The first human to explore Andoria had been sir Henry Alsopp, last of the Fortherington-Alsopps, heir to the thermocoupling stembolt fortune and bearer of one of Earth's last truly magnificent moustaches. Andoria had been officially surveyed and studied and charted and mapped by several decades of Starfleet scientists by the time sir Henry arrived planetside, but this, he could still be heard declaring on archival footage, was not exploring. Exploring was what one did in person, up close, preferably on foot and in extreme discomfort, as had the Shackletons and Livingstones of centuries past. And so, armed only with what scientific equipment could be packed into his cargo sled, a gross of rehydratable rations and a holo imager, sir Henry had set out into the frozen deserts of Andoria's southern continent to plant a symbolic flag of endeavour at its very heart.
Surprisingly, he had succeeded.
He shouldn't have. Humans weren't built to survive those kinds of temperatures, not even wearing modern survival gear, and sir Henry had discovered, to his ebullient delight, a large number of natural hazards hiding in the frozen wastes. His account of the adventure detailed his narrow escape from crevasses, sinkholes and slush flows, the way his jovial baritone had set off a once-in-a-century avalanche while singing the overture to The Marriage of Figaro, and his frequently strained encounters with the ravenous local wildlife that had left him, eventually, with only one boot.
The memoir was slightly foggy on how he had made it back. La'an had always imagined he had been airlifted out by the Andorian equivalent of search and rescue, probably diplomatically refraining from rolling their eyes, and unfortunately, due to the nature of universal translators, unable to appreciate the absurdity of his accent, which could have cut lead. The man had been La'an's hero for years.
She didn't think of him much, these days. Starfleet provided its own surfeit of absurdity, and on the rare occasions that it didn't she was usually still busy cleaning up. But right now, one of his descriptions came to mind as vividly as when she had first read it. Having stumbled blindly into the outflow of a freezing slush geyser, unable to see his way back to his sled in the blizzard, sir Henry had described the descending cold as feeling like he was being covered by a blanket. La'an had thought it was poetic licence at the time. After all, the man was both classically educated and utterly mad. But, it turned out, he was right.
The glacial ocean water had stung at first, freezing fire against her skin, making her breath catch and her muscles twitch, but gradually, as she swam, the sensation faded into a dense, heavy numbness that was almost comforting.
Almost.
If she ignored the fact that it would absolutely kill her, if she let it.
It would without a doubt kill Chapel first though. At which point La'an could simply have them beamed out of here, into somewhere with under floor heating, and thermal blankets. Maybe even hot chocolate. She watched Chapel dive for what had to be the twentieth time, placing collapsible transparent traps like a string of beads along the ocean floor. Because of course she hadn't wanted to go swimming for the exercise. They were here for a science experiment. Chapel had never met a microbe she didn't want to poke.
It took her just a little longer to surface this time. Her lips were turning blue.
"How many of those do you have?"
"Just six more."
Her consonants were off, thickening slightly as her face went numb.
"How many of those do you need?"
Chapel considered that, jerkily treading water as the storage bubble sloshed beside her. "If you help it'll go faster."
She probably wouldn't drown, La'an thought, taking one of the traps and priming it to set. Even if it was Alsopp-level cold out here and there wasn't an ounce of insulation on her. Chapel was too damn stubborn to drown.
/
The tea was hot and sweet and strong, but even so, it took a while before La'an's teeth stopped chattering. Chapel shivered convulsively, watching the tricorder she had linked to the makeshift array as she hugged the cup in her hands. La'an wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in close as they waited for something to happen on the screen.
"What are we looking for?"
"There aren't any shells."
La'an scanned the beach, wide and clean, garlanded with flotsam. That was what was off. It had been tickling her subconscious for hours now. She'd never seen a beach without shells. No shells indicated no molluscs, and, as far as La'an was aware, every advanced ecosystem yet discovered had molluscs. Slow things liked to build shells. They kept you safe.
"That's weird."
"Right?"
She'd never spent much time on science, but it was bloody fascinating, watching the amorphous creatures they eventually surfaced from the deep somehow twist and change in ever-shifting armour.
"How are they doing that?"
"They're emitting an electrical field that polarises molecules to form the shell. So when they move, the shell moves with them."
"And when they die, it falls apart."
"Right. It's efficient. It takes a lot of energy to make calcium carbonate, especially at these temperatures. This way, it can be reused."
