The Good and Glorious
"Prejudice is a mist, which in our journey through the world often dims the brightest and obscures the best of all the good and glorious objects that meet us on our way." - Lord Shaftesbury
Author's Notes:
This fic could be viewed as a continuation of my fic "Lessons Learned" – but you don't need to have read that in order to read this one. An interest in Culber/Stamets is pretty much all you need in order to read this.
Summary:
Hugh Culber and the rest of the medical team on Discovery are beamed down to a primitive planet to assist with a medical crisis. Unfortunately, most people on that planet hold extremely prejudiced views of those they consider different. Paul Stamets worries if his husband will be safe there.
Setting:
The starship Discovery, after war with the Klingons has begun and Lorca has become Captain, but before Michael Burnham has joined the crew.
Warning:
Some bad language, a couple references to sex but nothing explicit.
Chapter One
It has been 16 years since that evening at Café Trieste on Alpha Centauri. Paul Stamets and Hugh Culber have been by each other's sides ever since. Their lives together have been full of everything one might expect from two genius Starfleet Officers in love. Long hours at their work, careers in which both breakthroughs and frustrations have been common occurrences. There have been promotions and transfers, tradeoffs and compromises. Their work with Starfleet interspersed with treasured times together. A few vacations here and there, though not many. There also have been some rocky times, but not many of those either because they always have found a way to work through it, or because both understood that what they had was special. Some years ago the two men brought their families and friends together to celebrate a public commitment to their love and life together. Each had written his own vows and read them to the other, showing many of Paul's family a side they hadn't seen before.
And then war broke out. Stamets' best friend and best research partner, Straal, was transferred off of Discovery. Discovery's new captain was a hard man who seemingly cared little for knowledge, careful thought, the painstaking process of seeking truth and vetting solutions. War against a brutal and powerful foe put their future, and their very lives, at risk.
On this particular evening, Paul and Hugh were inside their quarters and the lights were dimmed. Hugh ordered the computer to pull out the massage table from the side of the wall, and ordered the computer to turn on the candle.
"I don't know why you insist on this. I don't need it," Paul said, crossing his arms.
"I think that even you don't believe those words," Hugh replied, shaking his head. "Your neck is so stiff that it hurts you to turn your head."
Paul opened his mouth to reply, but Hugh cut him off. "And you know you didn't marry the kind of doctor who is just going to stick you with a hypospray. Patients who experience hands-on treatment recover faster."
Paul grudgingly mounted the massage table. "All those years ago when you first told me you were going to give me regular massages, I really had thought you meant sex. Like the massage would be a lead-in to it. If only I'd known what I was agreeing to."
"Scoot down just a bit," Hugh said, ignoring the remark.
Despite Paul's grousing, he had to admit that he had, in fact, needed this and that Hugh was an expert at finding knots and persistently unknotting them. He started with Pauls' neck and shoulders, pressing on the right spots, compelling the muscles to release. He worked his way to Paul's back. Hugh rubbed more lotion into his hands and started to work on the sore back muscles.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hugh asked quietly.
"Talk about what?" Paul asked, his face in the face cradle. His eyes had been closed but he opened them for a second even though all he could see was the floor.
"Oh, I don't know. The stress you're under with the spore drive. Missing Straal. This war, and the worry that Lorca might not be the right captain. Oh, and how about the worry that the Klingons might win?"
"Not particularly," Paul muttered. And then he softened, both literally and figuratively as Hugh's fingers again helped ease a knot. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I try to just take one day at a time. And truly, right now I just want to help you feel okay. I know you're stressed out."
Paul was quiet for a second. "Maybe it's just that there simply is no way to feel good about the situation that we're in right now. About all those things you mentioned. So much of our world feels like it's going to hell. You're almost the only good in my-"
Paul was just starting to feel an unburdening of sorts, a type of relief, when Hugh's communicator went off.
"CMO Johnson to all medical personnel. Report to sickbay immediately."
"Damnit," Hugh swore softly.
It was not the first time that duty had interrupted at an inopportune time. In fact there had been plenty of ill-timed interruptions during the past 16 years, including more than once when they had actually been partaking in the act. (And one of those instances, Hugh had been unacceptably late to his summons, and had been disciplined). It was a small thing to be grateful for, but at least this summons hadn't happened in the middle of lovemaking.
