glass, and he can't reach them and they can't reach him. There's a stirring sensation in his body, once in a while, as if the ground is shaking beneath him, and at one point, it rattles him out of his floating, ending the beautiful nirvana.
He feels his hand and he opens and closes it and he stares into the light and struggles because suddenly he wants to really feel again. There's got to be a way out of the glass walls and he wants to break through…
"Yes, Chris, come on, keep fighting," someone says close to him, not the vague sounds he'd captured once in a while, and he struggles, his hand balling and relaxing, he fights to get a word past his lips, he can speak, he can…
Something touches him. There are more voices and sounds, and it's a little overwhelming so he closes his eyes against the onslaught.
"Come on, Chris, open your eyes again." There are hands on his face, warm and soft, and he obeys.
"Great. You're doing great. You're in Starfleet Medical. You had a stroke but you're going to be fine."
He stares at the woman who talks so familiarly to him.
"Your name is Chris Pike. Say your name. Say it."
He opens his mouth and tries, or thinks he tries but somehow it doesn't work, nothing coming out of it.
"Say: I'm Chris Pike. Say it." The woman looks concerned.
"Scans not looking good," someone says quietly, pointing somewhere. "Broca's aphasia - he might not even understand us."
She frowns. "I'm sure he does. Come on, Chris. Say your name."
He takes a deep breath, his left hand curling into the blanket. It feels as if the words should come out any minute, just ready to leave his lips - but then they don't, and he flounders and stresses out.
"It's okay, it's okay," the woman says and there's a hiss of hypo. "Okay. Okay." He instantly feels calmer, more behind the glass wall again. "We're taking it slowly. Everything's fine, Chris. All will be well."
She holds his hand. "I'm Naaz. Do you remember me? I've been your doctor for two years. We've become friends over time. I'm sorry you don't remember that yet, but I'm sure the memories will come back soon. So, could you give me your other hand?"
He stares at her without understanding.
"I've got your left one, see," she holds one hand up, showing it, "and I want you to give me your right one."
"This one," she says and touches it. He looks down at it.
"Can you move it? The fingers, maybe?"
He draws a shaky breath as nothing moves, no matter how much he tries. He isn't fine, he's paralyzed. Someone mutters something and there are more hypos, and she keeps holding his hand, the one hand he feels and can move. A word flutters through the room, hemiparesis and although it doesn't mean a thing to him he feels its weight from the way it's said.
And it suddenly stops making sense, all of this, and he decides that there's really no reason why he should come back to a reality where gravity bogs him down. He smiles as he closes his eyes again, fading out the voices and the words addressed to him as he drifts away.
*
He'd love to go back to the peace he had before; hide out there, keep away from the problems and frustrations that leap onto him the moment the glass wall breaks. But they don't let him get away, push him for so long until he opens his eyes, nods to their questions - all of them, for good measure, it's not as if he even cares to listen.
*
"You're got to talk to someone," a woman - Nat, Natasha - says concerned on the screen. "There are people who believe that you wanted to kill yourself with an overdose of Dreamweaver. There are rumors that you torpedoed your own secret project and even rumors that you betrayed the Federation by selling information to the Romulans. We all know it's utter bullshit but you've got to defend yourself, make a statement about Alain." She sighs. "I'll try to be back soon. Please, Chris…"
He closes his eyes and zooms out.
*
"John couldn't make it today," a man says - Eric - "but he'll come soon. I promise. He's doing his best to investigate what really happened. Looks as if someone pulled strings in the background but he's not sure yet who and how." The man's hand is warm on his. "I called you that night but you didn't answer. I wish we had driven over and looked after you. I'm sorry we let you down."
This is all so wrong and besides, John wouldn't come, he just knows.
He's relieved when Eric leaves.
*
"I've got something for you," the white-clad woman says - Naaz, his doctor - and switches on the screen.
"Chris, you wouldn't believe how glad we are that you've woken up," a man says - McCoy, Leonard, doc - the voice full of emotions too complicated to sort out.
"What he says, Chris. You were lucky again; your prospects are good." There's another man and he sounds just as intense.
Kirk, Jim, just Jim.
"Chris, say something," the first man says. "Anything."
Luck feels different, he thinks. And although he's unsure about the reasons, there's a crushing wave of guilt and pain.
He's done with that. When they sign off, he angles for the special keyboard they've supplied him with, starting to type with his left hand.
> no more communications
Naaz shakes her head, her eyes wide and deep. "You can't mean that, Chris. They love you."
> no more visitors
"Chris -"
He types along.
> other institution
> new doctor
"Why, Chris?"
> reset
He smiles.
*
"He's not ready to make such a decision," he can hear people argue.
"His statements look pretty clear to me."
Someone visits him and they go through another round in which he types exactly the same orders.
They finally relent and he gets moved. It takes him one day to figure out he's still at SFM, at which point he orders them to contact the lawyer he hasn't needed in a long time.
"I don't know why you'd want that," Whitman Senior says. "But I'll make sure it's done if that's your wish."
> yes
*
He has no clue where he is, everyone is new to him, and that's the most refreshing thing. Nobody that comes to him brings any baggage; a clean, new start.
They've got a water tank and it feels like flying.
*
He's not agreeing to any further medical intervention despite getting it pushed at him.
"It needs to be done soon," they say. "There's a short time frame."
It's his decision and he's not going to say yes, not yet, maybe never.
It takes a wonderful morning on which he realizes that he can't even reach far enough to pick a flower from the balcony pots that he agrees on the next steps of therapy.
*
They pull him through two brain surgeries to reduce the paralysis of his right side, and he's able to move his right hand a little after the second one; the speech problem remains.
It feels very different than the last time he went through something similar; maybe because this time, the problem is so one-sided.
He floats around in a new chair and steals flowers from pots. Orange is his favorite color, with white a close second.
*
"Are you done yet?" the doc asks him. Not the real one but a reasonable ghostly remake of the man that sometimes follows him around. "There are people who care for you, even if you don't want to remember that."
There are enough people caring about me here, he thinks. People who are paid to do that, who don't care who he is, who don't hurt when he hurts. It's a perfect arrangement.
"Bullheaded ignorant," the doc mutters and turns transparent until he's gone.
*
A few officials come and try to talk to him, interview him about the events that had led to the stroke.
"Did you take the drug yourself?"
"Who was the man living with you?"
"If you don't answer our questions, there will be repercussions on your future in Starfleet."
He never replies to any of them. He can fly perfectly by himself. And he starts thinking of riding again, one day.
*
He agrees to another brain surgery that should fix the speech problem, because while silence is a powerful weapon, sometimes it would be really helpful to just drop a word.
It doesn't have any discernible effect. The doctors' faces are frozen in a frown as they stare at his brain patterns, which are brightly colored and strangely cute. He gets some of the pictures printed out and pins them to the walls of his room. It's interesting to look at what makes him tick.
He still takes no visitors.
*
The day the words come back is uneventful; it's as if they've just taken a nap and are now waking up, stretching their limbs and waving at him, willing to get back to work.
He could say coffee but he asks for tea instead.
No baggage.
There are a fair number of words erased from his vocabulary, "have to" right on top. He participates in rehab sessions only when he feels up to it, four on some days, none on the next. His recovery is an intricate path, and the speed always right.
*
The man that climbs up looks sadly real as he takes the other chair on his balcony.
"I've got to apologize," Farnham says. "I was so angry and hurt, I didn't think for a minute that Alain's sudden appearance could have had some well-planned timing behind it. McAllister saw his moment come after your clash with Esteban and it didn't take him long to isolate you from the few people you were friends with. Dael out of the way, me back at work, the Enterprise under radio silence, a bit of manipulation and more spread rumors… If not for Alain, the ploy would've worked, and you would have resigned and handed over your task force. Alain was his helper but also the weakest link in the plan. He mixed much less of the various illegal drugs that were intended to worsen your depression and make you appear unreliable into your food, so you kept working far longer than expected. And in the end, Alain snapped and sent you on that drug trip, ruining everything before leaving for good. Not a trace of him so far."
He stares out into the fields, wondering whether, if he tried hard enough to make John go, his friend would turn as translucent as the doc does. But somehow, it doesn't work.
"McAllister's full confession has rattled Starfleet quite a bit. Nogura has managed to keep his position but has taken quite some flak. Shaa had to leave over the affair with the disregarded complaints and because of her unclear involvement in McAllister's plans, and as far as I can see, nobody has shed a tear over her. Esteban is in charge of the task force for now; they've nicely kept him out of the picture."
He doesn't really want to know any of it, tries hard to zoom out and let John's words become just the gurgle of water under the bridge.
"Though if it were up to me, I'd kick his ass from here to next Sunday." Farnham laughs darkly. "Might be Kirk's job in the end. Even at a distance, your man has put considerable weight behind getting things straightened out in the HQ. But hell, he needs some more politician's genes. The usual problem with you captains, your hero complex makes you move brashly ahead even if strings are better pulled from the sidelines. I've given him a tip here and there but he's a little stubborn at times and likes doing things his way. Reminds me of a certain someone."