Which meant they were social, to some degree. Because they would get the biggest benefit when clustered all together. They almost looked like they were writhing. Could something that featureless feel fear?
"Are we poking something that can think?"
Chapel studied the creatures trough the trap. "I expect they do that to confuse predators. Like shoaling fish. But they don't have brains, see?" She pointed at the tricorder. "Just ganglia. Which means reflexes, but that's it. They should settle down in a minute."
They were pretty, once they'd chosen a shape. Vaguely oval, with pearlescent shells that shone in varying shades of blue and green. La'an lay on her stomach to watch them while the sun shifted across the perfect blue sky, trying to keep up with the commentary Chapel supplied as she worked until a lapse of silence made her look up to realise she had become the object of study herself. Chapel was watching her, eyebrows drawn into a rare frown.
"You know, most people would be telling me to enjoy my shore leave by now."
Presumably they would be getting bored. Wanting her focus to be on them, so they could enjoy their shore leave. Which was pitiful, frankly, because Chapel was so alive like this, focussed and passionate and fast, practically sparking with curiosity. Not to mention the fact that they were the first humans ever to be looking at this bizarre new life form. "You've been meeting the wrong people."
Chapel shrugged noncommittally, eyes flicking back down to the screen. "Their suggestions were fun too."
Right. It took little imagination to surmise what flavour those had come in. People had staggeringly one track minds when it came to Chapel. La'an stared into space for a moment while she entertained the brief, abstract desire to deck the lot of them. "People are idiots."
Beside her, Chapel grinned. The molluscs fluttered in the breeze.
It was one of the nicest ways she'd ever spent an afternoon.
/
Ortegas met them with raised eyebrows, turning from the large pot she had been stirring with a barely constrained triumphant smile.
"I thought you might not make it!" She came towards them, dropping her voice a little as the eyebrows waggled. "Word is you two have been having fun."
Chapel had been practically glowing, but the comment made her tense subtly, tightening around the edges. "We went swimming."
"Sure Chapel. Swimming."
There had been people at one point, up on the cliffs. They must have let their attention wander from the abseiling. La'an had long ago lost any embarrassment she had around nakedness. Life on the lower decks tended to knock that out of you. You simply learned to keep your eyes where they belonged, and trust your crewmates were doing the same. Everyone had bodies, after a while they lost their mystique. She hadn't even thought to consider what they might look like, huddled half dressed under a regulation blanket, clothing strewn about the beach.
"There aren't any shells here. We found this mollusc that…"
"Right. Molluscs. You spent your one day of shore leave doing science experiments." Ortegas paused, her suggestive confidence wavering. She knew Chapel as well as anyone. She stared at her for a second, then groaned. "Man, you really did, didn't you? Seriously," she gestured between them with the ladle, "goes fishing in 40° water, the woman they literally call 'where fun goes to die'. How is this not official already?"
Chapel shifted uncomfortably in her hoodie. "Enough, ok? Just, stop."
Ortegas sighed, shaking her head with a certain amount of exasperated affection. "Fine. You both need drinks."
Chapel frowned after her, tugging at her sleeves. "Sorry."
"I don't care." La'an studied her face, the churning behind her eyes that she always tried to shutter, that had so mercifully stopped while they were running. While they were freezing half to death in the sea, harassing the natives. This really wasn't something she needed to spend it on. "It doesn't matter."
Chapel watched her for a second, her affect entirely flat. Her fingers twitched. Then she smiled, suddenly, in an expression that was equal parts delighted and attempting not to be, and La'an could see it as clearly as if she'd said the words.
She was loved. It never stopped being incredible, the knowledge flooding her with warmth like hot tea, startling every time in its intensity.
Allowing her to believe that, despite all evidence so far to the contrary, she really might be able to fly.
/
The party was practically sedate. Ortegas had invited members of the bridge crew, some of Chapel's friends, people La'an had learned to tolerate in the mess hall. Oleg Krastev, it turned out, knew how to play the guitar, which kept conversation to a minimum for a while. But these people were used to her in any case. Somehow, Chapel had trained them to talk around her rather than to her, which let her feel included without actually having to participate. It helped, not having to be pleasant. The whole thing felt friendly. Familiar. Almost relaxing, even. The bonfire crackled and changed, vaguely mesmerising as the light began to dim, and the food was good, hot in the cooling air. There wasn't a flaming cocktail in sight.
