AN: I have never written for this couple before, but I've been meaning to give it a try for a while. If you decide to read this, please keep in mind that I'm playing dreadfully fast and loose with canon, and what I write is for entertainment only. Don't take it too seriously.
I own nothing from Star Trek.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
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Four months.
It had been four months since she'd told him that she was an Illyrian.
Actually, it had been four months and thirteen days, and Chris was feeling the passing of each new day—each new hour—with an excruciating awareness.
Four months and thirteen days ago, Una had come to his quarters on a friendly visit to offer some comfort over the fact that, even a few months after Marie had broken up with him, he was still moping around to a degree that the crew couldn't help but notice that his mood was low.
Their crew was tight-knit. They were close. Chris knew that crews often came to consider each other family, but he'd never seen it happen quite like it seemed to be happening with his crew—of course, he was willing to admit that he was likely at least a bit biased. The crew's mention of his mood to his first officer hadn't had anything to do with their disapproval or with any real complain, it had come from a place of concern.
And Una's visit, too, had come from a place of concern.
From concern, sometimes, came confession.
A bottle—or, maybe, nearly two—of a choice wine sometimes helped confession along, admittedly.
Chris had kept his truth to himself for a long time, and apparently so had Una. They had learned, though, that their reasons were different, as each of those reasons had unfolded in a conversation that became deeper and more intimate as the hours ticked on. There was something about the magic of very late hours that made it feel as if truths could be told without repercussion in those twilight moments. They both found courage at the bottom of their wine glasses, and they found comradery in their shared unburdening.
Starfleet didn't forbid relationships between captains and first officers. It had, once upon a time, tried to do so, but there had been several situations where enforcing such a rule would have resulted in Starfleet cutting off its proverbial nose to spite its face. Now, there were no explicit rules between a captain having a consensual relationship with any member of his or her crew, as long as there were no alleged complaints of preferential treatment that might cause Starfleet to feel the need to order a transfer.
Still, even though it wasn't against any explicit rules, and even though a great many captains engaged in relationships with members of their crew—even the ones who kept those relationships mostly under wraps—Chris did know that it was a frowned-upon practice.
He had been determined not to let himself be one of those captains that fell into the trap of falling for a member of his crew.
He had never counted on Una being part of his crew, though. He had never expected the overwhelming effect that she would have on him.
Until then, he'd kept his secret to himself. Until then, he'd maintained his control enough to not even mention the way that he felt and the things that he had dared to dream about. He'd done his best to go on about his life, put his feelings out of his mind, and even to try to make a go of it with another relationship. Perhaps, if he were entirely honest, the way that he'd felt about Una might have contributed to the failure of his relationship with Marie, even though Marie had been the one to finally call that relationship off.
Chris had managed to control himself and hide his truth—at least until four months and thirteen days ago.
Una, too, had confessed her feelings for him. She'd been unsure of his feelings, until now, and she'd believed him. She'd taken what he presented to her as truth, and she'd decided to be happy with their friendship.
"I would rather have that…" She'd said, letting it hang. The half-smile on her lips and the look in her eyes had finished it for Chris. She would rather have what they had, at that moment, and never take a step further toward anything more, than to lose what they had entirely.
"If this doesn't work…" She'd added later, after Chris had dared to taste her lips for the first time. After the first kiss, he knew that he was as good as lost. There was no coming back from this. He couldn't go back to polite greetings, and even the simple pleasures of their treasured friendship, without knowing that there was more, at least when eyes weren't watching them.
"Then, we'll just have to make it work," he'd responded.
She'd laughed quietly. He remembered it. His heart had responded to her laughter, and he'd laughed to himself. She'd likely believed it was him laughing at his own declaration—at what she found funny—but he was laughing at the distinct acknowledgement that he was in danger. No one had ever affected him like that, and he hoped that nobody ever would again. Still, he could acknowledge that he'd already lost himself to her. She was in control…and he liked it that way.
"You make it sound so simple," she said.
"There's no reason it should be complicated," he'd responded.
And that's when she'd confessed to him her truth. Because, as she said, this would never work if it weren't built on a foundation of absolute truth.
Chris had absorbed it. He hadn't felt sorrow for the secret she'd kept, or betrayal, or any of the other emotions that people generally reported when someone revealed a great truth. What he had felt was fear. He wasn't afraid of her as an Illyrian—he felt that was a foolish fear, honestly, since he believed that beings should be treated as individuals, regardless of the proverbial broad-brush of their species, and he did try to practice that as much as his flawed human self would allow—but he'd felt cold fear for the fact that others would fear her and, finding out her secret, would punish her for simply having been born.