As both men were Starfleet Officers, little else had to be exchanged other than a quick peck on the cheek and a promise to resume this as soon as possible. Then Hugh was out the door and racing towards sickbay.
Paul heaved himself off the massage table and reached for his device. He contacted a colleague who was typically in the know about everything. He asked her if she knew why all medical personnel had been urgently called to sickbay.
"All Security personnel are being briefed by Landry right now too," she said. "There's been a big explosion at the largest mine on Tarania and they need our help."
"Tarania?" Paul croaked the name out. "I hate those fucking bastards." His gut was slowly filling with anxiety at the thought of what awaited Hugh.
"We all do," his colleague replied. "Oh, we all do."
The Taranians were a humanoid species with whom the Federation had a trade agreement. They had huge supplies of dilithium on their planet, which the Federation desperately needed now that they were at war.
The partnership with Tarania was not without controversy. Most Taranians did not share the ideals of the Federation. It was a highly stratified culture, in which males were valued over females, light-skinned people valued over those with dark skin, and people who ventured outside of gender norms – such as choosing partners of the same sex or wishing to change the sex that had been assigned at birth– were often banished or even killed. Having the wrong skin color or being the wrong gender could cost someone their ability to make a living or even their ability to walk down the street without fear of violence.
But the Federation wanted their dilithium and thus it looked the other way. Maybe when we're not at war, its leaders said, we can stop working with them. Maybe when we find other sources of dilithium, they said. Human rights would have to take a backseat to getting vanquished by the Klingons.
The Discovery's medical team – 10 doctors, nurses, and cadets– lined up as CMO Johnson briefed them.
"We're by far the nearest ship to Tarania, and we should arrive in just over 90 minutes. All we know at this point is that the series of explosions were large. Communications with them have always been spotty, but their officials have told us that casualties may be close to 1,000." The doctor paused. "Well, their first communication told us about 400. Then they told us 900. And they just messaged again to say 'over 750', so your guess is as good as mine, but in any case, we know we're going to be overwhelmed for quite some time."
The CMO continued on, planning how many injured they would beam to Discovery and how many would be treated at triage centers on Tarania. She put Dr. Culber in charge of establishing and running the triage centers.
Just as she was reminding the team that they would be coordinating with Taranian medical personnel, Commander Saru entered sickbay. Upon seeing the First Officer, Hugh and his teammates straightened their postures even more.
"At ease," Saru said. He turned towards Johnson. "Have you briefed your team on the cultural aspects of Tarania yet? I just came from the Security team briefing."
"I have not," Johnson said. "I was just getting to it." He voice was without defensiveness; in fact she was glad that Saru was there. He would perform this section of the briefing better than she would.
"Allow me," Saru said, and turned towards the doctors, nurses, and cadets. "Well," he began by spreading his hands, "we've all studied earth history at the Academy, and we've all taken many classes about interacting with those from other cultures. We know that Taranians can be challenging. It can be difficult to interact with those who harbor prejudice based on skin color, gender, or any other characteristics. And we know that most Taranians do not hide their prejudices; in fact, they can be quite vocal about them." He paused. "Still, we all will uphold Starfleet standards. We will be calm and professional."
Johnson nodded at Saru and added, looking at her team, "And as medical professionals, we will treat everyone who needs our services, to the best of our abilities. Even if they are behaving in a way - or speaking words – that we find abhorrent." She then smiled and said, "I am not the least bit worried about this team, Commander Saru. A finer team of medical professionals you will not find in Starfleet."
"I have every confidence in that, Dr. Johnson." Saru then paused and returned his gaze to the medical team standing at attention. "One other note. At times we will not understand some of the words they say to us. The Federation debates the proper way for the universal translator to handle…" he paused and searched for the words, "hate speech. I believe the version we have will often use archaic terms that we might be unfamiliar with, in the absence of any other way to do the translation."
Johnson turned to her team. "Do you have any questions on the cultural differences?" She then tilted her head towards Saru and told him, "We've already covered their questions pertaining to the medical aspects of the mission."
Hugh had indeed asked many incisive questions about the medical aspects of the mission. His mind was still mulling over the cultural challenges, which concerned him as much as the logistics of the medical care they would provide.
One nurse asked, "Dr. Johnson, do we have any concerns about our safety? Either from the standpoint of the cultural biases of the Taranians, or from the standpoint of not knowing what caused the explosions."
