Perfect Storm

After the doors of the ready room closed, Matt leaned against the bulkhead and inhaled deeply. He had served under Pike for years. Never during Matt's tenure had Pike threatened one of his crew with incarceration. Rather he disciplined firmly and fairly, administering correction as a mentor, and, unless in the midst of crisis, permitting latitude when questioned by a subordinate.

Even when facing none but options with cruel and destructive consequences, Pike's self-control rarely wavered. Daily life on Enterprise made it easy to forget its Captain is the most decorated fighting officer in the history of Starfleet, an accolade disliked by the man who earned it. Pike didn't start fights nor relished conflict; he looked past misunderstanding and prejudices seeking peaceful solutions. If queried about his commander's core defining characteristic, Matt's response would be 'Christopher Pike doesn't take things personally and he considers ego a waste of time.' But when required, the unwavering flagship commander met battle head on and finished it. Those who viewed his equanimous nature and his compassion as weakness did so at their own peril.

Yet, Matt thought, this is a trial unlike any Chris has faced before.

The Pike he'd just sparred with was the converse of the man. Eyes devoid of their usual humor and warmth, instead hardened steel matching a cold, impersonal persona. Temper beyond brief flashes here and there, rather anger seething and bone deep, molten and rising, like a volcano hissing steam.

From a pub crawl with Hiten of Vayu, a pirate frenemy of Pike's (Hiten viewed this description of his profession as inaccurate explaining they were a relief organization helping the poor, funded by monies and treasures reclaimed, at times with force, from wealthy thieves), Matt remembered Hiten had mused in his Oxford accent, "Matthias, we live in a universe of balance. There is no light without dark. There is no point without counterpoint. This is true of all things and beings. I do not wish to live in a galaxy where the baser side of Christopher is unleased, where the antithesis of his noble traits informs his choices. Which I fear may occur if one he loves is irreparably harmed and he is unable to prevent or end the torment."

A perfect storm is brewing, and in the eye of this maelstrom is Chris, a man served by a wholly loyal crew who would follow him into and through hell multiple times, a man with breathtaking and nearly unchecked destructive power at his fingertips, a might he is an expert in wielding.

ooooo

The Captain's quarters repeated the same chorus. It was obvious the couple no longer shared a bed. Based on the haphazard stacks of PADDs and half-empty bottles of water littering nearby tables, Matt surmised Chris divided his nights between the sofa and an armchair in the bedroom. Crumpled blankets looking as if they had just been flung off and away by their user covered both pieces of furniture. When single Aalin's quarters, while not overly messy, had a perpetual lived-in look. Over the years she had adopted Chris' preference for a living space always presenting ready for inspection.

Chris and Aalin carefully kept their personal life private. Their public displays of affection were rare and nearly imperceptible, a slight affectionate glance, a brief loving touch, a whispered endearment, a special smile reserved for the other. These clues in their quarters the relationship may be unraveling, the fact they weren't trying to hide these troubles, amped to deafening the alarm bells ringing in Matt's head.

Aalin limped into the main room, with the virus taxing her body the injured ankle refused to heal. Once in Matt's sightline, she tugged shirt sleeves over her bruised wrists. "Already?" she asked, "Can't I go a few hours without someone from medical poking and prodding?" Weariness and a testy edge fought for dominance in her tone of voice.

Matt offered a sympathetic smile. "We're going to find a way to beat this."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I may never be the same again. Chris and I may never …" her voice faltered. Tears pooled in her eyes.

He sat opposite on the low table and took her hands into his. "A lot of smart people are looking for a way to fix this. And we need you to hang in there until they do."

Her voice was tiny, "I'll try. That's all I can promise."

"OK, I get that."

They remained silent for a few minutes. Aalin pulled away from Matt, extracting her hands from his. "He doesn't want to touch me. Can't bring himself to touch me." She shook her head and waved a hand. "I don't mean sexually …"

Despite his strong and well-practiced mental barriers her omitted but strong accompanying thought rang sorrowfully in his head, I'm not attractive in any way right now. And what if I never am again? As he had not asked permission for reading her mind nor sought to, Matt couldn't reassure Chris always found her beautiful, a fact clear to anyone paying attention.

She continued, "Chris … he's tactile, he craves touch, both giving it and receiving it. But not mine, not anymore. Will that ever get fixed? Can it ever get fixed?" She paused. "Damn it, I broke my own rule. I'm sorry."

"For what? Struggling and talking with someone about it?" Matt retorted with an unintended snort.

"For discussing our personal life. You serve under Chris and you're his friend."

Matt sighed. "I admire your discretion, I truly do. But I'm your friend as well. And a big boy …"

His last phrase elicited the intended chuckle.