Why couldn't John just go away and leave him be? It seems the world manages just fine without him, especially Jim. They all would, now that the cut has been made, neater than anything he could've come up with. No ties anymore. That's how it's been for the longest time; that's what had always worked best for him.
Farnham takes his cup to sip from it, instantly drawing a face. "Fruit tea? What are they doing to you here?" He still takes another sip before putting the cup away and continuing, "In any case, now that things are getting quiet, the only thing everyone's waiting for is your return. And trust me, when you come back, it'll be to a red carpet and everyone wanting to be your best friend, including the press. You're thoroughly acquitted of all sins and failures - that's how it goes. The Pathfinder will launch soon; they'll try to get you attend, I'm sure."
Farnham leans forward. "But you don't really care about it all, do you? Did you even listen to what I said?" His friend sighs deeply, pretended ease suddenly dispelled by graveness, the lines in his face deepened. "Seems you've still lost. You've given up, Chris. Never thought I'd see you do that."
The flower he picks is a fancy violet. He twirls the stem in his fingers - the ones of his right hand, it's a personal challenge - and shrugs.
Farnham smiles sadly. "Thanks for the answer, Chris. Our first communication in two months, that's got to count for something."
It feels much longer than two months. Interesting how slowly time passes when you stop running.
His friend looks out into the fields with him. "Dael's on her way back, you know. And she's got a promise to keep, so you better get ready to join the living again. If for nobody else, you need to do it for her."
The thought of Dael is quite unreal, buried in the calm forest that's grown in his mind.
When he looks up again, Farnham has vanished.
*
There's a PADD on his bed, and for days, he moves it around without looking at it, from the bed to the table to the balcony and back in. Then he switches it on.
He pretends the signs are hieroglyphs, unknown to him - beautiful but alien, not his business.
In the night he dreams about Romulan poems, and the words unfold and fly with him, though they part from him in the morning light.
*
"I told you I'd come back," Dael says, and it's a beautiful apparition that stands before him, shielding him from the sunlight. He squints at her; her hair is gone, her full tattooed glory breathtakingly impressive. She wears a female ensign's uniform in command gold, the skirt incredibly short and her legs incredibly long in the slightly heeled boots. An alien goddess in profane 'fleet attire.
Interesting what his mind comes up with at times.
"Just wait and see." She's gone.
Later he finds another PADD on his bed, and the Romulan words have borne drawings, black lines on white forming patterns that turn to brushfire in his dreams.
*
The walls change, slowly, bearing colors and cornfields and beaches in broad strokes, chasing away his brain pattern. When he looks for long enough, he can feel the wind breathe over his skin.
A couple sits down on a bench and watches the waves rushing against the shore, carrying shells with them that sprinkle the sands with light.
There's a new detail for him whenever he returns from a therapy session, and sometimes it's so small and high up on the wall that he's got to stand up to see it, palms spread out on the slightly wet paint for stability.
It could all be real, but he's not ready for that yet.
*
"You're crazy," he says to the apparition when she sits on the rail of the balcony, naked feet hooked over the wooden piles. Her shirt and shorts are tight, her head still bald. It makes her eyes look twice as large.
If not for the dark lines and his ring on her hand, he'd think Ash had come visiting him from whatever Deltans have as heaven.
"Are you going to keep that up forever?" he asks.
She only smiles and vanishes.
*
Nobody tries to visit anymore, nobody tells him anything new about the world outside; he's as shielded from everything as he wanted to be.
But while he still loves the silence and seclusion, he also gets restless, his mind waiting for something more to see and think about.
He takes up the PADD, trying to get around the illustrated Romulan poem application for a while before outright hacking it, a mess of electronics on his bed when he succeeds in merging the two PADDs to a powerful little comm station that connects to the house's network.
The news is all good and peaceful, and he's satisfied with that for a few days before he understands that he's still locked into his own little world, everything sugarcoated and filtered for him.
He breaches through two other security layers before he can read the real news. It's painful with a side dish of death and he takes very small doses of it, but beyond the screen there are always fields to look at, and they turn a little greener every day.
*
Sometimes he awakes to her sitting vigil in the chair on the other side of the bed. One day, she sits in his floating chair and steals it from under him when he considers using it.
He soon gets tired of the game - he doesn't need that thing anyway, he decides, and marches out of the room with his cane.
Well, his approximation of marching.
*
"I really wish you'd talk to me," he says the next time she appears on his balcony. Her hair has regrown a little, the tiny length making it spikier. "I miss hearing your voice." It's worse now that the doc seems to have joined her in the silence and stopped rambling at him. It starts to get a bit lonely around here.
On the next morning, there's a brush and tubes with paint.
Tell me about your mission, he writes into the left corner of the beach, draping a few question marks around it.
Little vignettes start littering the edges of the beach. A shadow in a dark ship's observation lounge; two bodies in a playful fight; Romulan signs scrolling over computer screens; a house in a valley; an artist's atelier; a girl's half-profile against the sun; a pointed ear flanking a tattoo; a single fruit on someone's hand. The pictures don't tell a story and they can't; he knows she cannot speak about her mission. It still gives him an idea of where she'd been and what she'd done.
I wrote you messages but I deleted them all, he writes.
You can still write them now, he finds below his statement when he comes back from water therapy.
I'd rather talk with you, he writes. There are things he needs to explain to her, but she escapes him, a ghost drifting in and out of his days with paintings in her trail.
He wonders what he needs to do to break the spell and, having no better idea, takes the brush at last and makes a corner of the wall his own. The cacti are a little too green and the horses really terribly drawn, but it's his own and so he puts two people on those horses, a bright red sun above them.
You and I.
But images aren't his language, and it's the only painting he ever tries.
*
He's almost asleep when she kneels down in front of his bed one night. Her fingers are colored in yellow and green, and he imagines the smell of paint around her, above the spicy scent of her shower gel. She takes away the PADD on which he's been reading an elaborate article on the freedom of choice in Vulcan philosophy, and kisses him on his forehead. Her lips are cool, and she's gone before he can reach out.
"Miss you so much," he murmurs.
"I miss you too," she says, the first words he hears from her since she'd first appeared.
"Don't leave me again."
"I'll stay if you want me. If you really want me to."
"Yes, yes, so much," he mutters, and the mattress dips down a little, the blanket shifting as she lies down next to him. She kisses him again, and this time her lips are soft and warm on his skin.
"Sleep, my lover ," she whispers, and he drifts away with a smile on his face.
*
Dael is curled against him in the morning hour, and it's the warmth of her body that finally proves that this is real.
He'd imagined her moment of return, the speech he'd deliver to make her leave him, but it's impossible now that he feels her heartbeat next to his. Her tattoos burn in his eyes and right through his skull, not for the pain he'd associated with them in the past, but for their incredible beauty, the way they transcend her physical body. She's real and here and Pike cannot fathom what she must have done for him, spending months of her life on gently showing him the way back out of his self-chosen separation.
"Dael…" he says, his voice breaking before he can say anything else, and then she holds him, her embrace his anchor when he starts crying on her shoulder.
*
When the Pathfinder's launch from Utopia Planitia under the command of Captain Esteban is broadcast on secured 'fleet channels, Pike doesn't watch. Later, people would tell him that Nogura himself had delivered the speech and mentioned him, clarifying that without the work of his cherished colleague Admiral Pike, this project would never have succeeded. They would tell him that he'd been given a standing ovation in absentia, and that Nogura had expressed the best wishes of the admiralty for his speedy recovery and his future return.
But Pike doesn't watch it and couldn't care less; instead, he lies on an absolutely quiet, secluded beach that belongs just to the two of them for the time being, and enjoys a self-prepared fruit drink.
Dael has given him another month in which she's completely his, and he accepts her gift without guilt because he's learned something about choices. She's his companion, his nurse, his secretary, the filter through which he deals with the world. It's less that he can't deal with people than it's a certain kind of complexity he can't deal with. Concurrent, conflicting demands on him make him instantly retract into his unapproachable state. They gently work on changing that, but neither of them is pushing the subject.
Sitting together in comfortable silence has always been an art they manage in perfection, and it's not different in their beach retreat. The food is beamed in, the house kept clean by invisible helpers, his health state tracked by an implant but so far no alert had been raised; it's a modern land of milk and honey that leaves them free to follow their interests.
He's reading a lot about historic events and battles, even dipping his toes into drafting his first scientific publication in decades. She works on coursework for the academy and on translations of Romulan texts for some unnamed organization which he supposes is basically Intelligence, but he doesn't ask.
Aside from exercising his brain with text analysis and his body with swimming and regular visits of the small room with exercise machines, he sleeps an obscene amount of the time. It's a fabulous way to recharge and gives Dael some free time for herself. She seems to spend it mostly with painting, sharing some of the results with him over the weeks. He's happily surprised when she allows him to hang up two of her beach studies in the living room.