Saru answered the question. "We are sending a full Security team down with you. Commander Landry herself is overseeing the operation." He paused, "I myself will be there with you as much as possible, even though last time I was on Tarania, its inhabitants threw rocks at me and called me a monster." He quickly added, "The rocks were not large enough to do any damage, and I also had a security detail standing by – as you will too."
Johnson surveyed her team. She knew them well, and she believed that Saru's admission seemed to help diffuse some of the tension. "I was on Tarania myself about seven years ago. I encountered many outright hostile remarks, as well as a few subtle ones too. One gravely ill man was conscious enough to say that he would rather die than be treated by a woman." She paused for effect. "Know that your leaders understand what you're about to face and have faced it ourselves. None of this will be pleasant, but we are Starfleet Medical. We heal the sick and injured, and we do whatever Starfleet asks to help us win the war!"
Hugh appreciated Johnson's and Saru's remarks and attitude. If Lorca were questionable as a leader, at least these two were not. However, Hugh also silently said to himself, 'Thank goodness Paul's not going on this mission. He would be so furious.'
Although the medical team had only 90 minutes to prepare, they were a strong and organized team. Hugh worked with a handful of the others to lay out the details of the triage center they would set up. They knew little about the existing efforts of Taranian medical teams, so that would be one unknown they would have to face.
Despite the rush, it was acceptable for members of the medical team to spend a brief moment away from their preparations since they were going well. Paul swung by sickbay at an opportune time.
"Hey," he said, entering the pristine and organized room. Medical staff buzzed about, yet each appeared relatively calm. Paul's eyes darted about the room and quickly assessed that Hugh likely had a moment to talk. "I heard what's going on. How are you?"
Hugh strode over to Paul and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Our preparations are done – we're basically ready. I'm glad that we are going to save a lot of lives today."
Paul smiled. He knew Hugh well enough to see that his husband was clearly 'in the zone'. He was relaxed and ready, alert, just a bit tense and eager.
"You'll do great. And I was just talking to someone in Security – they're going to be with you all the way."
"I'm not worried," Hugh smiled.
Paul thought he saw a glint of something –maybe the fact that Hugh's eyebrows had lifted just a bit too emphatically for an instant as he spoke those words.
Paul was silent for a second as a nurse milled about in the background. He said quietly, "You don't need to reassure me. I have every confidence in you. Just wanted to say that I love you."
"Love you too."
Paul pulled Hugh into a brief kiss, and then left sickbay. Any longer interaction would have begun to tilt towards a breach of protocol. Hugh did not have long to ponder the interaction, but he spent a few moments on it. He adored any time that Paul showed his sweet and affectionate side, and it had been rare given how – understandably – ornery Paul had been lately. He knew that despite Paul's reassuring words and relaxed posture, he had to have been worried. The very fact that Paul had just shown his more loving and less grumpy side was proof of Paul's concern.
Hugh took a deep breath. As Saru had suggested, he reminded himself of his studies of other cultures as well as of the prejudice that had been rampant on earth not that long ago. For a second, he almost couldn't believe that a severely injured patient would refuse Dr. Johnson's care because she was a woman. 'Would someone really hate me because they find my skin too dark?' he asked himself. 'Or can they somehow tell that I'm married to a man and not a woman? And if they can tell….?'
Hugh reminded himself to reign in his thoughts, and to control only what he could control. He had a job to do, and that was it. He injected himself with a mild, safe stimulant – recommended for all who, like Hugh, were supposed to be either off duty or asleep now. He was ready.
Paul Stamets had gone to bed. He had no doubts about Hugh's ability to show grace under pressure and remain calm. He reminded himself, for the hundredth time, that the Security team was competent and would protect the medical staff at all costs. He had already pulled a long shift in the lab, so all that remained for him was to stay on his schedule and try to fall asleep since this was the appointed hour. Also, he had to admit that he wished Hugh had been able to continue the massage because his back and neck were still full of aches, and the automated massage bed never performed anywhere near as well as Hugh.
Sleeping positions had been a subject of some discord during their early years. Hugh wanted to spoon and cuddle, and Paul just wasn't wired that way. Maybe because sleep came so easily to Hugh and was much more challenging for Paul – the scientist found it even harder to drift off when he had someone's body melded against his own or felt a stray arm under his back or draped over his chest. Hugh, however, could be persistent so their compromise position was for Paul to lie still on his back and Hugh to configure himself around him.