"You're not strong enough, not well enough in this moment for carrying solo everything you can't or won't share with Chris." In an uncharacteristic bout of patience, Matt waited for Aalin to steer their conversation rather than assertively probing and prodding.

"No one wants to hear about how guilty I feel. When I mention it, they admonish me and change the subject. But I do. One different choice on my part, returning from leave with Chris on an Enterprise shuttle rather than separately on a civilian transport …"

"Isak thinks the hijackers were prepared for multiple scenarios," Matt interrupted.

Aalin tilted her head, her brow creased as if confused. "I don't understand."

Damn, damn, damn. Chris hasn't told her he expects they will strike again. Matt quickly covered, "I mean they would have taken the transport regardless of whether you were on board or not."

"That doesn't make sense Matt. The virus is encoded to my DNA. Any ship I traveled on was in danger. And its passengers. On a Starfleet vessel it's likely the hijackers would have been repelled during their initial assault. My choice made the difference. My presence endangered the civilians. My presence …" her voice dropped to a whisper, "killed Ambassador Shran."

"Yes, but not really …" he began then paused. Only time will heal this wound.

She randomly veered to a different subject. "When we married Chris asked me for an additional vow; he asked me not to keep things from him, even my little cares which rarely matter in the big picture. He's sensitive about balancing his roles of captain and partner, always careful I receive a fair share of his time and attention. To Chris my selective sharing meant to lighten his burdens robs him of choosing when he can and cannot be a husband. I reluctantly made the promise since it was important to him. Though I at times I struggle living up to the intent of the vow. Sorry, "I'm rambling." She bowed her head and fidgeted nervously, then hugged herself tightly, arms wrapped around her waist. "Right now I just want my husband back."

Matt felt the delicate balancing shifting. Yes, Aalin needed a confidant. But now regrets over sharing intimate details were warring with need. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a faint smile. "Spock's compatibility test noted both you and Chris set almost impossibly high standards for yourselves. And predicted this tendency likely to spark friction in your relationship. As well as your mutual quick tempers."

Aalin's eyes looked up at him without raising her head. "Um … huh … What? You … Spock … me … Chris … us … compatibility test … no you didn't … you wouldn't … does Chris know …"

"Evidence suggests not as we remain free of the brig and any kitchen patrol duty of scrubbing floors with our toothbrushes."

She laughed, it was brief and faint, nervous, hesitant like an unused muscle protesting exercise, but still spontaneous and genuine.

To Matt its sound was sweet and welcome. Chris needs to hear her laugh again.

"Which question were you answering?" she asked. "I mean … did you really … when … was Phil involved … who came up with the plan …"

While she continued the distracted stammering, Matt quickly activated his medical scanner. A frown broke through the normally composed expression he wore when tending a patient. Aalin noticed. She sobered. Without stopping to reassure, he recalibrated the instrument and repeated the exam.

"Tell me," she prompted when he hesitated.

"As you know we expected the virus' symptoms would begin anew today, the reoccurrence starting as it usually does with a low-grade fever."

Before responding Aalin's eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds, as if bracing herself for bad news. She trembled. Then holding Matt's gaze she said, "Yes. Go on."

He broke into a genuine smile. "No fever. No uptick in cortisol or adrenaline. Blood pressure is on the low side, but ok and steady. The cycle hasn't started."

"Oh. That's …" her voice faltered.

"Good, no great. Unexpected but great."

"But …"

"No, no." He wagged a finger at her. "Don't do that. Don't go there. Yes, the symptoms will likely start tomorrow. But even one day's delay is a victory, a small one, but still a good thing."

ooooo

After he left, Matt's words echoed in Aalin's head, "Two and a half weeks ago your life turned upside down and wrung inside out. You were brutalized and injured. You're battling an illness. Forgetting what normal feels like is common at this point. For a few hours on this day when the virus is in remission, try to."

Intending to spend this gift in the arms of her husband surrounded by a semblance of their life before the hijacking, she tidied the small rooms until her ankle's protest became insistent. She took a long shower using a favorite scented soap. Washed her hair as best possible, fingering out tangles though most remained; her fingers were still healing from the nerve damage and clumsy, holding an object such as comb for more than a few minutes was impossible.

Chris often brushed my hair before … why am I hesitant to ask for his help now?

And why hasn't he noticed I need help? That's unlike him.

Aalin impulsively considered cutting her hair, would have cut it if her fingers could work the scissors properly. Frustrated she rammed them into a drawer and tried pulling the wet locks up into a messy bun with a hairband. That also proved undoable.

Don't worry about this today, she firmly instructed. The surgeon said at least six weeks.

Since the hijacking Aalin had favored wearing Chris' shirts, their oversized fit with his faint scent felt safe and comforting. Not today, something your own, something Chris likes. She rummaged through drawers, her fingers stopping and tracing a lacy gown which carried good memories. If only. The reflected image from the mirror of her bruised chest and back, the marks now faded from black, blue, red, and purple to an ugly yellow gray negated that choice. The rose sweater, the one which deepens your eyes, at least they're the same as before.