There was beer though, in old fashioned bottles that clinked pleasantly, pearling condensation as they warmed. She hadn't seen those for years. Her father had drunk it that way, straight from the bottle. In the garden. Watching the setting sun.
There weren't any walls here.
She got up. Pressed blunt nails against her palms, reflexively drawing away from the fire as twilight waned. It was cooler back here. Cooler was good. She could see Glenn Marshall making eyes at Krastev over his drink. Chapel talking animatedly to lieutenant Arnaud, the ship's junior botanist. They were fine.
Everything was fine.
She tried to focus on her breathing, the feel of her body, boots in the sand, the smell of the woodsmoke, the chatter of the crew. They'd been eating chili. It had burned. Somewhere, the waves whispered, texturing the silence. Noises she didn't know, couldn't identify, strange and alien and hushed. There was nothing here.
She resisted the urge to turn and scan the darkness, the threat itching behind her. This planet was safe. There was nothing here.
The fire filled her vision, hot and bright. She could still feel it, even this far out.
There was nothing here.
Something rustled, wind in the bushes. She started to turn.
"Easy."
A hand settled between her shoulder blades, warm and familiar. A barrier to the dark.
"Sit."
She pressed her palms into the cool sand, Chapel's hand sliding down her spine, drawing her hair aside.
"Good. Now lie down."
La'an blinked into her smile, fingers tightening. Chapel's eyes crinkled.
"Trust me."
If there was a version of La'an that ever hadn't, she was a distant memory by now. Chapel took her hand as she let herself roll back onto the ground, grass tickling against her neck.
"Look."
The sky was like a boundless dome above them, brilliant with stars. Somehow, you didn't really see them from the ship. Up there they were destinations. Objects to be scanned. Data on a screen. But out here, like this, they were beautiful, twinkling in the shifting atmosphere like jewels. La'an breathed up into the sky, just watching them, letting the imagined threat fade. "There's nothing here."
"Just us." Chapel squeezed her hand, then settled back to gaze up at the foreign constellations too. "That one looks like a mollusc."
"They could all be molluscs. Those things are glorified amoebas."
Chapel made a muted noise of disgust. "They're a scientific breakthrough. Remind me, when I get time to write this paper, not to let you anywhere near it."
La'an smiled into the darkness, watching The Mollusc twinkle. There was just no way not to like Chapel. Everyone did. The whole aspiring mad scientist thing was just so utterly endearing. It was strange, maybe, that the first person she'd found tolerable since she'd lost her brother would be…
Manu had been…
No.
"You're ok." Chapel's voice was close, her fingers gentle in La'an's hand. La'an narrowed her focus to the feel of them, warm and steady and safe, then up towards the myriad lights spread out like an infinite blanket of stars.
The fractured memory retreated. She could hear footsteps, crunching closer through the sand. Mitchell. The navigator dropped down beside her, light and quiet, leaning back on her hands, head tilting up towards the sky. "What are we looking at?"
"Giant balls of gas and things."
"Very romantic, Chapel."
"I'm calling that one The Mollusc."
Mitchell laughed. "That's the Octans association. The bright one is Eta Indi. Type A, about 40 million years old."
"How has that added romance?"
"It does to me." Jenna shrugged easily, gazing up as if it really did. As if perhaps she saw it through the viewscreen too. Maybe even through the nav. panel. La'an would have to pay attention, the next time things dragged on the bridge.
Beside her, Chapel sighed. It sounded practically content. "Whole ship full of nerds. No one tells you that, before you show up. It's all 'Action and adventure. Discover strange new worlds'. Way to bury the lead."
She fit here. Perhaps she was starting to accept that. Very few people were as quick as Chapel. Fewer still were as alive. Earth must have been the kind of torture that felt like failure, hitting wall after wall until the subconscious came to expect them. To label hating them as a flaw. But Starfleet only took the best. What walls it came with were mostly about survival. Hating those made sense; the universe never played fair. And if you could work within them… 48 hours ago Chapel had been angry enough to resign, but rage like that could be freeing. Maybe now, finally, she might be able to let herself breathe.
La'an closed her eyes for a second, taking in the moment. It was strange, to find she could lie like this, exposed on the surface of an alien planet, surrounded by so many people, and not be afraid. It didn't make any sense. But maybe it could just… not, for a while. Maybe, she didn't need it to.
She pointed up, past Mitchell, into the twinkling universe. "How many of those do you know?"
The answer, it turned out, was practically all of them.
