Standing this close to the window it was easy to forget the office behind him. It was easy to forget about the illuminated screen of the computer and the countless open files stacked there. It was easy to forget the responsibilities and the duties and the pressures. It was easy to just be, to look out into the black expanse scattered with brilliant stars and lose oneself in the endlessness of it.
With a sigh he set the glass down on the lip of the windowsill. It had been almost an hour since he synthesised it. Maybe more. He hadn't touched it once.
Easy to forget.
A tightness spread through his chest and he closed his eyes, shutting out that endless blanket of space and stars and all the endless possibilities that came with it. Easy to forget? Not even close. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The tightness in his chest didn't abate; he could feel it spreading now, creeping up through his shoulders and around to his back. As the seconds passed he became increasingly aware of the beating of his heart, the quiet in the office only making it that much louder.
"In the vast emptiness of the universe, we have found a fullness of cultural diversity."
The words were still ringing in his ears when the door chime sounded. It was just loud enough for him to hear it over his heart, over the words spoken in his own voice with such blind optimism and enthusiasm all those weeks ago now. There was none of that in his voice when he raised it then, calling, "Come in," just loud enough for the person on the other side to hear.
There was a hiss as the door opened and another a moment later as it closed again. Ed didn't have to look back to know who it was. Even before she strode towards where he stood at the window and betrayed herself with that immediately recognisable stride, everything about it familiar to him from the pressure of each footfall to the speed of the gait, Ed knew who it was. Who else would it be?
Silently Kelly took up a spot to his side, close enough that he could feel her there but not so close that her arm brushed his. When he opened his eyes he could see in the corner of his field of vision that she was looking out at the stars as well but for a moment, just a moment, her gaze dropped down to the sill in front of him and the glass he had set there. Fleetingly her eyes lit on his face but then she was looking out at the stars again.
For a while they stood there like that, surrounded by the quiet, all the words they weren't saying hanging in the air between them. Suddenly they felt so heavy Ed wondered if the weight of them might crush him and he felt another pang in his chest. Was this how Kelly had felt while they were married? Suffocated and cast adrift, not knowing what to say or when or how? Ed didn't even realise his breathing had hitched until she turned her head to him. He thought she might have spoken his name but he couldn't be sure.
"I'm fine."
Kelly had turned towards him then, her interest in the stars lost, though he suspected it had only been a fabrication to begin with. She had joined him at the window to be with him, not to take in the view. It was easier then to look down at the untouched whiskey in the glass than it was to meet her gaze.
"Ed." She wasn't convinced. Not by a long shot. He knew that tone, the scepticism there, the hint of impatience that was tempered and softened by concern. He was worrying her and the desire to put her mind - and heart - at ease was what finally brought his gaze up to hers, their eyes meeting for the first time since she had stepped into his office. Ed regretted it instantly. It didn't help Kelly. If anything it made things worse, he could see it in the knitting of her brows and the subtle downward turn of her lips.
"Kel," he said, trying and failing not to sound even half as exhausted as he felt. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit." But she said it softly, with that warm concern on her face still. If anything it was increasing now rather than abating.
Damn. He was even worse at this than he'd thought.
Ed was the one to break eye contact first, looking out at the stars again. They were quiet again for several seconds, maybe more than a minute, before he said, "We never recovered the body."
Anyone else might have asked what he meant, who he meant, but not Kelly. Never Kelly. He saw out of the corner of his eye the way her shoulders dropped just a fraction, understanding causing her head to bow for a moment before she gave it a shake, lifting it with her usual defiance and resolve. "That wasn't your fault, Ed."
When he turned his eyes to her then it was with far more certainty than before. "Bullshit," he said to her, echoing her rebuke from only a short time ago and hating the way her expression fell just enough for him to know she had thought she might be getting through to him, that she believed she had already steered him away from that course. Ed hated himself for pulling that rug out from under her. "If it's not my fault, Kel, then whose is it?" Before she could finish opening her mouth he cut her off by saying, "And don't say the Kaylon."
