Fic: Fathers and Flitters, PG-13, Pike/Boyce + Archer
Title: Fathers and Flitters
Fandom & Pairing: Star Trek AOS, Pike/Boyce + father-figure!Archer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Genre: humour, drama
Word Count: Around 2880
Beta: as always, the lovely imachar
Summary: Pike would really rather not be at this stuffy graduation lunch with his father's friends, especially given his aching ass and Archer's eye for detail.
Universe: Set in the same universe as I hate marriage! but reads as stand-alone.
Pike and Boyce in their youth, looking delicious.
Chris shifted awkwardly in his chair. He’d probably have been uncomfortable at the best of times, given how tender his ass was, but now he was seated in an ostentatious restaurant, which was pretending to be Second Empire French with spindly little chairs in fake gold that had red velvet seats which provided no padding at all.
This was his father's idea of a graduation present, a fancy lunch in the company of officers seemingly a hundred years older than he was. He desperately wished he could be with his fellow cadets getting smashed in a bar somewhere, all noise and laughter and cheap booze. Then maybe manage to hitch a ride with someone down to the beach. Although there was only one person he wanted to be on the beach with.
He knew he was lucky to be born into a family of wealth and influence. But he’d seen little of that wealth. Joshua Pike did not believe in wasting money. Chris had got through the Academy on the very small stipend that all cadets received (and occasional top-ups of his account that he suspected came from his godfather). Some of his contemporaries had received flitters from their parents just for being accepted into the Academy. Now he'd graduated in three years with the highest scores ever obtained on the command track. All he wanted was a small one, something second-hand, something that would give him some freedom and independence. But his father would never condone such a frivolity and his own savings had some way to go yet.
“You seem a bit restless, son. Are you okay there?”
Chris glanced at his neighbor. The only advantage of having turned up at the lunch almost unforgivably late was that he was able to sit well away from his own father by grabbing the empty seat next to his godfather. It wasn’t that people weren’t keen to curry favor with Starfleet’s Commander in Chief. It was more that the beagle that he always brought with him had a tendency to get bored under the table and start to chew thoughtfully on the dress boots of whoever was seated nearest.
Chris loved the way Admiral Jonathan Archer could walk into the most expensive restaurant in San Francisco, one that most certainly did not allow pets of any kind, with Porthus VIII on a leash and have everyone simply not notice the dog. Being one of Earth’s greatest legends had certain advantages.
Chris had learnt young not to mess with the beagle. Even when very small he’d associated his own father with harsh words and impatience, particularly once his mother had died. Uncle Jonathan had been all about laughter, hugs and hidden stashes of sweets. But the one time he’d tied a heavy weight to the tail of Porthus VII to see if he could get the tail to stay down, wrath had descended from on high in a way even his own father couldn’t emulate.
He smiled innocently at Archer. “Just a bit impatient, sir. I know this is an honor and all, but it isn’t quite what I had in mind for my graduation day.”
Archer grinned back. “I bet it isn’t. A bunch of decrepit stuffed shirts four times your age drinking wine, and not a hot young thing in sight for you to flirt with.”
Chris kept his innocent look going, open countenance, easy smile, nothing to see here, let’s move along. He’d really rather not discuss his love life with the Commander in Chief, particularly when he could still feel remnants of said love life squelching in his ass.
He could still feel the heat of Phil’s skin against his own, that deep commanding voice whispering filthy suggestions in his ear. It had been hot and hard and rushed and desperate, and just perfect. But they really needed to do it again so he could experience it all slowly this time, without his face being mashed against the wall. He shifted again, teasing himself with the ache in his ass. Damn, he wanted to get out of here.
The trouble with being the late-in-life only child of Admiral Joshua Pike was that all his father’s friends were at least two generations older than him, with their children long since grown up. It made for stifling company. He wondered where Phil was, who he was with and how soon he could get back to him.
“So, getting back to your restlessness,” said Archer, “does it have anything to do with that massive love-bite showing over the collar of your uniform?”