/
Occasionally, she would feel it coming, like a string pulling tighter and tighter, bleeding energy as it stretched, making her believe she could go and go and go until, suddenly, she couldn't. Mostly though, there was no such warning. Mostly, it simply snapped.
La'an stalled in the doorway to Chapel's quarters and pressed her fingers hard into the bulkhead, willing the world back into motion. It was warm here. Inviting. The artefacts glittered. It was safe. She wanted to be here.
She couldn't move.
The door hissed shut behind her. Chapel turned, then came back slowly, taking her in, stopping just close enough to be with her, just far enough that La'an could breathe. She didn't ask. She just saw.
"You need to go home."
"No."
"It's ok, just…"
"No."
Don't make a scene La'an. No one likes girls who…
They'd stopped saying that, after. Once she had an excuse. The ultimate excuse. They'd applied different labels instead. Traumatic rage. Complex PTSD. Only the treatments didn't work. She won't engage with… No one had ever asked… It had all been…
Chapel's eyes were gentle.
In the end, they'd given up. Finally. It was manageable, once she had control. Once people stopped trying to make her fit. She'd been lucky, as a child. Her parents had never…
No.
This wasn't happening. None of this should…
She just had to…
Chapel's hand ghosted her whitened fingertips. "I'm going to hug you, ok? It'll help."
She balled her fists hard, keeping herself rigid, because she'd been known to fight people like this, and she couldn't…
Arms closed around her, entirely unafraid. The relief of it almost burned.
Gradually, the pressure softened her enough to unclench, to wrap her arms up around Chapel too.
"Thank you, for tonight. For all of it."
No, that wasn't… "I'm not… It's not…" She wanted more of this, of whatever it was that had been happening. More of Chapel, of this impossible dance they had been doing, of the unexpected person she had allowed La'an to be. It couldn't just… "I'm not done."
"No one's done. You just need some time."
She didn't want it. "I'm fine."
Chapel softened, loosening her grip a little so she could rest her cheek against La'an's hair. "You're perfect. You don't need to be fine. You remember the spoons?"
Of course she remembered. She could still feel the crunch of ceramic under her boots. She pressed her forehead into Chapel's shoulder. Closed her eyes.
"This is that. You're all out." Chapel's hand travelled her back slowly, the pad of her thumb finding the nape of La'an's neck. "There are things you do to get them back, and I'm guessing none of them involve dealing with some mad nurse who…"
The sob came out of nowhere, a keystone dropping into a bottomless void, sudden and jagged as the world crumbled around her. For a second all she could do was pull in air in harsh, heaving breaths, fingers twisting into Chapel's clothes, anchoring herself with hands that gripped too hard. Demanded too much.
She tried to stop, to make herself pull away, because you didn't get to claim people like that, but Chapel simply softened further, drawing her in closer, hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. La'an breathed into the soft, dark space between her neck and her shoulder, focussed on the warmth of Chapel's cheek against her temple, the shape of her lips moving against her skin.
"Not backing out. I promise. Just an idiot, but you know that. Doesn't mean I'm going anywhere, ok? Staying right here. I just needed reminding."
How could she possibly think… "I'm not done."
"Ok." Chapel was quiet, running slow fingers over her hair while her breathing settled. Then she pulled back to study her, smiling into the mess, using the hem of her sleeve to wipe at her face. "I'm going to make tea, and then I'm taking you home."
La'an folded herself down against the wall to watch her. She felt hollow, wired and drained in a combination that usually lasted hours, but the ritual was soothing somehow, even by proxy. Chapel did the thing carefully. Properly. The warming of the pot. The rinsing of the cups. Three turns clockwise, three turns back, in a pointless ritual that had been passed down through the generations.
She'd known, once, where it had started. Someone had taught her. But it had fled with so many of her memories from before. And she was the last now. No one would ever know again.
Chapel handed her a cup, then poured the rest of the tea into a flask, moving around the room gathering PADDs and clothing. By the time she dropped down in front of her La'an felt almost human.
"Let's go."
"I'm fine."
Chapel took her hand. "Come anyway."
She stood in the shower until her mind went blank, letting the impossible day wash slowly out of her. Then she crawled in under the blankets, careful not to disturb the scattered PADDs Chapel had littered around her, and fell asleep before she could manage to ask what she was working on. It was probably something horrible in any case.
Knowing Chapel, by next week, some poor bastard would be changing shape.