That gave her pause. Of course it had. Of course he'd guessed what she was going to say. They knew each other so well, some might have said too well but they worked so perfectly together for a reason. If they didn't then Halsey never would have approved her transfer in the first place. It would have been madness to assign two former spouses together in leadership roles if they hadn't proven time and time again over the years just how great a team they were.
Kelly was thinking over what she wanted to say, choosing her words carefully, but Ed didn't give her the time he knew she needed to fully formulate her rational argument. Instead he started to speak, part of him wishing he had drunk that whiskey after all if only so he might be able to blame it later for anything he said and regretted. Cowardly really. But he didn't snatch it from the windowsill and down it. It remained where he had left it as he turned to Kelly and spoke, his voice firmer and fuller now, flooding with the conviction of a man who believes every word that passes his lips. Ed didn't want to regret any of the things he was about to say because they needed to be said, they were the truth and he couldn't hide from them. He didn't even want to try. "I knew why the Kaylon were keeping the crew in the shuttle bay even before they explained it to us, before they told me to lie to Marcos. I knew the risks of taking that shot and I took it anyway. I might as well have pushed that Ensign out of the airlock myself." His chest was even tighter then, so tight it felt like someone was crushing it in a vice. "And then there's Marcos and his entire crew. The Roosevelt was destroyed because I took a risk that I should have known wouldn't pay off. It was a stupid gamble and I never should have taken it."
"Hey." Kelly's voice was firm and her hand landed on his arm with certainty and confidence, the kind of sure touch that he always missed when it wasn't there because he had loved that about her from the very beginning. Kelly Grayson didn't hesitate or second guess and if she did then it was done with a style and grace that most people could only dream of. For a few seconds all she did was stand there looking into his eyes but it wasn't because she was hunting for the words, it was because she wanted him to hear her, really hear her. She was holding him in place, fixing him there, and making sure she had his undivided attention.
Ed gave it to her. She didn't even have to fight for it.
"You know I would have done exactly the same thing in your shoes," she said, her eyes narrowing as she added, "right?" When he didn't challenge her she pressed on, holding his gaze the entire time, her hand still on his arm, her fingers closing around him a little more with every passing second. "And you can bet your ass that every single commanding officer in the whole Fleet would have done the same as well." Her hand was closed around his arm fully then and Ed wondered when she had stepped closer, shrinking that gap between them. "Marcos himself would have made the same choice in your shoes and if he was here now he wouldn't blame you for what happened. Not for a single second."
"But he's not here."
"No," she conceded, shaking her head a little. "No, he's not. And that sucks, and I'm sorry, and I hate that it happened. I hate it so much you wouldn't even believe it." But he would. Her thumb was moving up and down his arm softly, rhythmically, in a motion that subconsciously she intended to be soothing. It was an old habit, one of the many little things he remembered from their years together. "I'm sorry for all of it, Ed. You know that I am." And she was, he could see it in her eyes, he could hear it in her voice, he could see it in every inch of her body as she stood in front of him. Sorry wasn't a strong enough word, he didn't think. That made his chest tight for an entirely different reason and he had to fight not to drop or avert his gaze from hers.
"What happened," Kelly went on, pulling him back to her, sensing that he was on a ledge and she might lose him at any moment, "was not your fault." Her hand had moved higher up his arm. Was she even closer now? "You didn't ask to have a Kaylon on your ship when you were posted to the Orville, Ed. One ship in the whole Union Fleet with a Kaylon officer and it's your first command? The odds of that are astronomical to say the least." Normally Kelly might have smiled when she said a thing like that but it wasn't there now, it hadn't crept onto her face for so much as a second. Ed was almost sorry for that. "None of us knew he would shut down the way he did either, no one could have seen that coming."
"I didn't have to—"
It was Kelly's turn to cut him off. "Take him home?" With a small shake of her head and the faintest smile she said, quietly, "Yes you did. Ed, of course you did." Just for a moment her hand moved up, it came so close to touching his face that he thought he felt the warmth of her fingertips but it dropped at the last second, landing instead on his shoulder. "That's who you are, that's who you've always been. You weren't just going to write him off and let him collect dust in some storage container somewhere, or worse, end up in pieces in some Union lab. That's not you."