Of course they had spent several nights during the past 16 years apart, whether it had been due to Hugh performing longer-than-expected surgeries or Paul working odd hours. Twice they had been separated due to Starfleet assignments, though thankfully both instances had been resolved and the separations had only lasted a couple of months each time. And there had been their stint on Starbase 12 about a decade ago, where their superiors just wouldn't put them on the same rotation so their sleeping shifts did not align – fortunately they had been able to transfer out of there quickly too, after they'd not been able to get their superiors to budge.
Sleep evading him as his mind churned, Paul mused about his reaction to the empty bed. He and Hugh were no longer two twenty-somethings experiencing the first waves of love, and yet it felt harder than ever to not have Hugh next to him. 'Maybe' he told himself, 'as we get older we become such creatures of habit. I feel off because he's not here.'
'I'm not,' Paul reminded himself, 'at all worried about how the people on Tarania are treating Hugh. He's fine. Landry's a badass and she's got her team in shape. Hugh is strong. A few insults and slurs can't hurt him. The guy meditates every day. He knows how to focus.'
At some point, Paul must have slipped off into sleep. He heard vague stirrings inside the room but remained only semi-conscious. And then perhaps a little later on, he woke more fully when he heard the bathroom's tub being filled with water. Paul turned onto his side, rose from the bed, walked a few steps, and ascertained that Hugh was indeed preparing to take a bath.
"H-how are you?" Paul asked, rubbing his eyes. "You okay?"
When Hugh answered, his voice was different than usual – perhaps a bit hoarse, perhaps just very tired. He didn't look at Paul as he shed his clothes and dipped a toe in the water. "I'm fine. I've been rotated off for 8 hours so I can get some rest."
"You wanna talk?"
Hugh turned to face Paul. Unsurprisingly the doctor looked weary, almost as if the small wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were more pronounced. "Not right now."
They knew each other well enough to leave it at that. Paul planted a quick kiss on the back of his neck, Hugh lowered himself into the tub, and Paul returned to the bed. Paul reminded himself that of course Hugh would be exhausted and quiet. He'd just spent hours at a triage center treating dozens or hundreds of patients, he was well overdue for his sleeping shift, and the atmosphere on Tarania had to have been grueling.
Paul's mind continued to whir and he strongly suspected that he himself was not going to fall back asleep. He listened for the gentle sounds of occasional splashing water, calculated that Hugh would get bored and want to just go to bed after about 15-20 minutes in the tub, and resolved to be silent when Hugh entered the bed – Hugh badly needed rest. Thus, when Hugh did exactly has Paul had predicted, Paul was in position, lying on his back and pretending to sleep.
Thankfully Hugh did nod off to sleep fairly quickly. As he always did, Paul simply remained still. At times over the years he felt he deserved a commendation because remaining motionless while a not-unsubstantially sized man draped himself around you was not easy – and especially not when your mind usually moved at warp speed and you constantly felt you should be in the lab working. Of course, Paul countered himself, deep down he knew he was the lucky one, to have a husband who matched his intellect and who was patient with his foibles. 'And who is hot,' Paul added, but cautioned himself to stay away from that line of thought since sex clearly was not going to happen anytime soon. He reminded himself to just let his husband sleep.
A few more hours passed. Paul glanced at the time and determined that he had drifted off for a bit – and that Hugh would need to return to Tarania fairly soon. He needed to relieve himself, and fortunately Hugh was positioned in such a way that Paul could gradually slide off the bed and over to the bathroom. The lavender scent from Hugh's bath still lingered in the air.
When Paul returned to the bed, Hugh had woken and was sitting up.
"Go back to sleep, honey," Paul whispered.
"I think I'm done with sleeping for now," Hugh said, looking down and rubbing his temples. "I don't have much time before I need to go back. I really should go back early too; I've had some sleep even if not the full eight hours."
Paul sat next to him and put an arm around him. "May I run something by you and ask if it's accurate or not?"
Hugh nodded. Paul began, "I know you too well, and I can tell that whatever happened on that planet really, really is bothering you. I can tell just from things like the way your voice sounded before your bath, the way you're rubbing your temples now – even from the fact that you don't take a bubble bath unless you're really upset. But," Paul paused for emphasis, and then spoke slowly, "I'm also guessing that you don't want to unburden yourself on me because you know I'm already stressed out over – well, over everything we talked about when you were massaging me. And," he tilted his head, "you tend to put other people's needs ahead of your own, so you're going to keep all of this bottled up."