*
For quite a few days, what they have is all he needs, and while he wouldn't call himself happy because he's not even sure right now what the word encompasses, he's quite at peace with himself. He absorbs her caring like a dry sponge absorbs water, building up his own mental energy with her help and, when he's ready to face the fact, at the expense of her.
Because there are things he hasn't told her yet that might influence her decision to stay with him. He's not an island, and the time she'd been away had been a kaleidoscope in which not all of his actions were without blemish. They need to talk but he doesn't know where to start, and she'll never ask on her own account. It's blocking him like a solid wall, and may be part of the reason why they haven't had sex again yet. They are like that cup that he'd once smashed in anger; he tries gluing everything together again for her, with her, but not all pieces are on the table yet.
So he starts talking, deep in the same night with the moonlight stealing through the half-open window, because while the thought of her leaving him is unbearable, the thought of her staying with him for all the wrong reasons is even worse.
"There are things you don't know," he says without introduction, one arm around her waist and his mouth close to her ear.
There's a slight change in her breathing, then a little move of her hand as she captures his, lacing their fingers.
"And you think I should know them," she says. He can feel her mood switching from sleepily relaxed to alert in a heartbeat.
"Yes."
There's a deep silence for longer than he can really bear, but then he hears her soft sigh. "You can't just tell me secrets - you can only trade them in."
"Hmm?"
"That's what a good friend always said to me. I was reminded of that lately." She turns around to lie on her side, facing him. They're close enough to see each other, and she leans forward to give him a lingering kiss.
"For every secret you tell me, I tell you one of my own," she says.
"Not sure I can handle that," he says slowly. "But it's only fair."
"Yes. It's about equal burden."
And here he'd thought the idea was to unburden himself. This starts getting complicated, and his willingness to share sharply plummets down.
"Easy," she whispers and combs through his hair. "I - I need this too. There are things I didn't tell you either and they'll keep standing between us if we don't share them."
"I'm egoistic, I know, I just can't…" spend too much energy on others yet, he finishes the sentence in his head.
"We'll try, okay? Your pace. We've got time, we don't have to say it all tonight."
He nods, slowly exhaling and inhaling against her shoulder until he's ready for the first confession. "I slept with a woman. A prostitute. I know I didn't promise anything but… I want you to know."
Dael's soothing caress doesn't falter. "So that's what John didn't want to tell me," she says, sounding almost amused.
"He brought us together. She reminded him of you."
She nods in the dark. "Did she remind you of me too?"
"Yes. She was Half-Deltan; young, bald, thin as paper - and sweet and beautiful. Not just her body, also her soul." He swallows. "She died of cancer. All I've got left of her is a white Origami butterfly that one of her colleagues made as memento. I couldn't help comparing the two of you, and learning about her death made me fear yours a lot more."
Dael leans her forehead against his, cradling his neck with one hand. "Was she the reason for Esteban's -?"
"I don't want to speak about him," he says roughly. He understands that McAllister had been the one who really pulled the strings but Esteban had been the one to erode his position most actively, and remembering that the man had still been given the Pathfinder makes him blindingly angry. An emotion, some stupid therapist might cheer, but not the one he wants to feel.
"Fine. What else did you want to tell me?" she asks, and he's half glad, half sorry that she doesn't want to learn more about Ash.
"I searched your room. I found your drawings, and the old photographs." She freezes in his arm, and he rushes on to explain. "It was on the evening when I learned about your first mission extension. I missed you so much. I wanted to learn more about you, something - anything. I know I betrayed your trust. I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry." His heart beats harsh and fast, his throat tight as he waits for her reaction. She'd always cherished her privacy, hidden everything from everyone, and why couldn't he wait until she would've been ready?
"I think I already thought that night that you wouldn't come back. It was like… I don't know, it started to become a given, you know? You'd leave me, as I always supposed you'd do, and this was your great chance to go home."
She shakes her head. "Home? The Empire is a lot of things, but not home."
"I read some of your entries in that discussion board. You love Romulans, you love their culture, their art -"
"I love some aspects. I'm not blind to their problematic sides."
"I tried to contact T'Anihl. T'Anihl ch'Retrrln. That's the boy you called T.A., right? The one from Khal'kohachi?"
For a long time, he'd dreamed that she'd love to hear this news - that she'd love him for making this part of her past accessible for her. Her actual reaction now is a big letdown, as she only says, "I know."
"How…?"
"When I was back on the courier ship after my mission, there were a lot of messages waiting for me. One of them was by Nicolai. He wrote me about your language sessions and that you'd tried to contact T'Anihl. I was shocked that Al'Retrrln had lived and died without me seeing him again, but I was ecstatic that T'Anihl seemed within reach. He was everything to me back then - my brother, my best friend… my first love. I wrote a message to him. He wrote back. We talked once over a comm line, but it was nothing like in the past. He knows that my mother worked for Intelligence, and it made our interaction… complicated. If he had known where I'd just been…" She sighs. "It's better to keep the past in the past. T.A died like everyone else. Only the memory lives on."
Pike doesn't know what to answer to the unusual, bone-deep sadness she lets show for once, only wordlessly cradles her in his arms.
"I still don't understand why you searched my room," she says at last, returning to his confession.
"I'm not sure I understand it either."
"I would have shared if you had asked."
"You rarely share anything, Dael, and I didn't know how to ask in the right way when you were here, and there was nobody to ask when you were gone." The pain of the evening is like a washed-out shadow, nebulous and intangible, but he remembers it. It's no excuse, though. "I'd understand if you couldn't forgive me for that breach of trust. I hated myself for it ever after but I couldn't make it undone. Couldn't make the pictures unseen."
"I forgive you if you forgive me." Her voice is flat.
"What for?"
"One of your PADDs didn't lock correctly at times."
He holds his breath.
"I read some of your reports. I read about the Borg. I knew I shouldn't and that it would have major consequences if anyone learned about it but I wanted to know so badly what you worked on… what made you so tense and serious so often, as if the fate of the Federation was at stake. And it is, obviously."
His embrace goes slack. Her confession is nothing he would've expected - he'd given his word to Nogura that she'd be no security risk. He'd vouched for her, and although he'd sometimes compared her assignment with John's job, he'd never actually thought she could betray his trust. But this… is quite unforgivable, as it's not just about him but about the security of the whole Federation.
"You went on an Intelligence mission in the Romulan Empire with knowledge about the Borg?" he asks in disbelief. "How could you even pass the Vulcan security scans?"
"I know how mind melds work. I know how to pass them." She pulls away a little. "Believe me, I regretted my curiosity every single day. But as you said, I couldn't make it unseen."
He's at loss for words.
"I'm sorry I'm not the person you thought me to be," she says throatily, and with a last kiss to his forehead leaves the room, a shirt in hand. Dumbfounded he keeps lying there as her steps first resound from the kitchen, then vanish in the distance as she leaves the house. For a while, he just listens to the sound of the waves, his mind reeling. He should go back behind the glass wall; he's not ready for this world, not for the truths, not for the decisions that would have to come with them. He can't deal with Dael having done this to him, his image of her shattered to a thousand pieces.
Strangely, it's the doc's voice that suddenly chimes up in his head.
She's a goddamn kid. Give her some slack. Did you never read things that were forbidden to you?
Yes, but not like this. Not information that could've had such monumental consequences.
You think the Tal Shiar didn't have spies on Utopia Planitia already before the Pathfinder launch? You really think they hadn't heard of the Borg before the press caught up with the unusual refits of the ship?
No, I don't. But still, she betrayed my trust.
As you betrayed hers. And we're not even talking about Alain here.
That's only personal. She could have compromised Federation security.
Could have, might have. But the one who was the real security risk was you - depressed and vulnerable. You aimed for the train wreck. What if Alain had worked for someone else?
But he didn't.
And she didn't betray anyone, especially not you. And it's not as if you'll ever have 'fleet secrets to spill again, will you?
No.
Pike sharply sits up, half ripping the tangled sheet as it doesn't set him free fast enough. He dresses in shorts, grabs his cane and walks out of the house. The night is rather bright but it still takes him some time to find her on one of the few stones near the water, curled around her folded legs.
She doesn't turn her head as he draws close.
"I'll leave tomorrow," she says tonelessly as he stands beside her.
"No, you won't."
"I'm not taking orders from you."
He backs down instantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an order. I mean it as - there's no reason for you to leave. I don't want you to leave."
She still doesn't look at him as she says, "You don't need to keep me out of pity. I'm able to live my own life by now." Tilting her head, she adds sarcastically, "You don't need to protect me from the dangerous universe outside anymore."
"Pity has never been the point between us," Pike states. "And I'm aware that you changed… grew up, got stronger. And that's good because I'm not strong right now, and I can't protect you. I'm the one who needs you more than you need me, and for all the moments I thought of sending you away for your own good, I learned the hard way that I can't really live without you. You should leave, really you should, but I don't want you to. We've both made mistakes, it's only human. There's that saying about throwing bricks in a glass house, and I'm sorry that I did that."
She gazes at him. "But you were right, my betrayal could've had serious consequences."