Chris froze. Damn, damn, damn. He managed to resist the impulse to put up his hand to feel the bruise but he was sure Archer had seen his hand twitch. The man had the eyes of a hawk. He’d not noticed the bruise over the ache of his ass, but now that Archer had mentioned it, he could feel the throb on his neck. He could feel the echo of teeth biting down, a wet mouth sucking hard, possessive, demanding. And Chris pushing back, panting “Do it. Do it!”
“Now the thing about that bruise is that it wasn’t there when I handed you your graduation scroll. So.... you acquired it between the end of the ceremony and arriving here for lunch, which was quick work, Christopher.”
Chris took a sip from his wineglass and tried to look nonchalant. It had been quick, no doubt about it. Phil had grabbed him as he exited the graduation hall, had hustled him down the corridor into the first empty classroom they could find, talking intently all the way. “You have fucking cock-teased me through three interminable years, you little bastard, knowing I was one of your instructors, knowing I wouldn’t, couldn’t act on it. And now, Christopher, you’re going to reap the consequences of that.” Chris shivered. He loved pushing Phil so far that he got called Christopher.
Archer, still watching him intently, spoke again. The trouble with Archer was once he got interested in a topic he chased it with the same determination as Porthus gnawing on a particularly juicy pork knuckle bone.
“Now judging by the size of that bruise, that is a man’s mouth, not a woman’s. And judging by the position, said man was behind you, possibly with you pressed up against a wall. So would this explain why you seem to be less than comfortable sitting down?”
Chris fiddled with the stem of the wineglass and tried to will away the blush of color he could feel rising up his neck. There were times when he hated being fair-skinned and blond. There were times when he hated the fact that Archer was so perceptive with regard to him. “Could we please change the subject, sir?”
The two of them glanced round the table, catching snippets of conversation. Starfleet budgets, falling standards, the problem with the youth of today.... “I think not,” said Archer. “This is much more interesting than the rest of that bullshit. And I’ve bailed you out of enough shenanigans that you owe me for the rest of your natural life.”
Chris sighed. That was probably true. He’d never not been going to join Starfleet but it had had the unfortunate result that his youthful rebellion against his father’s authoritarian conservatism had played out in front of all his family friends and acquaintances, as well as most of his future commanding officers. Archer had got him out of trouble more than once and made sure certain things did not appear on his record. He owed the old man more than he could ever repay, not just for the cover but for the kindness and understanding. He’d slept on Archer’s couch on many occasions when he’d stormed out of his father’s house but couldn’t bear to go back to his dorm.
“So. A man, a strong-willed one, an impatient one, one for whom the end of graduation was significant, and most importantly, one you were willing to roll over for. Which is not your usual modus operandi.”
“You’ve been making notes on my usual modus operandi, have you sir?” teased Chris. “Hoping to get a few tips?”
“Actually I find being Commander in Chief of Starfleet gives me all the pulling power I need,” said Archer softly.
Chris choked over his mouthful of wine. “I’m sure it does, sir.”
He was fairly sure he knew what Archer was getting at. He had done all the psych evaluations, he knew he had a slightly obsessive need to be in control. He was more than willing to sleep with any being, whatever sex or species, as long as the basic bits were compatible, but he always set the terms of the engagement. It took something special for him to be prepared to give it up to another man.
“You’re not going to tell my father?” he said, suddenly panicked. Admiral Joshua Pike was of course in touch with modern ethics and accepting of the fully inclusive range of sexual and cultural practices condoned by current society. But that didn’t stop him from holding himself - and his son - to what he privately considered a higher standard. And offering up one’s ass for another man to fill with his cock did not meet that standard.
“Of course not,” said Archer with surprise. “I’ve never told on you. You know that.”
Chris nodded, feeling silly. Of course he knew that. It was one of the reasons Archer meant so much to him. He’d been allowed to express all his rage and frustration and confusion without being judged or condemned. Or ever sold out.
