Disclaimer: No infringement intended, just using these characters to work through a muse of my own. Employing much creative license for the end of season 1 through about mid season 2. Cheers.
I felt his gaze from across the room before I saw him. Ed caught his eye, I knew, from his nod of acknowledgment to the other man and the way that he promptly slammed his whiskey and finally abandoned me to the encounter he knew I'd been avoiding for days. Cassius paused when he reached the table, an expression of mild interest gracing his features, and I watched his eyes follow Ed's form as the captain briskly exited the lounge. I had barely opened my mouth to speak when he turned to me, a question on the tip of his tongue.
"Are you in love with Ed?" His question caught me momentarily off guard, but my previous marriage to the captain was no secret and we were obviously close. I was well aware of the gossip, and I supposed the question would be asked sooner or later.
"I'll always have love for Ed. He's part of my life." It was the truth, and I had no qualms telling it.
"That doesn't answer my question." Good lord, I knew Cassius was smart enough to wade through the nuance of my answer, but I'd hoped he had the good grace to let it be. Apparently not.
"That's the only way I know how to answer it." Without letting things unravel, anyway.
The relationship between a captain and their first officer can take on any number of forms. Polite and professional colleagues who run a tight ship and meet all objectives? Couldn't ask for more. Good friends who can commiserate over a beer at the end of the day? Great.
Grape jelly sandwiches and fucking on the regular? Space is lonely and the ship is small, and I suspect that the Union's operational, albeit not formal, position on the matter is, "Handle your shit."
We talked about it, my ex-husband and I. Gave it a try, even, when we came around to thinking that perhaps the divorce had been a mistake borne of haste, poor communication, and alien pheromones. We indulged in a few secretive, precious weeks of dates as we shuttled through space from one assignment to the next. Careful to time our comings and goings so we wouldn't be noticed, laughter filled Ed's quarters or mine as we tumbled into bed with each other, flushed with happiness and excitement and maybe, sometimes, a little too much wine. We would wake up to the simple pleasures of sharing coffee and each other's company in the hours before the work cycle began. We relished our renewed intimacy, marking it with a far greater measure of appreciation than we'd had when we were younger. Being with Ed again was fresh and familiar, like walking through the morning dew back on Earth. I felt more alive than I had in years, a happy fullness blossoming in my belly and warming my heart.
Might it have lasted, had I not been so stupid? I don't know. But my idiocy certainly brought things to a screeching halt. Dropped on an uncharted, primitive planet, I watched a little girl get hurt . . . and panicked. The girl would have been fine; it was a bump on the head, nothing her mother's kisses couldn't have cured. A little sympathy is the best medicine, in cases like that. I should have run away before she spotted me.
So. Stupid.
And Ed covered for me. He put our entire mission—and his command—at risk to protect me. Was it because we were fucking on the sly? Maybe. Or because the feelings between us were deep and real and transcended any form our relationship might take, and he was always going to put me first if it came down to it, consequences be damned? Undoubtedly. And I knew that I would have done the exact same without a second thought if our positions were reversed.
But it was far easier to pretend that the answer was a simple matter of sex. I convinced myself that if I stopped sleeping with Ed than there was no need to confront the very serious problem that the two people in command of a starship with hundreds of people on board were inclined to cling to and protect each other over the whole.
So rather than request a transfer as I knew, deep down, I should, I clung to that easy explanation and told Ed that we couldn't carry on as we had been. Insisted, over and over, that we were a good command team, but that being romantically involved clearly complicated that dynamic and thus wasn't an option for us.
I was firm in my decision, but it broke my heart to end what was turning out to be a true reconciliation with Ed. But regardless of where we spent our nights—or with whom—this assignment kept us together in its own way, and I couldn't let "Ed and Kelly" get in the way of "Captain and First Officer" because I was terrified of losing my ex-husband for good. I poured water on our rekindling just as it was catching fire, but selfishly and desperately kept the man within my reach. And I told myself that it was better if some things just smolder.
Ed was more open about his feelings, but he was also an intelligent and decent man who knew me well. I couldn't fool myself into thinking that he didn't see through everything I did or said, but I trusted that he either wouldn't press the matter or that he had the good sense to be discreet if he did. I held my breath, hoping that our careful balancing act hadn't been entirely disrupted.
For the most part, we fell back into a comfortable routine. Whether that would have been the case given other options, I don't know. But the ship was too small and we were too familiar with—and far too fond of—each other for things to be any different. Confidences and shared memories and proximity kept us close; duty and complications and fear kept us apart. And for a time it looked as though things might just be okay. Feelings hadn't changed, but we didn't dwell on them. We each looked for a future and a life outside of the other, happily focusing our romantic affections on Cassius and Janelle, accepting this new reality and encouraging one another as we began to forge separate paths. Ed was a friend again—a greatfriend—and we reveled in a different kind of intimacy.
Until the illusion of a future with other people came crashing down.
I was so relieved when Ed returned to the Orville in one piece after Taleya kidnapped him. But he had been a brokenhearted mess, a flood of emotion; he was angry and humiliated and hurt, and he was trying his damnedest to hide it all behind the mask of professionalism that this job required of him. There's not much about Ed Mercer that leaves me scared or uncertain, but I'd known him too well for too long not to see through the veneer, the brave front he put up as he submitted to Claire's scanners and reported to the admiralty and privately told me of his plan for the Krill woman who had caused all of this. It was too much, and I was terrified that coming too close would send him over the edge.
But I couldn't bear it. So I reached for Ed anyway the night he let Taleya go, abandoning all of the care I had been taking for months to hold myself apart, to keep some distance from him. My emotions pulled me in so many directions: I was swollen with pride at the leader Ed had once again proven himself to be, crushed with sympathy, and boiling with anger at Taleya for causing the tempest I could feel tormenting him. And at the heart of it all was an overwhelming surge of love and affection for this man in whose orbit I was obviously and inescapably caught.