Dressed and now exhausted Aalin settled on the sofa. Will life always be this way, divided between before and after, before remaining cordoned off, behind a glass fence too tall to scale? Seen but never again experienced?

While waiting for Chris she fell asleep.

ooooo

After Matt left, Pike dealt with the few shipboard items requiring his attention. The work soothed his temper and dissipated it. Soon thereafter Una entered the ready room and took a seat in front of the desk. She said without preamble, "You look like hell."

"Which matches how I feel." He preempted her expected response with a head shake and dismissive hand wave, "Yes, I know. Move on. Our project, anything useful?"

"No. Nothing of note. Nothing for follow-up. Nothing. Keyla and Mia found no anomalies, no suspicions. We're no closer now than the day after the incident to identifying who on Enterprise abetted the hijacking. Nor those they're working for. Nor what they want."

Pike leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand over his eyes down to his chin. "If I were behind this attack, if I intended to try again, if I had demands of the Starfleet or the Federation, my second hit would be hard, fast, comprehensive. And opportune, while the principals are still reeling from the first attempt's injuries and terror."

"So would I."

"We're running out of time."

Una said, "I agree with that assessment as well."

He glanced out the viewport. Then straightened. "I'm ordering Mia and Keyla trace the bullying messages targeting Aalin, those she received when Enterprise returned to Federation space after the Klingon war. Assign Spock to help with routing identification if needed." He hesitated and thought, the slippery slope begins crumbling. "I'm waving the privacy protections of the senders. Start today."

Una cocked an eyebrow then nodded her support. "I will. Also, I came to report the ship's weapons certification is complete. We're combat ready."

"Good."

ooooo

Matt perched on the edge of a chair in his quarters reading from a PADD, his finger rapidly and continuously swiping up. Periodically he muttered to himself. Assuming his spouse missed the swish of the doors opening and closing Isak cleared his throat. "John said you stopped by security looking for me. And you seemed uncharacteristically unsettled. Did something happen? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Matt responded distractedly. "Nothing's happened … yet, but …"

Isak leaned against the wall and crossed arms over his chest. "But what? Use your words, I can't read your thoughts fast enough."

Matt looked up at his husband. "There aren't many rules limiting a starship captain's latitude, especially senior captains."

"That's by design. They're chosen for their ability to work without a net and respond to the unimaged. The selection process is meticulous."

"In many ways, starship captains carry and exert more authority than admirals," Matt added.

"What's your point?"

Matt tossed his PADD onto a nearby table. "What's to stop one from stepping over the line? Sure, a chief medical officer can relieve a captain believed compromised. Yet that same captain can override the decision and reinstate himself! A first or second officer can refuse an order, but they can't stand alone against the entire senior staff. Regs cite only medical impairments as a basis for removal, otherwise they're ambiguous, more a set of guiding principles. Oh and I may be in the brig soon."

"Bloody hell Matt. What are you talking about? What have you done?"

"Chris is not himself. I refused an order."

Isak claimed a chair. "Let's start at the end. Why did you refuse?"

"He wants to see the recoding of Aalin's initial injuries. That's not in her best interests. And probably a chain of evidence breech when this incident goes to trial. Regardless, my patient's well-being comes first."

"It's not an unreasonable request from a spouse. If this had happened to you, I'd watch the recording," Isak replied.

"Chris didn't make a request; he issued an order. When I refused, he threatened me."

"OK. An overreaction to be sure but not a pattern. And his responsibilities to this ship and crew are well met."

"Isn't that in itself alarming? Yeah, he's not sleeping or eating much and not as tidy as usual. He's less approachable. Otherwise he's tending to ship and crew. I'd feel better if Chris were unintentionally letting things slip because of this situation. Instead he's isolated us from command," Matt pointed out.

"Because we don't know who to trust. And he is compartmentalizing," Isak reminded. "What are you dancing around?"

"You know him best. What is Chris capable of if the right factors come into play?"

Isak leaded forward and rubbed his chin. "You mean would he use Enterprise's weapons to level a planet?"

Matt nodded.

"Yes," Isak replied. "If he deemed it necessary. That is the responsibility his position carries."

"Is it possible … could he … damn. I never imagined asking this question. Not about Chris. That this question might ever be a possibility. Will he deem retribution a necessity against those who harmed his beloved? Against those he believes may hurt her again? If, as the hijackers intended, the choice is watching her suffer or acceding to their demands?" Matt's tone of voice was quiet and serious.

"No one can absolutely know what decision they will make until facing such a moment," Isak replied in an equally somber tone.

Their conversation was interrupted when Matt was called to an emergency in Sickbay.