"You're talking to the man who worked on highly confidential material while getting drugged by an ex-lover who he knew he shouldn't trust. By all rights, I should be court-martialed."
"You loved him."
"No, I didn't. I needed certain people and couldn't have them, so I took second best. I betrayed you all." He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the sudden rush of emotions that threaten his hard-won, fragile stability. If he lost her now, after everything…
She slips from the stone and takes him into an embrace. "Shhh, that's not how we think."
"But you should." He inhales shakily, suddenly feeling as if something inside of him shuts down, or maybe breaks open - he's not sure. The ground underneath his feet seems to quake in shifted gravity, a distant echo of his drug trip.
"I'm not worth your love, Dael," he whispers, trying to escape her hold, but she doesn't let him go.
"I consider you worth of my loving, Christopher, and that's all that counts. And they love you too, they love you so much, you know that."
"I thought they'd stopped. I wanted them to. I wanted to be dead to you all."
"You thought we'd be better off without you but we're not. And Leonard will hate me if you have another breakdown, and I really don't want that," she says softly, stopping his emotional landslide with her rational calm. "Come back with me."
He's not quite himself as she maneuvers him inside, only waking up from his dazed state to Dael pulling a blanket over him.
"Don't leave me," he begs and captures her hand, pulling her down on the bed to him. "You're not leaving, right?"
She shakes her head. "No, I'm not."
"Good… good." He tugs her into his arms, crushing her in his embrace until she demands some air to breath. "You wanted to tell me more secrets, didn't you? Tell me now. I'll listen. I promise I'll listen."
"Another day," she whispers, stroking through his hair until he falls asleep. "Another day."
When he wakes up close to midday, she's still there, one hand on him, one holding a PADD for reading. He can't remember every detail from the evening before, but as she looks at him and smiles sweetly, he decides that everything must be good. A surge of love runs through him, stronger than anything he'd experienced for a long time, and he embraces the beautiful feeling. Her body is bed-warm and her skin soft, and he strokes her tattooed chest in sudden need, leaning over to kiss first her lips, then one flat nipple.
She puts the PADD aside without words and runs her hands down his shoulders. He explores her body as if he'd never touched it before, and she welcomes his mouth, his fingers. There's nobody else in his mind as he caresses her with his eyes on her face, meeting her unusually tender gaze. They make love, slowly and carefully, and when they lie together afterwards, he's finally ready to name the feeling inside of him happiness.
*
They extend their stay in seclusion. Pike starts reading his personal messages, in very small doses and skipping anything from certain 'fleet personnel, like Nogura. His friends still sound concerned but they all seem to accept his current decision, adding words of praise about Dael's positive influence. He doesn't need their confirmation to know that she's one of the best things in his life but he's glad to find that the time in which he needed to reason with anyone about that point seems to be over.
There's never a word from Esteban.
"Jim and Leonard will be here soon," Dael says one evening in bed, and he nods; while he doesn't receive any official 'fleet messages, the news that the Enterprise is on the way to Utopia Planitia for the planned upgrades has not escaped him.
"They're looking forward to seeing you, but they don't know if they're welcome."
Pike sighs, his heart suddenly heavy. "I want to see them, but I fear I can't handle it."
"Can't handle what, exactly?" she asks.
"The complications… the emotions. The feeling of needing to split myself in two or three parts when we're all together. I want to make it right for everyone, but I know I can't and that's not something I could bear right now. And the last thing I want is that they come and I shut down. It would only hurt them." Just thinking about the scenario quickens his breathing, and there's a light tremble in his body which he unsuccessfully tries to subdue.
Dael listens in silence, and thinks for a moment before she answers, "I see." She rolls over and gently strokes his chest, easing his tension. "So, if we find a way to solve the problem, would you want to see them?"
"Yes," Pike says. "Very much so."
"Then just trust me. We'll find a way." She curls around him and he pushes the topic back in his mind.
*
The beach is flanked by other beaches, this much he knows, but he's glad that they've never met any of the other residents. On this sunny afternoon, though, there's a ball finding its way onto their sands. Dael quickly dresses and goes out to find the reason for this sudden appearance. Pike watches the unfolding scene from the house, how she talks to the two children that emerge from the trees that flank the grounds, and then shows them back to their own beach. She's gone with them for a while, and he'd already made a cup of tea for himself when she returns.
Strange that he'd never noticed before how different she is when she's just been in the company of children. She's still smiling to herself when she walks into the kitchen, her dimples deep and her eyes bright, and the glow stays when she joins him, slinging one arm around his hip.
"Just two kids who lost their way," she says. "Their parents were relieved when I returned them." She sighs a little, between happy and wistful.
"You really like children, don't you?" he asks.
She briefly meets his eyes before her gaze drifts away. "Yes. Children are fabulous… so easy to please, to make happy." She leans her head against his shoulder, tightening her embrace. "Can you imagine having children with me?"
Pike clears his throat. Somewhere deep inside, he'd known that question would arise one day, ever since Kirk had brought up the farm idea; but he already knows that she wouldn't like his answer. "I can imagine raising children with you, but they won't be my biological children."
Her hold stiffens. "What?"
"I'm practically sterile."
"Sterile?" she repeats dumbfounded.
"I got tested while you were away. I couldn't father children without medical intervention, and frankly, I don't care about it. Our children wouldn't have to carry my genes to be my children too."
She draws away, visibly stunned.
Pike reaches out to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. "It would have been important to you, hmm? I'm sorry, Dael."
His words break the spell, and she inhales deeply. "I… didn't know that it was that important to me before you said it won't happen."
"That's not an uncommon thing." Pike pulls her close, burying his nose in her hair. "As I said, I'm more than willing to bring up children with you, in any way that counts. Though you should think twice about undergoing such an adventure with a sick man like me, and when your career is just getting started."
She huffs in complaint but doesn't argue his point.
The subject is not brought up again.
*
The days go by without her mentioning the Enterprise men, and it begins to make him nervous. He wants her to be happy, and seeing other people, especially Jim, is a necessary ingredient for that. It's been her decision to stay with him for a while, and he's incredibly thankful for it, but he can't let her share the seclusion he had chosen for his own sanity for too long.
"Are you happy?" he asks one evening when they're in bed, and she turns to him with a bright smile.
"I am, very much so." She leans over to kiss him. "I love you, Christopher. Never forget that."
"How could I?" he says, brushing upwards into her wild hair. "After all you've done for me…"
"You would've done the same for me." She glides her forefinger over his bottom lip. "You already have done that, more than once - been there for me when I needed you. That's what partners are for."
He thinks about asking about their men, but then she gets up on her knees and straddles him, her intentions quite clear as she lays hand on his bulge, and he decides to ask in the morning.
*
The sunrise finds him alone in bed, the curtain slightly moving in the winds that brush in through the open window. There's a smell of coffee in the air, and it's both familiar and strange - they'd never had coffee here, as he'd all but given up on it. The change from their routine brings him out of bed, and he walks through the quiet house into the kitchen with a yawn, wondering what Dael's been up to.
"Good morning, Chris," the man at the table says, and Pike doesn't trust his eyes as his sleepy gaze clears to reveal the doc - Leonard - sitting there in a grey shirt and blue jeans. With trembling legs, Pike makes a side-step and sags against the doorframe for support. His move causes the man to jump up and walk to him.
"Hey, it's supposed to be a happy surprise," McCoy says and takes a steadying hold on him. The hands are warm - everything feels real, nothing transparent and vague about the figure, but Pike still can't quite believe this.
"Dael and Jim have gone on a vacation of their own. If you want to contact her, feel free to use my communicator," McCoy speaks along. "But the girl really could use a break." A soft gaze from green-brown eyes settles on him as the hands on his arms change position, take him into an embrace. The doc's warm breath ghosts over his face as McCoy says, "It's really a shock for you, isn't it? Sorry for that. Should've been more cautious, but I couldn't resist. I hope you like our solution to your dilemma. I'm here for you, all for you, and I'm not going to go away anytime soon. No need to think about the others, they're fine. It's just you and me, just as you wished for in your recording, remember?"
Pike takes some deep breaths, trying to keep from hyperventilating as his mind still struggles to process the information.
"They're fine?" he asks at last.
"Yes, they are," McCoy repeats soothingly. "Very fine, and they'll be back whenever we want them to be."
"And you'll stay here?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Thought we start with a month, see how it goes after that." McCoy pulls closer, his lips brushing over Pike's cheek. His hands slip down, settling on Pike's hips. "I'm all yours, Chris. No need to share with anyone."
When McCoy moves into a kiss, all soft lips and a touch of stubble, Pike is finally ready to accept that this is undoubtedly real, and answers the kiss with all his might.
***
Onto the sequel: Morning Sun
*** Act 3 ***
"Not as fast as we'd like it. His eyes are open but he doesn't react to external stimuli."
*
"No news from her yet. Maybe it's better, he wouldn't want her to see him like that."
*
He's floating, weightless and free. His thoughts are shining raindrops, evading when he reaches out for them. Endless shades of white, and maybe there's a fairy in the distance.