That night we got drunk together, abandoning Bortus to the command and sharing a bottle of whiskey in the simulator, leaving the rest of the ship to carry on around us and thankful to be hidden away from prying eyes and gossiping crew. It took every ounce of everything in me to part ways with Ed that night when all I wanted was to keep him close to me, to feel his steady presence and know he was here and safe. To ensure he knew that I was by his side and at his back, now and always. A glance at my hand terminal showed missed messages from my boyfriend, invitations for a night that wouldn't have been half as fulfilling as the time I'd just spent with my ex-husband. I crawled into my bed alone that night, knowing that the expiration date on my relationship with the teacher was fast approaching and feeling a strange upwelling of peaceful finality at the thought before the alcohol took hold and lulled me into a restless sleep.
Are you in love with Ed?
I had known the answer to Cassius's question longer than I had known the man asking. But I couldn't simply say yes. Consequences aside, it was an intimate secret that I was loathe to share with all but one. It should have felt odd, though, ending a months-long relationship with a handshake, as if we were business acquaintances saying a casual good-bye after a meeting.
Except that it felt like the perfect end to my relationship with Cassius.
I drained the whiskey I had been sipping at with Ed, grimacing against its burn in my throat and not bothering to watch Cassius walk away.
Rather than heading back to my quarters, though, my feet brought me to Ed's and I knocked without hesitation, knowing instinctively that it was exactly where I wanted to be.
"Hey," he said as the door slid open, stepping aside in an invitation to come in. I stepped across the threshold, and his hand found the small of my back, ushering me inside; it was a fond touch that I knew he meant to be comforting. Grounding. The door closed and I made no move to open any distance between us, turning to face him instead. The dark eyes that greeted mine were full of love and warmth, and glittering with a spark that I knew so well.
It was all I needed to close the gap between us, and Ed didn't hesitate for a second. Meeting me halfway, he caught my lips eagerly, the lingering bite of our earlier drinks permeating our kiss. My body responded to his without missing a beat and I didn't give a damn about anything else. It could all wait.
We eventually fell into his bed and something between a laugh and a sob escaped me as I thought about the bittersweetness of the whole thing. Ed knew just as well as I did that we were in love with each other, and that we always would be. We were soulmates but, for every reason and no reason, we couldn't be together.
It was so very easy, though, to push the last part of that thought away and to instead make love to my beloved ex-husband, knowing that I would never have a more important, profound, or cherished relationship with anyone.
Our coupling lacked the excitement of a new infatuation or of some risqué encounter. It was unrushed and there was a uniquely comfortable familiarity and closeness about it that I'd never found with another partner, a sweet reminder that sex with Ed was nothing like sex with anyone else. Cassius was kind and pleasant and he had been a welcome distraction, but he hadn't been right;he'd been a lukewarm substitute for the real thing and that was why it was so easy to casually shake his hand goodbye.
It was why the next attempt at filling the void would follow the same script.
I held Ed close as we finished and let the assault on my senses overwhelm me for a moment: the feeling of his flushed skin against mine, the sound of our breaths evening out, the subtle musk of love and impending sleep beginning to envelope us. Ed's eyes closed as he pressed his lips against mine and snuggled himself against my side. I studied his face as our satisfied bodies relaxed into the mattress and settled into the comfortable cocoon of sheets and blankets. As his eyes opened and met mine, I saw that they held no hope that this was some turning point, or that it meant we were getting back together—although he was clearly just as willing as I was to play out the fantasy for a few hours. There was just enjoyment and appreciation of the time and of each other. A smile graced his features as he brought a hand to the side of my face and stroked his thumb along my cheek.
In that instant, I knew that this rendezvous was just the first of what would inevitably become our habit. We would continue to live like this for years to come—near and far from each other and just waiting for occasional moments like this one, when the other lovers we distracted ourselves with fell away and there was a little spark amid the smoldering. And if we were ever found out, we would laugh nights like this away as a dalliance for old times' sake because that was an explanation that could be readily accepted and brushed aside by the powers that be. In close proximity with a limited number of options for authentic human contact, of course two former spouses would end up fucking here and there. It was to be expected, and so long as things were facially casual and the ship carried on without incident, there would be no further inquiry or evaluation that would require real answers and could bear real consequences.
Handle your shit, in other words.
It was Ed, and it would always be Ed. But forever was behind us, and the prospect of this future that stretched out before us seemed intensely lonely. My heart wrenched for a moment and I swallowed against the tears that threatened to well at the thought. Forcing my mind to refocus on the present, I nuzzled my face in the space between my ex-husband's neck and shoulder.
"I love you." The words escaped me in a murmur.
As Ed exhaled a reciprocating sentiment against my hair, I knew he felt some degree of relief at my verbal confirmation, at long last, that his feelings were not unrequited. Our relationship was complicated and messy and it would probably never look like it once did or take the form of anything even remotely resembling a marriage. But it was us, and it was precious, and right now we were clinging to the hours for as long as they lasted.
We would wake up in a few hours to coffee and maybe another go-around for the heck of it, and I would sneak back to my own quarters before the work day began; before we resumed our lives as good friends and commanding officers who were maybe more fond of each other than most. A glance over a drink or a casual word would remind us of this indulgence in each other, the memory bringing a smile to my lips or his as time marched on, and us along with it. Eventually we would circle back for a night again—maybe next week, maybe next year.
But we wouldn't be together again, at least not for a very long time. Not really. Not so long as we were afraid of openly facing the complex and heartbreakingly consequential facets of our relationship.
And of that, we would always be afraid.