Archer was watching him curiously. “This wasn’t just some post-graduation celebratory fuck, was it? This is someone who means something to you. Someone who waited for graduation. Someone you waited for. Hmmmm..... Dr Philip Boyce by any chance?”
Chris lost the battle to stop his blush flooding his cheeks. “How did you know that, sir?”
“Please. The two of you were the talk of Medical. Every time you’ve been admitted with yet more injuries from some damn fool stunt, you’ve always demanded him as your doctor. And then spent your time shamelessly trying to seduce him, even when dripping blood in the middle of Emergency. So he resisted you, did he? I’m impressed. That is more than can be said for some of your instructors.”
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” said Chris. In retrospect he wasn’t terribly proud of that debacle from the start of his second year where he’d decided to put up a finger to his father over something or other by sleeping with as many of his instructors as he could seduce. It had taken Archer himself informing the instructors that anyone of either sex who couldn’t keep their pants up in the face of the Pike boy’s charms was not Starfleet material, to stop a scandal that might have ruined more than one career.
And through it all the broodingly handsome Lieutenant Boyce, who’d taught his emergency medical responder class as well as parts of his extreme survival courses, had steadfastly refused to so much as touch him - other than in a medical context, of course. It had been very frustrating.
“All right. Let’s talk about Boyce then. You realise I now owe the Surgeon-General a hundred credits? I was sure you’d bedded him by now but she was convinced he was made of sterner stuff.”
“Good god, sir, don’t you lot have better things to do with your time? Like running Starfleet?”
“Certainly not. That’s what we have minions for. Leaves us free to spend our time speculating about the cadets’ love lives.”
Chris laughed. “I do like him. He calls me on my shit like no one I’ve ever met before.”
“A good man, then,” said Archer. “Sounds like just what you need.”
Chris had to admit to himself that he more than just liked Phil. Chris was not naive. He looked in a mirror and saw his own beauty, his brilliance, his capabilities. He knew the benefits that came with his name and his family status. He was well aware of his advantages and used them ruthlessly when it suited him.
And Phil Boyce just looked back at him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised and told him to fuck off and grow up. Called him on it every time he posed and preened, every time he took undue advantage of his privileges. Phil refused to be seduced, physically or mentally.
Nor did he run when Chris had finally, tentatively, dropped the mask and let some of his own confusion and uncertainty through, things he’d really only ever shared with Archer before. He'd found himself on a biobed, head in his hands, shaking, but it had had little to do with the warp core explosion that he had so narrowly escaped from and everything to do with twenty years of relentless over-achievement and yet never being good enough.
For the only time in three years of flirting, Phil had pulled Chris close and let him rest his head against the other man's broad chest, running a hand gently through his matted curls. Now he suddenly, desperately, wanted to be with Phil. Not for another round of sex, delicious though that would be, but just to be with him. Freed from the gulf between cadet and officer, able to simply soak up the pleasure of his company.
Wondering how much longer he needed to sit here before he could make his excuses, he reached out for the wine bottle to refill his glass.
“Easy on the wine, son,” said Archer. “No, I’m not raining on your parade,” he continued, faced with Chris’s look of injured incredulity. “Just trust me on this one. In fact, I think it’s time to get you out of here. Joshua--” He called across the table to Chris’s father. “Let the boy go. He’s got better things to do than sit around with old farts like us.”
With an abrupt jerk of his head, Admiral Pike called Chris to his side. Chris stood by him and received a long lecture about not getting drunk, not causing damage, not letting down the family name, not disrespecting the honor of Starfleet. A humiliating lecture delivered in front of his commanding officers as if he was a six-year-old. Chris listened without comment, face blank, only his clenched fists betraying his tension.
A year ago he’d not have stood for this, would have embarked on yet another explosive public row with his father which would have been the talk of the Admiralty for a week afterwards. But he’d grown up since then. Or given up - he wasn’t sure which. If the highest scores ever achieved in the command track weren’t good enough to win his father’s approbation, nothing ever would be.