*
"We'll be waiting here for you when you wake up. I promise, Chris."
*
"I know the statistics myself, Leonard. We're doing our best but he's got to come around on his own."
*
"The apartment has been searched but it's absolutely clean. So far, we've got only his friend's statement that someone else has been living with him."
*
There are colors and sounds but it's as if they're behind a wall of glass, and he can't reach them and they can't reach him. There's a stirring sensation in his body, once in a while, as if the ground is shaking beneath him, and at one point, it rattles him out of his floating, ending the beautiful nirvana.
He feels his hand and he opens and closes it and he stares into the light and struggles because suddenly he wants to really feel again. There's got to be a way out of the glass walls and he wants to break through…
"Yes, Chris, come on, keep fighting," someone says close to him, not the vague sounds he'd captured once in a while, and he struggles, his hand balling and relaxing, he fights to get a word past his lips, he can speak, he can…
Something touches him. There are more voices and sounds, and it's a little overwhelming so he closes his eyes against the onslaught.
"Come on, Chris, open your eyes again." There are hands on his face, warm and soft, and he obeys.
"Great. You're doing great. You're in Starfleet Medical. You had a stroke but you're going to be fine."
He stares at the woman who talks so familiarly to him.
"Your name is Chris Pike. Say your name. Say it."
He opens his mouth and tries, or thinks he tries but somehow it doesn't work, nothing coming out of it.
"Say: I'm Chris Pike. Say it." The woman looks concerned.
"Scans not looking good," someone says quietly, pointing somewhere. "Broca's aphasia - he might not even understand us."
She frowns. "I'm sure he does. Come on, Chris. Say your name."
He takes a deep breath, his left hand curling into the blanket. It feels as if the words should come out any minute, just ready to leave his lips - but then they don't, and he flounders and stresses out.
"It's okay, it's okay," the woman says and there's a hiss of hypo. "Okay. Okay." He instantly feels calmer, more behind the glass wall again. "We're taking it slowly. Everything's fine, Chris. All will be well."
She holds his hand. "I'm Naaz. Do you remember me? I've been your doctor for two years. We've become friends over time. I'm sorry you don't remember that yet, but I'm sure the memories will come back soon. So, could you give me your other hand?"
He stares at her without understanding.
"I've got your left one, see," she holds one hand up, showing it, "and I want you to give me your right one."
"This one," she says and touches it. He looks down at it.
"Can you move it? The fingers, maybe?"
He draws a shaky breath as nothing moves, no matter how much he tries. He isn't fine, he's paralyzed. Someone mutters something and there are more hypos, and she keeps holding his hand, the one hand he feels and can move. A word flutters through the room, hemiparesis and although it doesn't mean a thing to him he feels its weight from the way it's said.
And it suddenly stops making sense, all of this, and he decides that there's really no reason why he should come back to a reality where gravity bogs him down. He smiles as he closes his eyes again, fading out the voices and the words addressed to him as he drifts away.
*
He'd love to go back to the peace he had before; hide out there, keep away from the problems and frustrations that leap onto him the moment the glass wall breaks. But they don't let him get away, push him for so long until he opens his eyes, nods to their questions - all of them, for good measure, it's not as if he even cares to listen.
*
"You're got to talk to someone," a woman - Nat, Natasha - says concerned on the screen. "There are people who believe that you wanted to kill yourself with an overdose of Dreamweaver. There are rumors that you torpedoed your own secret project and even rumors that you betrayed the Federation by selling information to the Romulans. We all know it's utter bullshit but you've got to defend yourself, make a statement about Alain." She sighs. "I'll try to be back soon. Please, Chris…"
He closes his eyes and zooms out.
*
"John couldn't make it today," a man says - Eric - "but he'll come soon. I promise. He's doing his best to investigate what really happened. Looks as if someone pulled strings in the background but he's not sure yet who and how." The man's hand is warm on his. "I called you that night but you didn't answer. I wish we had driven over and looked after you. I'm sorry we let you down."
This is all so wrong and besides, John wouldn't come, he just knows.
He's relieved when Eric leaves.
*
"I've got something for you," the white-clad woman says - Naaz, his doctor - and switches on the screen.
"Chris, you wouldn't believe how glad we are that you've woken up," a man says - McCoy, Leonard, doc - the voice full of emotions too complicated to sort out.
"What he says, Chris. You were lucky again; your prospects are good." There's another man and he sounds just as intense.
Kirk, Jim, just Jim.
"Chris, say something," the first man says. "Anything."
Luck feels different, he thinks. And although he's unsure about the reasons, there's a crushing wave of guilt and pain.
He's done with that. When they sign off, he angles for the special keyboard they've supplied him with, starting to type with his left hand.
> no more communications
Naaz shakes her head, her eyes wide and deep. "You can't mean that, Chris. They love you."
> no more visitors
"Chris -"
He types along.
> other institution
> new doctor
"Why, Chris?"
> reset
He smiles.
*
"He's not ready to make such a decision," he can hear people argue.
"His statements look pretty clear to me."
Someone visits him and they go through another round in which he types exactly the same orders.
They finally relent and he gets moved. It takes him one day to figure out he's still at SFM, at which point he orders them to contact the lawyer he hasn't needed in a long time.
"I don't know why you'd want that," Whitman Senior says. "But I'll make sure it's done if that's your wish."
> yes
*
He has no clue where he is, everyone is new to him, and that's the most refreshing thing. Nobody that comes to him brings any baggage; a clean, new start.
They've got a water tank and it feels like flying.
*
He's not agreeing to any further medical intervention despite getting it pushed at him.
"It needs to be done soon," they say. "There's a short time frame."
It's his decision and he's not going to say yes, not yet, maybe never.
It takes a wonderful morning on which he realizes that he can't even reach far enough to pick a flower from the balcony pots that he agrees on the next steps of therapy.
*
They pull him through two brain surgeries to reduce the paralysis of his right side, and he's able to move his right hand a little after the second one; the speech problem remains.
It feels very different than the last time he went through something similar; maybe because this time, the problem is so one-sided.
He floats around in a new chair and steals flowers from pots. Orange is his favorite color, with white a close second.
*
"Are you done yet?" the doc asks him. Not the real one but a reasonable ghostly remake of the man that sometimes follows him around. "There are people who care for you, even if you don't want to remember that."
There are enough people caring about me here, he thinks. People who are paid to do that, who don't care who he is, who don't hurt when he hurts. It's a perfect arrangement.
"Bullheaded ignorant," the doc mutters and turns transparent until he's gone.
*
A few officials come and try to talk to him, interview him about the events that had led to the stroke.
"Did you take the drug yourself?"
"Who was the man living with you?"
"If you don't answer our questions, there will be repercussions on your future in Starfleet."
He never replies to any of them. He can fly perfectly by himself. And he starts thinking of riding again, one day.
*
He agrees to another brain surgery that should fix the speech problem, because while silence is a powerful weapon, sometimes it would be really helpful to just drop a word.
It doesn't have any discernible effect. The doctors' faces are frozen in a frown as they stare at his brain patterns, which are brightly colored and strangely cute. He gets some of the pictures printed out and pins them to the walls of his room. It's interesting to look at what makes him tick.
He still takes no visitors.
*
The day the words come back is uneventful; it's as if they've just taken a nap and are now waking up, stretching their limbs and waving at him, willing to get back to work.
He could say coffee but he asks for tea instead.
No baggage.
There are a fair number of words erased from his vocabulary, "have to" right on top. He participates in rehab sessions only when he feels up to it, four on some days, none on the next. His recovery is an intricate path, and the speed always right.
*
The man that climbs up looks sadly real as he takes the other chair on his balcony.
"I've got to apologize," Farnham says. "I was so angry and hurt, I didn't think for a minute that Alain's sudden appearance could have had some well-planned timing behind it. McAllister saw his moment come after your clash with Esteban and it didn't take him long to isolate you from the few people you were friends with. Dael out of the way, me back at work, the Enterprise under radio silence, a bit of manipulation and more spread rumors… If not for Alain, the ploy would've worked, and you would have resigned and handed over your task force. Alain was his helper but also the weakest link in the plan. He mixed much less of the various illegal drugs that were intended to worsen your depression and make you appear unreliable into your food, so you kept working far longer than expected. And in the end, Alain snapped and sent you on that drug trip, ruining everything before leaving for good. Not a trace of him so far."
He stares out into the fields, wondering whether, if he tried hard enough to make John go, his friend would turn as translucent as the doc does. But somehow, it doesn't work.
"McAllister's full confession has rattled Starfleet quite a bit. Nogura has managed to keep his position but has taken quite some flak. Shaa had to leave over the affair with the disregarded complaints and because of her unclear involvement in McAllister's plans, and as far as I can see, nobody has shed a tear over her. Esteban is in charge of the task force for now; they've nicely kept him out of the picture."
He doesn't really want to know any of it, tries hard to zoom out and let John's words become just the gurgle of water under the bridge.