"All of that is true," Hugh said, still not making eye contact with his husband. The fact that he didn't even have the faintest smile on his face – normally he loved it when his scientist husband demonstrated insight into the workings of human minds – provided another indicator of his mental state. "And add in: if I start talking about it, I'm afraid I won't stop." He took a breath, "And maybe also add in a dash of the old line that Starfleet Officers are supposed to be tough and strong," he made a fist, "and that frustrating encounters with less-enlightened people are of minor concern, especially during a war."
"Ah, yes," Paul said sarcastically, his eyes rolling. "Let us never forget that we need to be strong and brave machines for Starfleet! Emotions will have to wait until after the war ends apparently."
At last Hugh cracked a small smile. He liked sarcastic-Paul.
"You sure you don't want to talk?" Paul asked. He used his pleading face, a tilt of the head, a lopsided smile. "You don't have to worry about burdening me. I want to listen to you."
Hugh reached for Paul's hand and held it. He liked the sensation of warmth. "I'll tell you what the hardest part is," he finally allowed. "I wasn't even there for very long, but I already feel…..inferior. Because the color of my skin is a few shades darker than what they deem acceptable. Because I don't meet their standards of masculinity. I couldn't care less about their ridiculous views, and yet just being around these people….." Hugh let his voice trail off. "I'm going to stop there because I really don't want to go on for hours – and I want to get back out there and help."
Hugh rose from the bed and began to dress. "Now that I've had almost eight hours off, they can schedule me for a double shift now, you know. Maybe even a triple. It's fine with me; the people need the help."
"I know," Paul said. He saw how quickly Hugh was getting ready and asked, "Aren't you going to eat something?"
"I had something before bed. I'm good for now." Now fully dressed in his white uniform, Hugh bent down to kiss Paul. "I love you."
"Love you too."
The irony of the situation was not lost on Paul. If Starfleet had a functioning spore drive, then they wouldn't need dilithium. They could leave the barbaric Taranians to themselves and never have to sell out their principles because they needed dilithium. And Paul was one of two individuals who provided Starfleet with its best shot at getting a spore drive.
On any given day, Paul approached his mission with zeal. Today that zeal was doubled. It sometimes translated into impatience with his team, and this day was no exception. In any case, Paul worked with such rapt attention that a few team members had to gently point out that he was way, way overdue for a meal break and they begged him to just take a few minutes to eat in the mess hall and think about something other than the project for a bit.
Grudgingly and not without a few testy comments, Paul did as suggested. No sooner was his tray of food in hand than he saw Nurse Torres sitting alone at a table. He made a beeline towards her. She was easily the most talkative member of the medical team, and Paul felt as if he'd hit the jackpot at getting this chance to speak with her. She saw him, smiled a weary smile, and gestured that he was welcome to join her.
"Do you have time to talk?" Paul asked her. "How is it down there, and how is Hugh? How are they treating him?"
Nurse Torres, never one to hide her emotions or put up with bad behavior, gave Paul a stern look, cutting her eyes at him.
Paul fortunately realized his mistake right away. "I'm sorry. I should have started by asking how you are."
"Much better, Lieutenant Stamets," Torres deadpanned. "You're learning. To answer your question, I'm okay but I'm tired and hungry so if you want any information from me, you're going to need to give me some time to chew occasionally."
"I can handle that."
"Good." Torres slowly chewed her sandwich and then, after taking a sip of tea, began. "Well that was my first trip to Tarania and it was a hundred times worse than everyone said it would be. The worst thing is their doctors, and that's who Dr. Culber has to coordinate with at our triage center. The patients themselves are in such bad shape that at least most of them keep from calling us names. Oh, but there was one whose family came in and demanded that Dr. Culber not treat him and that we get another doctor. And then they called him a racial slur."
"What?!" Paul nearly leapt out of his seat. Every muscle in his body went rigid. At nearby tables, a few heads turned.
"Calm down," Torres said flatly, and used Paul's outburst as another chance to eat more of her meal.
"I'm sorry," Paul said quickly. "I – I'm not shocked. This is exactly the type of behavior they told us we'd see. Well, that you'd see," he corrected. "I knew to expect something like this. I just…." Paul clenched his fist and tried to force himself to breathe normally.