He headed for the door, his father’s admonitions ringing in his ears, barely hearing the quiet murmurs of congratulations - and of sympathy - that came from the other officers at the table.
“Chris! Wait.” Archer, who had followed him out, called him back as he headed for the front door of the restaurant. “Josh is proud of you, you know, as best as he can be. He just can’t express it.”
Chris shrugged defensively. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m off into deep space on the first assignment I can pick up. Finally I can do my own thing.”
Archer caught him by the shoulders, forcing Chris to look him in the eye. “Yes, you are your own man now. Christopher - all that you’ve achieved, not just your Academy results but everything you’ve dealt with in your life up until now - I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son.”
“I wish I was,” Chris said very softly.
Archer didn’t reply, just pulled the boy gently forward and kissed him on the forehead.
After a moment Archer cleared his throat. “However, I do think the highest command scores ever deserves a little something. Don’t tell your father but I got you this.” He pressed a control card into Chris’s hand.
Chris looked down at it, eyes widening with astonishment. “It’s a flitter control card.”
“It’s parked in the lot outside,” said Archer.
Chris turned the card over. “Oh my fucking god... Damn, sorry sir... but oh my god. It’s a sports flitter. It’s a Bugatti XRW-43. They aren’t even in production yet. How on earth...”
Archer grinned. “It is one of the last of the pre-production demo models. Being Commander in Chief is good for a few things, you know. Be careful with it, Chris. It’s powerful. I haven’t survived twenty years of your dramas to have you kill yourself on graduation day. Now go and find your doctor and enjoy yourself. If you check the manual, you’ll find the seats fold down in certain very useful ways!”
Chris stared to laugh. “You old dog. Thank you!” Impulsively he grabbed Archer and hugged him. “Thank you for everything, sir. I’ll make you proud. See if I don’t!”
Archer watched as Chris bounded down the steps, hunting out the new flitter.
“You already have, son,” he said quietly. “You already have.”
- THE END -
Fandom & Pairing: Star Trek AOS, Pike/Boyce + father-figure!Archer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Genre: humour, drama
Word Count: Around 2880
Beta: as always, the lovely imachar
Summary: Pike would really rather not be at this stuffy graduation lunch with his father's friends, especially given his aching ass and Archer's eye for detail.
Universe: Set in the same universe as I hate marriage! but reads as stand-alone.
Pike and Boyce in their youth, looking delicious.
Chris shifted awkwardly in his chair. He’d probably have been uncomfortable at the best of times, given how tender his ass was, but now he was seated in an ostentatious restaurant, which was pretending to be Second Empire French with spindly little chairs in fake gold that had red velvet seats which provided no padding at all.
This was his father's idea of a graduation present, a fancy lunch in the company of officers seemingly a hundred years older than he was. He desperately wished he could be with his fellow cadets getting smashed in a bar somewhere, all noise and laughter and cheap booze. Then maybe manage to hitch a ride with someone down to the beach. Although there was only one person he wanted to be on the beach with.
He knew he was lucky to be born into a family of wealth and influence. But he’d seen little of that wealth. Joshua Pike did not believe in wasting money. Chris had got through the Academy on the very small stipend that all cadets received (and occasional top-ups of his account that he suspected came from his godfather). Some of his contemporaries had received flitters from their parents just for being accepted into the Academy. Now he'd graduated in three years with the highest scores ever obtained on the command track. All he wanted was a small one, something second-hand, something that would give him some freedom and independence. But his father would never condone such a frivolity and his own savings had some way to go yet.
“You seem a bit restless, son. Are you okay there?”
Chris glanced at his neighbor. The only advantage of having turned up at the lunch almost unforgivably late was that he was able to sit well away from his own father by grabbing the empty seat next to his godfather. It wasn’t that people weren’t keen to curry favor with Starfleet’s Commander in Chief. It was more that the beagle that he always brought with him had a tendency to get bored under the table and start to chew thoughtfully on the dress boots of whoever was seated nearest.