"Though if it were up to me, I'd kick his ass from here to next Sunday." Farnham laughs darkly. "Might be Kirk's job in the end. Even at a distance, your man has put considerable weight behind getting things straightened out in the HQ. But hell, he needs some more politician's genes. The usual problem with you captains, your hero complex makes you move brashly ahead even if strings are better pulled from the sidelines. I've given him a tip here and there but he's a little stubborn at times and likes doing things his way. Reminds me of a certain someone."
Why couldn't John just go away and leave him be? It seems the world manages just fine without him, especially Jim. They all would, now that the cut has been made, neater than anything he could've come up with. No ties anymore. That's how it's been for the longest time; that's what had always worked best for him.
Farnham takes his cup to sip from it, instantly drawing a face. "Fruit tea? What are they doing to you here?" He still takes another sip before putting the cup away and continuing, "In any case, now that things are getting quiet, the only thing everyone's waiting for is your return. And trust me, when you come back, it'll be to a red carpet and everyone wanting to be your best friend, including the press. You're thoroughly acquitted of all sins and failures - that's how it goes. The Pathfinder will launch soon; they'll try to get you attend, I'm sure."
Farnham leans forward. "But you don't really care about it all, do you? Did you even listen to what I said?" His friend sighs deeply, pretended ease suddenly dispelled by graveness, the lines in his face deepened. "Seems you've still lost. You've given up, Chris. Never thought I'd see you do that."
The flower he picks is a fancy violet. He twirls the stem in his fingers - the ones of his right hand, it's a personal challenge - and shrugs.
Farnham smiles sadly. "Thanks for the answer, Chris. Our first communication in two months, that's got to count for something."
It feels much longer than two months. Interesting how slowly time passes when you stop running.
His friend looks out into the fields with him. "Dael's on her way back, you know. And she's got a promise to keep, so you better get ready to join the living again. If for nobody else, you need to do it for her."
The thought of Dael is quite unreal, buried in the calm forest that's grown in his mind.
When he looks up again, Farnham has vanished.
*
There's a PADD on his bed, and for days, he moves it around without looking at it, from the bed to the table to the balcony and back in. Then he switches it on.
He pretends the signs are hieroglyphs, unknown to him - beautiful but alien, not his business.
In the night he dreams about Romulan poems, and the words unfold and fly with him, though they part from him in the morning light.
*
"I told you I'd come back," Dael says, and it's a beautiful apparition that stands before him, shielding him from the sunlight. He squints at her; her hair is gone, her full tattooed glory breathtakingly impressive. She wears a female ensign's uniform in command gold, the skirt incredibly short and her legs incredibly long in the slightly heeled boots. An alien goddess in profane 'fleet attire.
Interesting what his mind comes up with at times.
"Just wait and see." She's gone.
Later he finds another PADD on his bed, and the Romulan words have borne drawings, black lines on white forming patterns that turn to brushfire in his dreams.
*
The walls change, slowly, bearing colors and cornfields and beaches in broad strokes, chasing away his brain pattern. When he looks for long enough, he can feel the wind breathe over his skin.
A couple sits down on a bench and watches the waves rushing against the shore, carrying shells with them that sprinkle the sands with light.
There's a new detail for him whenever he returns from a therapy session, and sometimes it's so small and high up on the wall that he's got to stand up to see it, palms spread out on the slightly wet paint for stability.
It could all be real, but he's not ready for that yet.
*
"You're crazy," he says to the apparition when she sits on the rail of the balcony, naked feet hooked over the wooden piles. Her shirt and shorts are tight, her head still bald. It makes her eyes look twice as large.
If not for the dark lines and his ring on her hand, he'd think Ash had come visiting him from whatever Deltans have as heaven.
"Are you going to keep that up forever?" he asks.
She only smiles and vanishes.
*
Nobody tries to visit anymore, nobody tells him anything new about the world outside; he's as shielded from everything as he wanted to be.
But while he still loves the silence and seclusion, he also gets restless, his mind waiting for something more to see and think about.
He takes up the PADD, trying to get around the illustrated Romulan poem application for a while before outright hacking it, a mess of electronics on his bed when he succeeds in merging the two PADDs to a powerful little comm station that connects to the house's network.
The news is all good and peaceful, and he's satisfied with that for a few days before he understands that he's still locked into his own little world, everything sugarcoated and filtered for him.
He breaches through two other security layers before he can read the real news. It's painful with a side dish of death and he takes very small doses of it, but beyond the screen there are always fields to look at, and they turn a little greener every day.
*
Sometimes he awakes to her sitting vigil in the chair on the other side of the bed. One day, she sits in his floating chair and steals it from under him when he considers using it.
He soon gets tired of the game - he doesn't need that thing anyway, he decides, and marches out of the room with his cane.
Well, his approximation of marching.
*
"I really wish you'd talk to me," he says the next time she appears on his balcony. Her hair has regrown a little, the tiny length making it spikier. "I miss hearing your voice." It's worse now that the doc seems to have joined her in the silence and stopped rambling at him. It starts to get a bit lonely around here.
On the next morning, there's a brush and tubes with paint.
Tell me about your mission, he writes into the left corner of the beach, draping a few question marks around it.
Little vignettes start littering the edges of the beach. A shadow in a dark ship's observation lounge; two bodies in a playful fight; Romulan signs scrolling over computer screens; a house in a valley; an artist's atelier; a girl's half-profile against the sun; a pointed ear flanking a tattoo; a single fruit on someone's hand. The pictures don't tell a story and they can't; he knows she cannot speak about her mission. It still gives him an idea of where she'd been and what she'd done.
I wrote you messages but I deleted them all, he writes.
You can still write them now, he finds below his statement when he comes back from water therapy.
I'd rather talk with you, he writes. There are things he needs to explain to her, but she escapes him, a ghost drifting in and out of his days with paintings in her trail.
He wonders what he needs to do to break the spell and, having no better idea, takes the brush at last and makes a corner of the wall his own. The cacti are a little too green and the horses really terribly drawn, but it's his own and so he puts two people on those horses, a bright red sun above them.
You and I.
But images aren't his language, and it's the only painting he ever tries.
*
He's almost asleep when she kneels down in front of his bed one night. Her fingers are colored in yellow and green, and he imagines the smell of paint around her, above the spicy scent of her shower gel. She takes away the PADD on which he's been reading an elaborate article on the freedom of choice in Vulcan philosophy, and kisses him on his forehead. Her lips are cool, and she's gone before he can reach out.
"Miss you so much," he murmurs.
"I miss you too," she says, the first words he hears from her since she'd first appeared.
"Don't leave me again."
"I'll stay if you want me. If you really want me to."
"Yes, yes, so much," he mutters, and the mattress dips down a little, the blanket shifting as she lies down next to him. She kisses him again, and this time her lips are soft and warm on his skin.
"Sleep, my lover ," she whispers, and he drifts away with a smile on his face.
*
Dael is curled against him in the morning hour, and it's the warmth of her body that finally proves that this is real.
He'd imagined her moment of return, the speech he'd deliver to make her leave him, but it's impossible now that he feels her heartbeat next to his. Her tattoos burn in his eyes and right through his skull, not for the pain he'd associated with them in the past, but for their incredible beauty, the way they transcend her physical body. She's real and here and Pike cannot fathom what she must have done for him, spending months of her life on gently showing him the way back out of his self-chosen separation.
"Dael…" he says, his voice breaking before he can say anything else, and then she holds him, her embrace his anchor when he starts crying on her shoulder.
*
When the Pathfinder's launch from Utopia Planitia under the command of Captain Esteban is broadcast on secured 'fleet channels, Pike doesn't watch. Later, people would tell him that Nogura himself had delivered the speech and mentioned him, clarifying that without the work of his cherished colleague Admiral Pike, this project would never have succeeded. They would tell him that he'd been given a standing ovation in absentia, and that Nogura had expressed the best wishes of the admiralty for his speedy recovery and his future return.
But Pike doesn't watch it and couldn't care less; instead, he lies on an absolutely quiet, secluded beach that belongs just to the two of them for the time being, and enjoys a self-prepared fruit drink.
Dael has given him another month in which she's completely his, and he accepts her gift without guilt because he's learned something about choices. She's his companion, his nurse, his secretary, the filter through which he deals with the world. It's less that he can't deal with people than it's a certain kind of complexity he can't deal with. Concurrent, conflicting demands on him make him instantly retract into his unapproachable state. They gently work on changing that, but neither of them is pushing the subject.
Sitting together in comfortable silence has always been an art they manage in perfection, and it's not different in their beach retreat. The food is beamed in, the house kept clean by invisible helpers, his health state tracked by an implant but so far no alert had been raised; it's a modern land of milk and honey that leaves them free to follow their interests.
He's reading a lot about historic events and battles, even dipping his toes into drafting his first scientific publication in decades. She works on coursework for the academy and on translations of Romulan texts for some unnamed organization which he supposes is basically Intelligence, but he doesn't ask.