His fear had then melted into something else—a desperation and a sadness unlike any he'd known before. He'd been heartbroken to think of losing her before she was even really his, and he'd confessed that fear and the way it made him feel.
She had held him. She had comforted him. And, then, he'd done his best to comfort her.
They would do this. They could do this. They would figure out how to love one another—and he'd promised her that, somehow, he would figure out how to make sure that they never lost their friendship, because he never intended for this to end, and he couldn't imagine how he might somehow simply fall out of love with her—and they would figure out how to make this work.
He was willing to make sacrifices for Una. He had realized that, and she had realized it, too.
Four months and thirteen days ago, he'd thought they'd have more time. He'd thought they would have more time to enjoy each other—though they had enjoyed each other immensely in that window of time. They'd decided to keep their relationship a secret aboard the ship, at least for a while. They hadn't announced it, and they'd tried to keep any indication that anything had changed between them to a minimum in public. Chris was sure the crew already knew, and he'd caught more than one exchanged glance between the members of his crew, but they all played along that the romance was well-hidden.
And, then, just thirteen days ago—just before they came to take Una into custody—she had come to him with a worry that was palpable.
She had sat on the same couch where their first romantic dalliance had begun—though there had been many since then—and she'd told him, very somberly, that she had to talk to him about something serious. He could have sworn that he felt waves of anxiety and worry coming off of her. He felt robbed of breath. He had felt fear at what she might say, and what that might mean for both of them.
Still, he'd sat beside her, and he'd taken her hand in his, and he'd promised her that whatever it was, they would face it together. The thought of life, without Una, had lost its luster, and he could hardly imagine an existence where he could thrive without her. It didn't matter what she had to say, they would get through whatever it was together.
He had never imagined the wave of emotions that would follow her confession.
First had come shock. He'd never expected it, but why shouldn't he have? After all, it was a perfectly natural thing, and Illyrians processed the standard-issued medications differently than non-genetically modified beings, not that anyone would have known that or taken it into account.
Then, there had been a wave of overwhelming happiness. This was unexpected. It was something he'd only vaguely thought about, mostly in passing and in silly little daydreams. Now that he was facing it, though, especially with Una squeezing his hands and looking at him for comfort and some show of acceptance, he found that it was something that made him unexpectedly happy. He had squeezed her hands back, and he'd kissed her, and he hadn't apologized for the fact that his throat had tightened and his vision had blurred slightly when he'd accepted the truth.
Finally, there had been fear: that unwelcomed and yet nearly ever-present bedfellow.
"I can't avoid care entirely," Una said. "M'Benga will start to ask questions about my avoidance alone, Chris. Especially once I can't hide it any longer."
"The examinations…"
"Chris…this is bigger than altering pattern buffer data or computer readings," Una said. "If I have any difficulty with the pregnancy…if my immune system starts to respond…Chris, I can't hide it during labor and delivery. The only way that I can get through this, and keep it a secret, is if I can get transferred somewhere where I can find an Illyrian doctor."
"M'Benga would keep the secret. He would be sympathetic to our situation. He can be trusted. I believe that."
"I don't want to put him in that position," Una said.
"You want to leave the Enterprise? You want to put in a transfer request to another ship? Another position entirely?" Chris asked. His chest ached. "We'll hardly ever see each other."
"I don't want to," Una said. "But—I may have to. I need to find a way to find an Illyrian doctor who is in a position to help…"
There had been nothing for Chris to say. What could he say? The situation was dangerous for Una. It was dangerous for the child she carried—their child—who was half-Illyrian.
And it was dangerous for no other reason than the overwhelming fear of a society toward those they saw as fundamentally different and, therefore, dangerous.
Chris had sat for a long moment and tried to come to terms with the fact that the woman that he loved—that their child, who hadn't even been born yet—would be seen as dangerous. Their child would be declared an enemy, even before birth. And, finding that he couldn't come to terms with it, but that didn't change the truth of the matter, he'd promised Una that he would give her time to think about what she thought was best, and he would trust her judgment. He would help her in any way he could.
And, then, they'd come to take her away.
Chris had assumed, of course, that someone had discovered that Una was Illyrian and, out of fear or some other driving emotion, they had decided to turn her in, essentially ruining her career and her life—and his, though few would know that at the time.
Sitting in the courtroom, though, and listening to everything unfold, Chris had been shocked to find out it was Una. It had been Una, all along, that had turned herself in. It had been Una that had opened the door to allow in everything that might come for her and, by extension, for their child.
She was sick of living a lie. She wanted her crew to know her for who she was. She wanted to live her truth—openly. She wanted her child—their child—to be able to live their life openly.
