"I would give anything for a second, a millisecond, of peace but until the war is over, none of us can have it." –Michael Burnham

Sickbay felt colder than usual that morning. Dr. Hugh Culber and the rest of the crew of the Discovery had just received word that a Federation starship had been attacked and taken over by Klingons. Three hundred and seventy eight souls either dead or probably worse than dead – tortured, humiliated, slowly dying. Hugh shut his eyes and found nightmarish images lashed back out, Klingons devising new ways to torture people.

Hugh knew he would never be one of those doctors who could approach his patients with cold detachment. Professionalism he could always muster, and he could usually muster a measure of optimism now too. He could approach any fellow crew member with love and caring, he would do nearly anything to lift someone's spirits - just yesterday he had whipped out his saxophone and played Cadet Chen's favorite song when he saw the young man was clearly having a bad day. He would speak to anyone about the need for self-care, how they had to find extra ways to be good to themselves and others during this dark time.

But today Hugh's soul felt bruised and battered. What would happen to the Federation if they couldn't defeat the Klingons? The loss of life would be incalculable. And what about the loss of freedom and basic human rights? The loss of their culture and everything they stood for, falling to this brutal enemy. This enemy that responded neither to reason nor logic, and certainly not to any suggestion of decency or mercy.

Hugh touched a hand to his forehead and felt that his skin seemed cold and clammy.

Without giving it another thought, Hugh did something he almost never did while on duty. He reacted for his personal communications device and typed a message to his partner. There were six hours remaining in both of their official shifts (though of course both men often stayed on duty for far, far longer than that).

"Can I see you before the end of your shift today?"

Hugh was not a needy partner. He rarely – almost never – reached out to Paul in any state of desperation.

Paul's response was swift. "I can take a break anytime. 10 minutes in our quarters?"

Hugh, too, could take a break at any point and was indeed due for his official meal break.

Ten minutes later, Hugh and Paul were in their room, grasping at that millisecond of peace. Paul's arms were around Hugh, one hand gently running through his close-cropped hair. "It's going to be okay," Paul whispered. "Somehow it's going to be alright."

"All those people," Hugh murmured. He let his head rest on Paul's shoulder. The warmth from his partner's body was like a balm. "And so many more will follow them if we can't stop the Klingons."

"We will stop them," Paul said firmly. "Starfleet has the smartest people, and the bravest. And none of us is going to let the Klingons overrun our civilization. And we have – " Paul broke off abruptly, thinking that perhaps Hugh did not want to hear a recap of the Federation's strategic and practical advantages.

Paul was about to form words to that effect and to confirm with his partner what he wanted. But Hugh's powers of sensing and guessing allowed him to discern what this slight hint of stiffness in Paul's posture suggested.

"Just hold me," Hugh whispered. "That's all I need now."

"I can do that," Paul said. He planted a soft kiss on the side of Hugh's head. He partly wanted to start quoting from an article he read about the chemical messenger oxytocin – for Paul's interests did sometimes venture into areas other than astromycology – but he kept quiet and continued to hold Hugh closely.

The hug was as effective, for Hugh, as any medicine. The dread in the pit of his stomach seemed reduced in its potency, and some of his bone-weariness was replaced with a feeling akin to mellowness.

"Thank you," Hugh said, gently pulling away to look into his lover's eyes. "You gave me a moment of peace and that's just what I needed."

THE END

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