"I get it," Torres said. "Your mind knew to expect something like this but now the reality is setting in when you hear that this actually happened. And to the guy you love, no less."
As Paul sat there fuming, utterly failing to take some deep breaths, Torres took another bite of her sandwich. She then added, "That was just one incident. There were others that were just as bad, maybe worse. You sure you want to hear the gory details? You look like you're about to start pulling your hair out."
Paul's right hand had indeed found its way to his forehead and was nearly clenching his hair.
"No. Yes. I don't know." Paul was quiet for a moment; Torres was chewing again. "You were just down there, right? Did you see him a lot today? Is he ok?"
"Yeah. We just did two surgeries together." She exhaled. "He's okay. I'm sure your average Taranian thinks he's soft and weak, but Dr. Culber's really strong. He's going to be down there for a while you know. Dr. Johnson asked him to work a double shift, and he said he'd pull a triple if he could."
"I know. He cares about people. Even those whose family members don't want him to treat them because they are a bunch of bigots."
"That's our Dr. Culber!" Torres took another, large bite. "Look, Stamets, I'm sorry but I can't talk more. I need to get back to my room and try to sleep for a few hours. They need me back down there too, but I'm way beyond the maximum number of hours that we can work in a row."
Before she left, Torres suggested to Paul that he return to the lab and resume his work as a way to get his mind off of his anger. He thought that was a good idea, but when he reached the lab, the other Lieutenant begged – and finally insisted – that he spend some time away from the lab. Paul restlessly walked from the lab to his quarters, then back again. His mind spun quickly, turning over ideas. At one point, he tried to convince himself to lay on the automated massage bed and give his back some relief. Just as he started to return to his quarters to do so, a better idea struck.
Before he knew it, Paul was meeting with Commander Saru, explaining why he needed to beam down to Tarania, how a new report he received from a colleague indicated that the planet might have some unique mushrooms which could possibly be of benefit. Why not maximize our time here and investigate?
"Are you certain that this is not just an excuse for you to see Dr. Culber?" Saru asked, staring directly into Paul's eyes. "Our Security team is stretched to its maximum."
"You know that I don't put personal relationships ahead of my work," Paul said, assertively meeting Saru's gaze. "I can show you the data if you like."
Arrangements were made, and Paul would beam down to the surface shortly.
'How is this planet so awful?' Paul mused, coughing. His eyes stung.
The security officer who accompanied Paul – along with a second scientist - had mentioned that if Tarania continued on its current path, in another year or two its atmosphere would not meet Federation minimum standards for breathability. Looming smokestacks in the background towered over the three officers.
"When we're done here, we're stopping by our medical triage center," the other science officer declared. "I don't want any lasting damage from breathing their toxic waste." She then began a coughing fit of her own.
Despite his other reasons for being on Tarania, Paul was a man of his word. He truly did have a report suggesting that the planet's spores could provide some useful information. He and the other science officer got to work collecting samples – an activity which the Federation's contract with Tarania permitted. As they worked, the other science officer chatted with the security officer. There was not yet a solid explanation for the explosions at the mines. A terrorist group claimed responsibility, but there were many indications that the full story was yet to be revealed.
'Great, as if I don't have enough to worry about between all the racists and homophobes,' Paul thought to himself.
Soon, the team had their samples. Although they were not far from the triage center, they had the Discovery beam them directly to it.
The triage center was, unsurprisingly, a hubbub of activity. Paul, adept at surmising a situation rapidly, saw Hugh's imprint all over the place. Despite the inherent chaos in such a situation, the center appeared to be running efficiently. Both Starfleet and Taranian medical personnel tended to their patients, equipment hummed smartly, and an overall sense of order prevailed. Definitely the work of Dr. Hugh Culber.
A medical cadet sorted patients into urgent and non-urgent categories, and ushered the three new arrivals into the latter group. The cadet gave them each a number and told them that someone would likely be with them in 15-20 minutes.
'Yes,' Paul said to himself, 'Hugh has this place under control.' His heart throbbed with pride and love. He had seen other medical disasters and seen triage centers that appeared to be sinking, with each staff person going in their own direction. But here, Paul observed the Starfleet personnel work together as if they were a practiced orchestra. Even the Taranian medical personnel looked purposeful. Hugh was such a perfect blend of caring and organization. He deserved to be CMO, in fact CMO of a large starship and Paul hoped the day would come soon.