That's not the man I married. She didn't say it but he heard it. He felt them hanging in the air between them, those words, and for a few moments they robbed him of breath.
"You didn't have to do any of the things you did during all of that," Kelly went on, summarising it in a way only she could without sounding dismissive or disrespectful. Ed had never been able to do that. No one did that like Kelly. "But you did them because that's the kind of man that you are. That's the kind of Captain you are." Her hand did come up then, it did touch his face, and Ed only realised when his eyes turned back to her face that he had looked away from her at some point. When had that happened? "That's what makes you a good Captain, Ed. A great one, actually."
God, he wanted to believe her. More than anything he wanted to take the conviction in her words and hold on to it as tightly as he could, drawing it into himself until all the doubt and uncertainty just melted away. And he hated that he couldn't, hated that it wouldn't work. It wasn't that easy. Nothing ever was.
Kelly was watching his face, studying it, and he saw the pain in her eyes as it dawned on her that her words hadn't had the desired effect. It was fleeting, that pain, but to Ed it was still like a physical blow. "I have to own what I did, Kel," he said to her, his voice quieter now, worn and tired and made small by the weight of everything that had happened and all that was still to come. "I'm the Captain. It's all on me, and if I don't own it then I'm not fit to wear the uniform." Kelly's hand was still where she had raised it to touch his face but her other hung by her side and he reached to take it. He wasn't brave enough to reach up and take the other, he didn't dare break that contact with her. "If I don't own it then Marcos and his crew died for nothing. That Ensign died for nothing. All of it was for nothing if I just brush it off."
"You're not brushing it off."
"No." Ed pulled in a deep breath and let it out, as slowly and steadily as he could. "I'm not." He actually did reach up to take her hand from his face then, but he held on to it, stroking his thumb over the back of it in a fond way that he couldn't even begin to disguise as anything else. Honestly? He didn't want to. "Everything that happened," he said to her, keeping hold of her hands, "happened because of the choices I made." He saw the protest forming before she even moved her lips, he could see it in her eyes and the subtlest shifts of her expression. "You were behind me every step of the way but the final call was mine every time." Ed held her gaze for a moment and gave her hands the slightest squeeze. "I have to own it, Kel. All of it."
Kelly was the one to break eye contact then, glancing off over his shoulder and back towards his desk, past the Kermit doll and the model plane to the computer and its lit monitor. Ed saw the moment when it dawned on her what awaited him, he recognised the moment when she realised what exactly those files were. When she brought her eyes back to his there was a glimmer of grief there, of the pain of loss, but it was wrapped in that warmth and strength that was so characteristic of her. "Do you want some company?" Her voice was soft as she asked it but there was no weakness there. Only warmth and strength.
Ed almost smiled then. Almost.
He almost turned her down. Almost. But then he met her gaze and saw the power and the resolve there and he didn't dare let go, he didn't dare cast it away with what awaited him at his desk, all those condolence letters that never should have needed to be written. Ed couldn't remember how much time had passed since he had tried to start writing them, since he had looked at the list of crewmembers who had been lost to the Kaylon in one way or another. Had he synthesised the drink before or after opening them?
It didn't matter. Not really.
Kelly was still looking at him, still waiting for an answer, and Ed realised he couldn't find the words. Not one. So he did the only thing he could think to do, lifting one of her hands, her left, and bringing it up to his lips. When he kissed it he pressed the kiss to her fourth finger, where her ring once sat. When he lowered her hand and raised his eyes to her face again he tried not to see the faintest shine of tears there, tears she quickly blinked away before she gave him a nod, understanding immediately what he had said to her without words.
Thank you. I need you. I love you.
Ed didn't know what he would have done without her, how he would have gotten through any of this without Kelly.
He wouldn't have. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name.
But she was here, by his side and at his back, keeping him strong when he couldn't find enough strength of his own to get the job done. And that was where she would stay, for as long as he needed her, no matter what. He wouldn't even have to ask.
Thankful didn't even begin to cover it. There were no words for it, not a single one, but maybe that was okay. Not everything needed words and not all silences were terrible. Sometimes silence was actually better.