Chris loved the way Admiral Jonathan Archer could walk into the most expensive restaurant in San Francisco, one that most certainly did not allow pets of any kind, with Porthus VIII on a leash and have everyone simply not notice the dog. Being one of Earth’s greatest legends had certain advantages.
Chris had learnt young not to mess with the beagle. Even when very small he’d associated his own father with harsh words and impatience, particularly once his mother had died. Uncle Jonathan had been all about laughter, hugs and hidden stashes of sweets. But the one time he’d tied a heavy weight to the tail of Porthus VII to see if he could get the tail to stay down, wrath had descended from on high in a way even his own father couldn’t emulate.
He smiled innocently at Archer. “Just a bit impatient, sir. I know this is an honor and all, but it isn’t quite what I had in mind for my graduation day.”
Archer grinned back. “I bet it isn’t. A bunch of decrepit stuffed shirts four times your age drinking wine, and not a hot young thing in sight for you to flirt with.”
Chris kept his innocent look going, open countenance, easy smile, nothing to see here, let’s move along. He’d really rather not discuss his love life with the Commander in Chief, particularly when he could still feel remnants of said love life squelching in his ass.
He could still feel the heat of Phil’s skin against his own, that deep commanding voice whispering filthy suggestions in his ear. It had been hot and hard and rushed and desperate, and just perfect. But they really needed to do it again so he could experience it all slowly this time, without his face being mashed against the wall. He shifted again, teasing himself with the ache in his ass. Damn, he wanted to get out of here.
The trouble with being the late-in-life only child of Admiral Joshua Pike was that all his father’s friends were at least two generations older than him, with their children long since grown up. It made for stifling company. He wondered where Phil was, who he was with and how soon he could get back to him.
“So, getting back to your restlessness,” said Archer, “does it have anything to do with that massive love-bite showing over the collar of your uniform?”
Chris froze. Damn, damn, damn. He managed to resist the impulse to put up his hand to feel the bruise but he was sure Archer had seen his hand twitch. The man had the eyes of a hawk. He’d not noticed the bruise over the ache of his ass, but now that Archer had mentioned it, he could feel the throb on his neck. He could feel the echo of teeth biting down, a wet mouth sucking hard, possessive, demanding. And Chris pushing back, panting “Do it. Do it!”
“Now the thing about that bruise is that it wasn’t there when I handed you your graduation scroll. So.... you acquired it between the end of the ceremony and arriving here for lunch, which was quick work, Christopher.”
Chris took a sip from his wineglass and tried to look nonchalant. It had been quick, no doubt about it. Phil had grabbed him as he exited the graduation hall, had hustled him down the corridor into the first empty classroom they could find, talking intently all the way. “You have fucking cock-teased me through three interminable years, you little bastard, knowing I was one of your instructors, knowing I wouldn’t, couldn’t act on it. And now, Christopher, you’re going to reap the consequences of that.” Chris shivered. He loved pushing Phil so far that he got called Christopher.
Archer, still watching him intently, spoke again. The trouble with Archer was once he got interested in a topic he chased it with the same determination as Porthus gnawing on a particularly juicy pork knuckle bone.
“Now judging by the size of that bruise, that is a man’s mouth, not a woman’s. And judging by the position, said man was behind you, possibly with you pressed up against a wall. So would this explain why you seem to be less than comfortable sitting down?”
Chris fiddled with the stem of the wineglass and tried to will away the blush of color he could feel rising up his neck. There were times when he hated being fair-skinned and blond. There were times when he hated the fact that Archer was so perceptive with regard to him. “Could we please change the subject, sir?”
The two of them glanced round the table, catching snippets of conversation. Starfleet budgets, falling standards, the problem with the youth of today.... “I think not,” said Archer. “This is much more interesting than the rest of that bullshit. And I’ve bailed you out of enough shenanigans that you owe me for the rest of your natural life.”