Chris had granted her asylum, as Neera had argued it, and the tribunal had followed suit.
Una would return to the Enterprise.
Chris stood by the transporter as Una materialized. He announced her return with the expected "First Officer on deck," and he hoped that nobody heard the slight catch in his voice. He looked on as Una said her farewells and gave thanks to Neera—he had given his own thanks to the woman privately, feeling forever indebted to her, in some way, for having given him back the life that he'd only recently come to have and enjoy—and he'd watched as some of the crew had greeted Una. He'd even laughed when she'd teasingly scolded them for being away from their posts.
"With all due respect, Captain," Ortegas said, before heading back to her station, "the cat is out of the bag…so to speak. I think I can safely say, on behalf of everyone, permission to properly greet the commander is granted."
Chris couldn't help but laugh at Ortegas' teasing. He didn't need her permission, of course. He didn't need anyone's permission, but he was entirely unaccustomed to breaking protocol. The playful round of applause and laughter from the members of his crew that were gathered there, though, did something to make him feel like a weight was lifted off of his chest and shoulders.
He thought about dismissing them before engaging in any show of affection, but he realized that, maybe, they needed this moment as family.
He stepped forward and wrapped Una in his arms. She held him back, for a moment, like she might squeeze the life out of him. He thought, with some amusement, that at least he would die happily in her arms.
And, then, he dared to kiss her and was pleased to find his affection was returned tenfold. When the whoops and cheers went up from those around them, the kiss broke with laughter on all sides.
"Back to your stations," Chris said, not putting too much genuine force behind the words. "That's an order."
"Aye, Captain!" Ortegas announced, before heading out with her shipmates.
As soon as they were alone, Chris kissed Una again, and then held her face a moment, studying it. She smiled at him—giving him that grin she had that said she was deciding whether or not she intended to bust his balls for his soft, affectionate moment. He loved that smile, among all the others she offered him from time to time.
"I'm glad you're back."
"It's good to be back," Una said. "And, now…I won't have to leave."
"Asylum," Chris said.
"For both of us," Una said.
Chris felt the rush of blood inside him as he went slightly lightheaded. His knowledge and acceptance of the baby—still invisible to anyone who was looking for any real evidence of it—was ever-present, but he still forgot, at times. He had had too much to focus on since discovering the existence of the little one.
Now, he had time to really let it start to sink in.
"Are you alright?" Una asked, a touch of teasing to her tone. "You look a little pale."
He realized that he might. He laughed quietly in response.
"I love you," he said. The words still tasted so fresh and so new. He'd only been saying them, after all, for four months and thirteen days.
"I love you, too," she said, holding his eyes and clearly waiting for something more. She was waiting for his truth, and he knew that. She was waiting for what he wasn't saying—and what she could, somehow, sense that he wanted or needed to say.
"What do we do now?" He asked. "We're both off duty for the day."
"We can do whatever we want to do," Una said. "What do you want to do?"
"I'd like to make an announcement to the crew," Chris said, hoping his voice had remained as steady as he'd meant for it to remain. He felt his whole body tremble slightly with nerves, but he had learned, long ago, how to stand and face nearly anything that made him nervous—though, he had to admit that Una unnerved him more than anything or anyone ever had.
"An announcement?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "About…the baby?"
Chris noticed that, though she was trying to say it more, it still stuck in her throat a little. After all, she'd been willing to keep it a secret for as long as was absolutely possible. When they'd arrested her, though, they'd subjected her to a full examination with the intent to find anything she might otherwise be able to hide. She couldn't hide the little one and, whether or not she might have wanted to tell eventually tell everyone about the baby in her own way, Starfleet had made her decisions for her about how to share the news.
Chris shook his head.
"If you want to do that your way…I would understand. I'll support it. We'll do whatever you'd like. But, for now? I'd like to announce to the crew that…you intend to be my wife," Chris said. "If you would…"
For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Una's expression, though, comforted Chris. He felt himself relaxing.
"You want a bended-knee proposal?" He asked. "I'll do it, if that's what it takes for you to marry me, Una Chin-Riley."
She closed her eyes and shook her head like he was the most annoying person she'd had to tolerate in some time. He appreciated it, because she had a way of always making him feel like annoying her was one of his best traits.
"Let's go make an announcement, Chris," she said. "And, then…maybe we ought to pay a visit to sickbay? Now that there are no more secrets…"
"I can't think of a better way to spend a day off-duty," Chris said. "But I'll certainly try to come up with a few more activities for later."
Una laughed and accepted his arm when he offered it to her. They would keep their shows of affection to a minimum, but that didn't mean that they had to hide entirely. After all, there were no more secrets aboard the Enterprise.