Aside from exercising his brain with text analysis and his body with swimming and regular visits of the small room with exercise machines, he sleeps an obscene amount of the time. It's a fabulous way to recharge and gives Dael some free time for herself. She seems to spend it mostly with painting, sharing some of the results with him over the weeks. He's happily surprised when she allows him to hang up two of her beach studies in the living room.
*
For quite a few days, what they have is all he needs, and while he wouldn't call himself happy because he's not even sure right now what the word encompasses, he's quite at peace with himself. He absorbs her caring like a dry sponge absorbs water, building up his own mental energy with her help and, when he's ready to face the fact, at the expense of her.
Because there are things he hasn't told her yet that might influence her decision to stay with him. He's not an island, and the time she'd been away had been a kaleidoscope in which not all of his actions were without blemish. They need to talk but he doesn't know where to start, and she'll never ask on her own account. It's blocking him like a solid wall, and may be part of the reason why they haven't had sex again yet. They are like that cup that he'd once smashed in anger; he tries gluing everything together again for her, with her, but not all pieces are on the table yet.
So he starts talking, deep in the same night with the moonlight stealing through the half-open window, because while the thought of her leaving him is unbearable, the thought of her staying with him for all the wrong reasons is even worse.
"There are things you don't know," he says without introduction, one arm around her waist and his mouth close to her ear.
There's a slight change in her breathing, then a little move of her hand as she captures his, lacing their fingers.
"And you think I should know them," she says. He can feel her mood switching from sleepily relaxed to alert in a heartbeat.
"Yes."
There's a deep silence for longer than he can really bear, but then he hears her soft sigh. "You can't just tell me secrets - you can only trade them in."
"Hmm?"
"That's what a good friend always said to me. I was reminded of that lately." She turns around to lie on her side, facing him. They're close enough to see each other, and she leans forward to give him a lingering kiss.
"For every secret you tell me, I tell you one of my own," she says.
"Not sure I can handle that," he says slowly. "But it's only fair."
"Yes. It's about equal burden."
And here he'd thought the idea was to unburden himself. This starts getting complicated, and his willingness to share sharply plummets down.
"Easy," she whispers and combs through his hair. "I - I need this too. There are things I didn't tell you either and they'll keep standing between us if we don't share them."
"I'm egoistic, I know, I just can't…" spend too much energy on others yet, he finishes the sentence in his head.
"We'll try, okay? Your pace. We've got time, we don't have to say it all tonight."
He nods, slowly exhaling and inhaling against her shoulder until he's ready for the first confession. "I slept with a woman. A prostitute. I know I didn't promise anything but… I want you to know."
Dael's soothing caress doesn't falter. "So that's what John didn't want to tell me," she says, sounding almost amused.
"He brought us together. She reminded him of you."
She nods in the dark. "Did she remind you of me too?"
"Yes. She was Half-Deltan; young, bald, thin as paper - and sweet and beautiful. Not just her body, also her soul." He swallows. "She died of cancer. All I've got left of her is a white Origami butterfly that one of her colleagues made as memento. I couldn't help comparing the two of you, and learning about her death made me fear yours a lot more."
Dael leans her forehead against his, cradling his neck with one hand. "Was she the reason for Esteban's -?"
"I don't want to speak about him," he says roughly. He understands that McAllister had been the one who really pulled the strings but Esteban had been the one to erode his position most actively, and remembering that the man had still been given the Pathfinder makes him blindingly angry. An emotion, some stupid therapist might cheer, but not the one he wants to feel.
"Fine. What else did you want to tell me?" she asks, and he's half glad, half sorry that she doesn't want to learn more about Ash.
"I searched your room. I found your drawings, and the old photographs." She freezes in his arm, and he rushes on to explain. "It was on the evening when I learned about your first mission extension. I missed you so much. I wanted to learn more about you, something - anything. I know I betrayed your trust. I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry." His heart beats harsh and fast, his throat tight as he waits for her reaction. She'd always cherished her privacy, hidden everything from everyone, and why couldn't he wait until she would've been ready?
"I think I already thought that night that you wouldn't come back. It was like… I don't know, it started to become a given, you know? You'd leave me, as I always supposed you'd do, and this was your great chance to go home."
She shakes her head. "Home? The Empire is a lot of things, but not home."
"I read some of your entries in that discussion board. You love Romulans, you love their culture, their art -"
"I love some aspects. I'm not blind to their problematic sides."
"I tried to contact T'Anihl. T'Anihl ch'Retrrln. That's the boy you called T.A., right? The one from Khal'kohachi?"
For a long time, he'd dreamed that she'd love to hear this news - that she'd love him for making this part of her past accessible for her. Her actual reaction now is a big letdown, as she only says, "I know."
"How…?"
"When I was back on the courier ship after my mission, there were a lot of messages waiting for me. One of them was by Nicolai. He wrote me about your language sessions and that you'd tried to contact T'Anihl. I was shocked that Al'Retrrln had lived and died without me seeing him again, but I was ecstatic that T'Anihl seemed within reach. He was everything to me back then - my brother, my best friend… my first love. I wrote a message to him. He wrote back. We talked once over a comm line, but it was nothing like in the past. He knows that my mother worked for Intelligence, and it made our interaction… complicated. If he had known where I'd just been…" She sighs. "It's better to keep the past in the past. T.A died like everyone else. Only the memory lives on."
Pike doesn't know what to answer to the unusual, bone-deep sadness she lets show for once, only wordlessly cradles her in his arms.
"I still don't understand why you searched my room," she says at last, returning to his confession.
"I'm not sure I understand it either."
"I would have shared if you had asked."
"You rarely share anything, Dael, and I didn't know how to ask in the right way when you were here, and there was nobody to ask when you were gone." The pain of the evening is like a washed-out shadow, nebulous and intangible, but he remembers it. It's no excuse, though. "I'd understand if you couldn't forgive me for that breach of trust. I hated myself for it ever after but I couldn't make it undone. Couldn't make the pictures unseen."
"I forgive you if you forgive me." Her voice is flat.
"What for?"
"One of your PADDs didn't lock correctly at times."
He holds his breath.
"I read some of your reports. I read about the Borg. I knew I shouldn't and that it would have major consequences if anyone learned about it but I wanted to know so badly what you worked on… what made you so tense and serious so often, as if the fate of the Federation was at stake. And it is, obviously."
His embrace goes slack. Her confession is nothing he would've expected - he'd given his word to Nogura that she'd be no security risk. He'd vouched for her, and although he'd sometimes compared her assignment with John's job, he'd never actually thought she could betray his trust. But this… is quite unforgivable, as it's not just about him but about the security of the whole Federation.
"You went on an Intelligence mission in the Romulan Empire with knowledge about the Borg?" he asks in disbelief. "How could you even pass the Vulcan security scans?"
"I know how mind melds work. I know how to pass them." She pulls away a little. "Believe me, I regretted my curiosity every single day. But as you said, I couldn't make it unseen."
He's at loss for words.
"I'm sorry I'm not the person you thought me to be," she says throatily, and with a last kiss to his forehead leaves the room, a shirt in hand. Dumbfounded he keeps lying there as her steps first resound from the kitchen, then vanish in the distance as she leaves the house. For a while, he just listens to the sound of the waves, his mind reeling. He should go back behind the glass wall; he's not ready for this world, not for the truths, not for the decisions that would have to come with them. He can't deal with Dael having done this to him, his image of her shattered to a thousand pieces.
Strangely, it's the doc's voice that suddenly chimes up in his head.
She's a goddamn kid. Give her some slack. Did you never read things that were forbidden to you?
Yes, but not like this. Not information that could've had such monumental consequences.
You think the Tal Shiar didn't have spies on Utopia Planitia already before the Pathfinder launch? You really think they hadn't heard of the Borg before the press caught up with the unusual refits of the ship?
No, I don't. But still, she betrayed my trust.
As you betrayed hers. And we're not even talking about Alain here.
That's only personal. She could have compromised Federation security.
Could have, might have. But the one who was the real security risk was you - depressed and vulnerable. You aimed for the train wreck. What if Alain had worked for someone else?
But he didn't.
And she didn't betray anyone, especially not you. And it's not as if you'll ever have 'fleet secrets to spill again, will you?
No.
Pike sharply sits up, half ripping the tangled sheet as it doesn't set him free fast enough. He dresses in shorts, grabs his cane and walks out of the house. The night is rather bright but it still takes him some time to find her on one of the few stones near the water, curled around her folded legs.
She doesn't turn her head as he draws close.
"I'll leave tomorrow," she says tonelessly as he stands beside her.
"No, you won't."
"I'm not taking orders from you."
He backs down instantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an order. I mean it as - there's no reason for you to leave. I don't want you to leave."
She still doesn't look at him as she says, "You don't need to keep me out of pity. I'm able to live my own life by now." Tilting her head, she adds sarcastically, "You don't need to protect me from the dangerous universe outside anymore."