Chris sighed. That was probably true. He’d never not been going to join Starfleet but it had had the unfortunate result that his youthful rebellion against his father’s authoritarian conservatism had played out in front of all his family friends and acquaintances, as well as most of his future commanding officers. Archer had got him out of trouble more than once and made sure certain things did not appear on his record. He owed the old man more than he could ever repay, not just for the cover but for the kindness and understanding. He’d slept on Archer’s couch on many occasions when he’d stormed out of his father’s house but couldn’t bear to go back to his dorm.
“So. A man, a strong-willed one, an impatient one, one for whom the end of graduation was significant, and most importantly, one you were willing to roll over for. Which is not your usual modus operandi.”
“You’ve been making notes on my usual modus operandi, have you sir?” teased Chris. “Hoping to get a few tips?”
“Actually I find being Commander in Chief of Starfleet gives me all the pulling power I need,” said Archer softly.
Chris choked over his mouthful of wine. “I’m sure it does, sir.”
He was fairly sure he knew what Archer was getting at. He had done all the psych evaluations, he knew he had a slightly obsessive need to be in control. He was more than willing to sleep with any being, whatever sex or species, as long as the basic bits were compatible, but he always set the terms of the engagement. It took something special for him to be prepared to give it up to another man.
“You’re not going to tell my father?” he said, suddenly panicked. Admiral Joshua Pike was of course in touch with modern ethics and accepting of the fully inclusive range of sexual and cultural practices condoned by current society. But that didn’t stop him from holding himself - and his son - to what he privately considered a higher standard. And offering up one’s ass for another man to fill with his cock did not meet that standard.
“Of course not,” said Archer with surprise. “I’ve never told on you. You know that.”
Chris nodded, feeling silly. Of course he knew that. It was one of the reasons Archer meant so much to him. He’d been allowed to express all his rage and frustration and confusion without being judged or condemned. Or ever sold out.
Archer was watching him curiously. “This wasn’t just some post-graduation celebratory fuck, was it? This is someone who means something to you. Someone who waited for graduation. Someone you waited for. Hmmmm..... Dr Philip Boyce by any chance?”
Chris lost the battle to stop his blush flooding his cheeks. “How did you know that, sir?”
“Please. The two of you were the talk of Medical. Every time you’ve been admitted with yet more injuries from some damn fool stunt, you’ve always demanded him as your doctor. And then spent your time shamelessly trying to seduce him, even when dripping blood in the middle of Emergency. So he resisted you, did he? I’m impressed. That is more than can be said for some of your instructors.”
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” said Chris. In retrospect he wasn’t terribly proud of that debacle from the start of his second year where he’d decided to put up a finger to his father over something or other by sleeping with as many of his instructors as he could seduce. It had taken Archer himself informing the instructors that anyone of either sex who couldn’t keep their pants up in the face of the Pike boy’s charms was not Starfleet material, to stop a scandal that might have ruined more than one career.
And through it all the broodingly handsome Lieutenant Boyce, who’d taught his emergency medical responder class as well as parts of his extreme survival courses, had steadfastly refused to so much as touch him - other than in a medical context, of course. It had been very frustrating.
“All right. Let’s talk about Boyce then. You realise I now owe the Surgeon-General a hundred credits? I was sure you’d bedded him by now but she was convinced he was made of sterner stuff.”
“Good god, sir, don’t you lot have better things to do with your time? Like running Starfleet?”
“Certainly not. That’s what we have minions for. Leaves us free to spend our time speculating about the cadets’ love lives.”
Chris laughed. “I do like him. He calls me on my shit like no one I’ve ever met before.”
“A good man, then,” said Archer. “Sounds like just what you need.”
Chris had to admit to himself that he more than just liked Phil. Chris was not naive. He looked in a mirror and saw his own beauty, his brilliance, his capabilities. He knew the benefits that came with his name and his family status. He was well aware of his advantages and used them ruthlessly when it suited him.