He was startled out of his reverie when he saw, off in the distance, none other than Hugh himself! Starfleet protocol be damned. It suddenly felt like ages since Paul had seen his husband, and he wasn't going to sit off to the side and hope Hugh might glimpse him.
"Hugh!" Paul exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his seat and rushing up to him. He reached Hugh to pull him into a close hug.
Hugh stepped back out of the hug his face registering shock. "What are you doing here?"
Paul's arms returned to his sides. The pride and glee he'd felt a second ago vanished. He felt as if he'd suddenly woken up from a pleasant dream.
And before Paul could stammer out a reply, one of the Taranian doctors pointed at the couple and nearly shouted. "I knew it! This one is a _. It's bad enough I have to work with a _, but I'm definitely not going to work with a _. I knew it the minute I saw and heard him! Fucking pervert!"
Words that Paul didn't recognize flew from the man's lips. One of Paul's hands reflexively reached towards his phaser. However before Paul could do more than brush his fingers against it, the security officer who had beamed down with Paul quickly stepped in between them.
"Let's all just calm down and get back to work," the security officer said. "We have people to save."
"Not me!" the Taranian said, and threw to the floor the badge he'd been wearing which had denoted him as a doctor. "You Starfleet people are all filthy! You're the reason our planet is decaying!"
"Okay, my friend," the security officer said, grabbing the Taranian doctor by the arm and escorting him far from the fracas. "We're going to take a walk."
The whole time, Hugh stood there mutely, his eyes wide. Paul saw confusion and fear in those eyes, and perhaps – heartbreakingly – disappointment. Hugh opened his mouth to say something, but just as he began to, he was paged.
"We'll talk later," Hugh said quietly, and then he turned and was off to duty.
Paul remained standing there, also shocked and hurt. At himself for acting impulsively, at the Taranian's outburst, and at what Hugh was dealing with here.
The science officer who beamed down with him stood next to Paul and put a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, clearly we are the reason their planet is a mess."
Several hours later, Paul Stamets was back in the lab on Discovery. The other Lieutenant frowned at him, but Paul told him - truthfully - that he had napped for a couple hours and wanted to be back at work. And, for the first few hours on the job, Paul was his usual productive self – catching errors no one else caught, seeing an aspect of someone else's study that needed to be explored further, thinking up new ideas, creating plans to test the ideas.
A disciplined man who was passionate about his work, Paul knew how to focus his mind which was fortunate because he had many thoughts that he needed to block for now. He hated the interaction he'd had with his husband on the planet, hated the way he had inadvertently "outed" Hugh, jeopardized his standing in the eyes of this bizarre culture. Hugh was justifiably upset. Paul knew that Hugh would forgive him almost anything. During the past 16 years, Paul had done stupid things, maybe even some reckless things, and yet Hugh was always there because he knew that Paul never meant any harm. Yes, Paul had missed an anniversary or two because he was working on a project, had once or twice snapped at a colleague of Hugh's because interpersonal relations didn't mean as much to Paul as they did to Hugh. As long as Paul apologized sincerely and vowed to do better, Hugh would not bear a grudge against the scientist.
Paul shook his head. How had he allowed these thoughts back in when he had been succeeding in focusing? However, a teammate was just about to again implore Paul to take a break when they heard a loud explosion and the ship rocked back and forth. Paul careened into the nearest wall, his already-sore back bearing the brunt. The red alert siren wailed loudly. A cadet pressed a button to open a screen – and saw a Klingon battleship firing on the Discovery.
Per red alert protocol, Paul and his team began to head back to their quarters. They weren't security personnel and they had no military reason to be at their stations, so it was general quarters for them.
On the way back to his room, Paul passed a cadet who worked in medical. Cadet Chen, he believed the man's name was. Chen's face was pale with horror and his eyes wide. Paul's intuition told him that red alert itself could not be causing the look of panic on Chen's face.
"What's wrong, cadet?" Paul barked, reaching for the cadet's upper arm. Rank had its privileges.
Another blast from the Klingons rocked the ship. The two men steadied themselves against a wall.
"We just got a report from the triage center," Cadet Chen stammered out. "The entire medical team's been taken hostage!"
TO BE CONTINUED