Title: Evolved star ¹
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/character(s): Pavel Chekov/Hikaru Sulu
Word Count: 1,000
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine.
Summary: You know what they like to say about space?
Warnings: Angst. Lots and lots of angst.
Notes: Wrote for Prompt#2 from Star Trek Ship Wars. Theme: Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.
Thanks to: the awesome Dibbler (theotherdibbler. livejournal. com) for her amazing beta-reading. :3
Evolved star
by Dana Norram
I feel their eyes on me. It feels like a punch. Several punches, actually. And they say nothing. They just stand there, staring at me. They're waiting for me to say something. They're hoping for anything.
"He's gone," I say to them and I drop my eyes to the ground. White, perfect flat ground. No scars, no marks. No nothing. "Again".
I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's a warm, strong hand. But I can't look at whoever is touching me. I just don't want to know. So I nod, like a mutual understanding, and I continue on my way to the bridge. I must work. I need to.
For me. For him.
I made a promise once. Of course, I didn't know what it meant at the time. When you're young, the end doesn't sound quite possible. Even after you literally fall toward certain death you still keep thinking that you're never going to die. Somehow, you know you will manage it. Just a push of buttons and you'll beat death.
I didn't know death wasn't the worst thing that could ever occur.
"It's our jobs. We don't know what can possibly happen. And I love you." He'd said one night, his hand pressed against my chest. "I love you and I can't imagine my life without you. But none of us can say that nothing is going to happen at all. We're in space. Anything can happen out here. The good and the bad things."
"You know what they like to say about space?" I asked him, pressing my face to his shoulder.
He snorted, hiding a small laugh. "They say a lot of things about space."
And I decided to let it go. I thought we'd had enough morbid talk for a lifetime.
"Yeah. They do."
He went to sleep, but I stayed awake. I kept thinking about what he said to me. The talk about not letting what happened to one prevent the other from living through it and keep walking. We have a dangerous job and bad things can happen. So he made me promise I wouldn't give up if anything happened to him. He made me promise.
Anything happened two weeks later.
I keep asking myself if he could possibly know. He couldn't, obviously. Nobody could, everybody says. They keep telling me that, like they have to remind me that it wasn't my fault. That is was just an accident.
He was in a coma for five weeks and then, when he woke up, was still gone. So I mourned him in silence because I didn't know what else I could do.
And one day he came back. For exactly fourteen hours.
Then he was gone again.
I've grown used to it. It's been almost three years now. I couldn't let him go. I married him the third time he came back so I could keep him on the ship with me. He was lucid, the Doctor attested to it, and nobody could stop us. Nobody tried to.
So I keep living, waiting for the next time he comes back to me. And when I'm called I run to the sick bay like I'm chasing a ghost. Afraid it will dissolve into the air if I don't run fast enough.
"God, Pavel," I say when we finally meet again. "I missed you so much."
He laughs. He raises a hand to touch me.
"What are you talking about? I'm right here."
And I tell him he's been in an accident but that he's okay now. I say it hoping that this is the last time I have to say it. And I can't help it.
"Hikaru, you're crying," his hand sweeps away my tears.
"It's nothing. I'm just glad you're okay."
"You know, Hikaru. I was thinking about that conversation we had the other day, in my quarters. I know I upset you and I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about that anymore. We're going to be fine."
And he smiles. He's smiling. That feels like a punch. It's been years and he doesn't remember what happened. But he remembers me. I don't know for how long and I don't know if it's for the last time. I don't know if the next time he's gone he's going to stay gone. I don't know if he's going to leave me here alone forever.
So I silence him. I kiss him. I make him laugh. I talk to him like nothing is wrong in the universe. I don't tell him Scotty died when a valve exploded on the turbines last month. I lie to him. I close the curtains around his bed and I pin him against the mattress and I make him moan under my tongue and fingers. I tell him everything's okay.
With me. With him.
He puts his arms around me when we're done. He leans his head on my chest, and his breath chills the sweat on my bare skin. I can feel his smile and I want to cry again.
"Hey," he says, suddenly. "Do you remember when you asked me if I knew what people like to say about space?"
I hold back a laugh and smell his hair. The brain does stranger things. It goes to strange places.
"Yes, I do. Why?"
He's silent again. His breathing settled. And I close my eyes and I know he won't answer me anymore even before I call him. "Pavel? Pavel?"
I look down at his face. His eyes are open, but also blank, staring at nothing. He doesn't try to get away from me but I know if I let him go, he won't hold me again.
"Yes, Pavel," and my voice hurts my ears and my throat as I speak. "I do remember what they like to say about space."
His smile is gone now, too. And I hold back the tears as I hold him closer.
"They say that out here nobody can hear you scream."
¹ An evolved star is an old star that is near the end of its existence. Its nuclear fuel is mostly gone.