And Phil Boyce just looked back at him, arms folded, one eyebrow raised and told him to fuck off and grow up. Called him on it every time he posed and preened, every time he took undue advantage of his privileges. Phil refused to be seduced, physically or mentally.
Nor did he run when Chris had finally, tentatively, dropped the mask and let some of his own confusion and uncertainty through, things he’d really only ever shared with Archer before. He'd found himself on a biobed, head in his hands, shaking, but it had had little to do with the warp core explosion that he had so narrowly escaped from and everything to do with twenty years of relentless over-achievement and yet never being good enough.
For the only time in three years of flirting, Phil had pulled Chris close and let him rest his head against the other man's broad chest, running a hand gently through his matted curls. Now he suddenly, desperately, wanted to be with Phil. Not for another round of sex, delicious though that would be, but just to be with him. Freed from the gulf between cadet and officer, able to simply soak up the pleasure of his company.
Wondering how much longer he needed to sit here before he could make his excuses, he reached out for the wine bottle to refill his glass.
“Easy on the wine, son,” said Archer. “No, I’m not raining on your parade,” he continued, faced with Chris’s look of injured incredulity. “Just trust me on this one. In fact, I think it’s time to get you out of here. Joshua--” He called across the table to Chris’s father. “Let the boy go. He’s got better things to do than sit around with old farts like us.”
With an abrupt jerk of his head, Admiral Pike called Chris to his side. Chris stood by him and received a long lecture about not getting drunk, not causing damage, not letting down the family name, not disrespecting the honor of Starfleet. A humiliating lecture delivered in front of his commanding officers as if he was a six-year-old. Chris listened without comment, face blank, only his clenched fists betraying his tension.
A year ago he’d not have stood for this, would have embarked on yet another explosive public row with his father which would have been the talk of the Admiralty for a week afterwards. But he’d grown up since then. Or given up - he wasn’t sure which. If the highest scores ever achieved in the command track weren’t good enough to win his father’s approbation, nothing ever would be.
He headed for the door, his father’s admonitions ringing in his ears, barely hearing the quiet murmurs of congratulations - and of sympathy - that came from the other officers at the table.
“Chris! Wait.” Archer, who had followed him out, called him back as he headed for the front door of the restaurant. “Josh is proud of you, you know, as best as he can be. He just can’t express it.”
Chris shrugged defensively. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m off into deep space on the first assignment I can pick up. Finally I can do my own thing.”
Archer caught him by the shoulders, forcing Chris to look him in the eye. “Yes, you are your own man now. Christopher - all that you’ve achieved, not just your Academy results but everything you’ve dealt with in your life up until now - I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son.”
“I wish I was,” Chris said very softly.
Archer didn’t reply, just pulled the boy gently forward and kissed him on the forehead.
After a moment Archer cleared his throat. “However, I do think the highest command scores ever deserves a little something. Don’t tell your father but I got you this.” He pressed a control card into Chris’s hand.
Chris looked down at it, eyes widening with astonishment. “It’s a flitter control card.”
“It’s parked in the lot outside,” said Archer.
Chris turned the card over. “Oh my fucking god... Damn, sorry sir... but oh my god. It’s a sports flitter. It’s a Bugatti XRW-43. They aren’t even in production yet. How on earth...”
Archer grinned. “It is one of the last of the pre-production demo models. Being Commander in Chief is good for a few things, you know. Be careful with it, Chris. It’s powerful. I haven’t survived twenty years of your dramas to have you kill yourself on graduation day. Now go and find your doctor and enjoy yourself. If you check the manual, you’ll find the seats fold down in certain very useful ways!”
Chris stared to laugh. “You old dog. Thank you!” Impulsively he grabbed Archer and hugged him. “Thank you for everything, sir. I’ll make you proud. See if I don’t!”
Archer watched as Chris bounded down the steps, hunting out the new flitter.
“You already have, son,” he said quietly. “You already have.”
- THE END -