"Pity has never been the point between us," Pike states. "And I'm aware that you changed… grew up, got stronger. And that's good because I'm not strong right now, and I can't protect you. I'm the one who needs you more than you need me, and for all the moments I thought of sending you away for your own good, I learned the hard way that I can't really live without you. You should leave, really you should, but I don't want you to. We've both made mistakes, it's only human. There's that saying about throwing bricks in a glass house, and I'm sorry that I did that."
She gazes at him. "But you were right, my betrayal could've had serious consequences."
"You're talking to the man who worked on highly confidential material while getting drugged by an ex-lover who he knew he shouldn't trust. By all rights, I should be court-martialed."
"You loved him."
"No, I didn't. I needed certain people and couldn't have them, so I took second best. I betrayed you all." He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the sudden rush of emotions that threaten his hard-won, fragile stability. If he lost her now, after everything…
She slips from the stone and takes him into an embrace. "Shhh, that's not how we think."
"But you should." He inhales shakily, suddenly feeling as if something inside of him shuts down, or maybe breaks open - he's not sure. The ground underneath his feet seems to quake in shifted gravity, a distant echo of his drug trip.
"I'm not worth your love, Dael," he whispers, trying to escape her hold, but she doesn't let him go.
"I consider you worth of my loving, Christopher, and that's all that counts. And they love you too, they love you so much, you know that."
"I thought they'd stopped. I wanted them to. I wanted to be dead to you all."
"You thought we'd be better off without you but we're not. And Leonard will hate me if you have another breakdown, and I really don't want that," she says softly, stopping his emotional landslide with her rational calm. "Come back with me."
He's not quite himself as she maneuvers him inside, only waking up from his dazed state to Dael pulling a blanket over him.
"Don't leave me," he begs and captures her hand, pulling her down on the bed to him. "You're not leaving, right?"
She shakes her head. "No, I'm not."
"Good… good." He tugs her into his arms, crushing her in his embrace until she demands some air to breath. "You wanted to tell me more secrets, didn't you? Tell me now. I'll listen. I promise I'll listen."
"Another day," she whispers, stroking through his hair until he falls asleep. "Another day."
When he wakes up close to midday, she's still there, one hand on him, one holding a PADD for reading. He can't remember every detail from the evening before, but as she looks at him and smiles sweetly, he decides that everything must be good. A surge of love runs through him, stronger than anything he'd experienced for a long time, and he embraces the beautiful feeling. Her body is bed-warm and her skin soft, and he strokes her tattooed chest in sudden need, leaning over to kiss first her lips, then one flat nipple.
She puts the PADD aside without words and runs her hands down his shoulders. He explores her body as if he'd never touched it before, and she welcomes his mouth, his fingers. There's nobody else in his mind as he caresses her with his eyes on her face, meeting her unusually tender gaze. They make love, slowly and carefully, and when they lie together afterwards, he's finally ready to name the feeling inside of him happiness.
*
They extend their stay in seclusion. Pike starts reading his personal messages, in very small doses and skipping anything from certain 'fleet personnel, like Nogura. His friends still sound concerned but they all seem to accept his current decision, adding words of praise about Dael's positive influence. He doesn't need their confirmation to know that she's one of the best things in his life but he's glad to find that the time in which he needed to reason with anyone about that point seems to be over.
There's never a word from Esteban.
"Jim and Leonard will be here soon," Dael says one evening in bed, and he nods; while he doesn't receive any official 'fleet messages, the news that the Enterprise is on the way to Utopia Planitia for the planned upgrades has not escaped him.
"They're looking forward to seeing you, but they don't know if they're welcome."
Pike sighs, his heart suddenly heavy. "I want to see them, but I fear I can't handle it."
"Can't handle what, exactly?" she asks.
"The complications… the emotions. The feeling of needing to split myself in two or three parts when we're all together. I want to make it right for everyone, but I know I can't and that's not something I could bear right now. And the last thing I want is that they come and I shut down. It would only hurt them." Just thinking about the scenario quickens his breathing, and there's a light tremble in his body which he unsuccessfully tries to subdue.
Dael listens in silence, and thinks for a moment before she answers, "I see." She rolls over and gently strokes his chest, easing his tension. "So, if we find a way to solve the problem, would you want to see them?"
"Yes," Pike says. "Very much so."
"Then just trust me. We'll find a way." She curls around him and he pushes the topic back in his mind.
*
The beach is flanked by other beaches, this much he knows, but he's glad that they've never met any of the other residents. On this sunny afternoon, though, there's a ball finding its way onto their sands. Dael quickly dresses and goes out to find the reason for this sudden appearance. Pike watches the unfolding scene from the house, how she talks to the two children that emerge from the trees that flank the grounds, and then shows them back to their own beach. She's gone with them for a while, and he'd already made a cup of tea for himself when she returns.
Strange that he'd never noticed before how different she is when she's just been in the company of children. She's still smiling to herself when she walks into the kitchen, her dimples deep and her eyes bright, and the glow stays when she joins him, slinging one arm around his hip.
"Just two kids who lost their way," she says. "Their parents were relieved when I returned them." She sighs a little, between happy and wistful.
"You really like children, don't you?" he asks.
She briefly meets his eyes before her gaze drifts away. "Yes. Children are fabulous… so easy to please, to make happy." She leans her head against his shoulder, tightening her embrace. "Can you imagine having children with me?"
Pike clears his throat. Somewhere deep inside, he'd known that question would arise one day, ever since Kirk had brought up the farm idea; but he already knows that she wouldn't like his answer. "I can imagine raising children with you, but they won't be my biological children."
Her hold stiffens. "What?"
"I'm practically sterile."
"Sterile?" she repeats dumbfounded.
"I got tested while you were away. I couldn't father children without medical intervention, and frankly, I don't care about it. Our children wouldn't have to carry my genes to be my children too."
She draws away, visibly stunned.
Pike reaches out to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. "It would have been important to you, hmm? I'm sorry, Dael."
His words break the spell, and she inhales deeply. "I… didn't know that it was that important to me before you said it won't happen."
"That's not an uncommon thing." Pike pulls her close, burying his nose in her hair. "As I said, I'm more than willing to bring up children with you, in any way that counts. Though you should think twice about undergoing such an adventure with a sick man like me, and when your career is just getting started."
She huffs in complaint but doesn't argue his point.
The subject is not brought up again.
*
The days go by without her mentioning the Enterprise men, and it begins to make him nervous. He wants her to be happy, and seeing other people, especially Jim, is a necessary ingredient for that. It's been her decision to stay with him for a while, and he's incredibly thankful for it, but he can't let her share the seclusion he had chosen for his own sanity for too long.
"Are you happy?" he asks one evening when they're in bed, and she turns to him with a bright smile.
"I am, very much so." She leans over to kiss him. "I love you, Christopher. Never forget that."
"How could I?" he says, brushing upwards into her wild hair. "After all you've done for me…"
"You would've done the same for me." She glides her forefinger over his bottom lip. "You already have done that, more than once - been there for me when I needed you. That's what partners are for."
He thinks about asking about their men, but then she gets up on her knees and straddles him, her intentions quite clear as she lays hand on his bulge, and he decides to ask in the morning.
*
The sunrise finds him alone in bed, the curtain slightly moving in the winds that brush in through the open window. There's a smell of coffee in the air, and it's both familiar and strange - they'd never had coffee here, as he'd all but given up on it. The change from their routine brings him out of bed, and he walks through the quiet house into the kitchen with a yawn, wondering what Dael's been up to.
"Good morning, Chris," the man at the table says, and Pike doesn't trust his eyes as his sleepy gaze clears to reveal the doc - Leonard - sitting there in a grey shirt and blue jeans. With trembling legs, Pike makes a side-step and sags against the doorframe for support. His move causes the man to jump up and walk to him.
"Hey, it's supposed to be a happy surprise," McCoy says and takes a steadying hold on him. The hands are warm - everything feels real, nothing transparent and vague about the figure, but Pike still can't quite believe this.
"Dael and Jim have gone on a vacation of their own. If you want to contact her, feel free to use my communicator," McCoy speaks along. "But the girl really could use a break." A soft gaze from green-brown eyes settles on him as the hands on his arms change position, take him into an embrace. The doc's warm breath ghosts over his face as McCoy says, "It's really a shock for you, isn't it? Sorry for that. Should've been more cautious, but I couldn't resist. I hope you like our solution to your dilemma. I'm here for you, all for you, and I'm not going to go away anytime soon. No need to think about the others, they're fine. It's just you and me, just as you wished for in your recording, remember?"
Pike takes some deep breaths, trying to keep from hyperventilating as his mind still struggles to process the information.
"They're fine?" he asks at last.
"Yes, they are," McCoy repeats soothingly. "Very fine, and they'll be back whenever we want them to be."
"And you'll stay here?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Thought we start with a month, see how it goes after that." McCoy pulls closer, his lips brushing over Pike's cheek. His hands slip down, settling on Pike's hips. "I'm all yours, Chris. No need to share with anyone."
When McCoy moves into a kiss, all soft lips and a touch of stubble, Pike is finally ready to accept that this is undoubtedly real, and answers the kiss with all his might.
***
Onto the sequel: Morning Sun